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Show A fecuutesi Qictixut Sesdal w-wmus. By HAROLD CHANNING WIRE CHAPTER XlX-Continued 17 Art's thumb jerked backward "I want to know who is that girl! And is she married to that jasper?" Following the thumb. Breck looked through the open doorway, seeing a section of tourist pasture fence. Irene and Toby stood there, coaxing horses with bunches of grass. The animals held off suspiciously. suspi-ciously. "Her name Is Miss Sutherland," he answered, then added with deliberate delib-erate purpose, "they aren't married not yet." Without a word Art turned and sauntered back to his camp. He waited there a moment, then threw down his hat and continued on until un-til he halted next to Irene. Breck saw her smile, and saw Art hold something over the bars. At once the horses came to his hand, nodding nod-ding their heads comically as they took lumps of sugar. Irene shrieked and clutched the fence. Art laughed with her, wiping his hands on his trouser legs. Breck left the door open when he resumed work, and between pages of his diary watched the progress of events outside. He saw Toby go back to the Senator's camp"; probably upon Irene's order. She strolled over to young Tillson's packs, where he whirled a rope for her, displayed his horse-hair bridle, bri-dle, his saddle with silver trimmings, trim-mings, his white silk square which she allowed him to knot about her throat. Even the brown salt-bags interested interest-ed her. At that Breck slammed the door and finished his writing in grim seclusion. He gave the tourists until one o'clock to be sufficiently aroused, then walked up to their camp. Irene had come in and was lying on one of the pine-needle beds. From her position flat on her back, she called, "Hello, Gordon! Where have you been all morning? Glorious day, isn't it? I should think a ranger would be riding the trails." Breck went over to her. "He will be riding them this afternoon. I want you and the Senator to come along." "O dear!". Irene .propped herself upon one elbow. "I would adore it; but Arthur promised to take me fishing." fish-ing." "Arthur did," Breck mimicked. "How nice." Irene smiled dreamily. "He's so genuine. A perfect specimen of a man. He can braid the cutest ropes out of leather." "And of course you need a leather rope! " "Now, Gordun, I do believe you're being sarcasti c." Irene lay back on the bed, looking up at him. "What's that about riding?" The Senator amblid from his tent and sat on a stum p near them. "Gordon, did you say fide? Boy, what do you think I'm m de of! Give me time." "It's bettf r if you get in the saddle every dar," Breck advised him. "Stiffness wears off quicker. I've got some trail signs to put up west of here Ihis afternoon. We'll get a look at Kern River gorge." "All right. But I need a derrick to hoist me on that animal!" Half an hour later when Breck and the Senator rode west toward Kern River, Irene was still In camp. Breck wondered if her talk had been purely to annoy him. He had planned this trip for the double purpose of putting direction direc-tion signs along the trail, and doing a little missionary work on Sutherland. Suther-land. They rode into a beautiful part of the country, rugged, thick with giant fir, often coming over ridges that raised unlimited vistas of the Sierra root I But it was a trail that had not I been worked for three years. Fallen trunks and slides of earth repeatedly repeated-ly blocked it, forcing them to dismount dis-mount and lead their horses along the mountain slope. Covertly, Breck watched the Senator. He had tourists' tour-ists' knees, that once bent, refused to straighten. The continued climbing climb-ing off and on became exasperating. exasperat-ing. "What the devil's wrong here!" he burst out at last. "This is worse than no trail at all. Hasn't it ever been cleared?" Breck halted, hooking one knee about his saddle horn. "Not for some time, Senator. A shame isn't it? They tell me this used to be camper's paradise. But, thunder, no one can get into it now." Sutherland glowered along the particular trunk that sprawled its hundred foot length in front of him. "Why not put a gang of men to work? They could open it." "Who would pay them?" "Why, the government, of course." "On seventy-eight dollars?" "What do you mean seventy-eight dollars?" "That's exactly the amount my chief was allowed for trail work this year." "The deuce it was!" Breck laughed, and deciding to let that one point sink in, wheeled his horse toward home. Their shadows were lengthening before them whcu they came into Rock House. Breck's thoughts returned re-turned to Irene, and a little later were materialized by two figures sitting sit-ting on a boulder where the meadow creek began its descent The trail led close to them. Irene looked up waving one hand as her father passed. Art Tillson kept his eyes on the stream. "Who is that fellow?" the Senator asked, riding on to the corrals. "A cowboy," Breck answered. "Owns a herd north of here." "Safe enough, I suppose? He looks like a pretty determined customer." Breck considered. "Safe enough tor Irene," he said then. "I only hope the boy doesn't take it too seriously." He might have told Sutherland more, but felt the time had come for him to explain things to Irene herself. That night he went to their camp with a Dutch-oven supper of roast meat, potatoes and carrots that he had left buried in the coals all day; and after the meal, passed time with "How long have yoa been there?" he asked. stories of his work, waiting until he was alone with Irene. "Now," she said, facing him from her seat across the fire when all others had finally gone to their tents, "I know what you're going to do. You're going to lecture me. Save it." "Why should I lecture you?" Breck asked. Irene gave a little shrug, half impatience, im-patience, half the manner of a naughty child. "Oh, I suppose it's your job. The ranger keeping tab on his people and all that." "All right," he agreed, "it is part of my job. But not the way you put it." He knew he could talk to her openly. Her instincts were well-bred; well-bred; she would not betray his confidences. con-fidences. "Things have happened up here, Irene; serious things. I'm not trying to frighten you and this matter mat-ter needn't concern you at all. Only don't play up to that boy any more." Irene's eyes opened wide in the fire's glow. "Play up to him?" "Oh, come now, we understand each other! He's nothing to you." "He interests me." "So does a queer bug." "Gordon!" "Sorry; I'm not trying to be rude. Will you drop him?" "The bug?" Breck stared at her, exasperated. She had never so put all her effort into being antagonistic. "You'll have to mind me, Irene," he vowed. "That boy is not friendly to the forest for-est service. He's dangerous. I can't let you bring on any more trouble. Things are close to an edge already." al-ready." For an instant she seemed to comprehend. com-prehend. But her sardonic smile banished that' "It makes a man awfully dangerous if a girl cuts him, Gordon. You understand how that 'S "You mean you have a date with Tillson?" "Tomorrow. He promised to teach me how to lope. I certainly cannot refuse." "You 11 have to." "Oh pooh! You can't prevent us Irom'riding on your meadow." Irene paused, frowned, smiled brightly. "Really," she finished, "if you are so worried, you can invite your cowgirl friend and go with us. Breck stood up, concealing his flare of anger. He knew, with Irene in this mood, any further argument was futile. He could only appeal to her reason. "Think it over," he asked. i -J ot fooling." Any thought she may have given to it during the night did not change her action the next morning. About nine o'clock Breck saw her come down to the tourist P"turre" in fresh riding habit with little snub-nosed spurs jingling at her heels. He did not go out and she went directly to the corral where Art had brought up her horse. Breck understood the game. Perhaps Per-haps Irene could not lope cowboy fashion, though she knew how to canter well enough, having been taught that by various young men on the social paths of Flintridge. Now she was sweetly helpless. Art saddled for her, readjusted her stirrups, stir-rups, let her put one dainty boot on his knee in assisting her to mount. Then he handed up a leather quirt the braiding of which must have taken half the night Side by side they moved out across the meadow, heading toward a level spot beyond the stream. Breck left his cabin. The Senator came down from his camp to meet him. "Well, my boy," he chuckled, "your treatment worked. I'm not nearly as stiff this morning. Where do we go today?" Breck had Intended a trip into country where Sutherland could find golden trout, but now canceled it. "I'm sorry. I'll have to put off our ride. My horse has cast a shoe and I might as well go over the whole bunch at once." He felt it unwise to leave the station sta-tion as long as Irene was nearby, courting trouble. His fear was not for her. She could freeze a man when the time came. Yet if Tillson realized she had deliberately made a fool of him, there was no telling what way his vengeance would turn. "Anything suits me," the Senator answered genially. "I'll take Mary for a walk up the canyon. The fish can wait." "Tomorrow, maybe," Breck suggested, sug-gested, but. gave even that with mental reservation. When Sutherland had gone back to camp Breck tied his stock under a pine and went to work. He had attempted the job only once before, and that was at headquarters with Sierra Slim's help. Now he had no envy for the village blacksmith. At times when he straightened from bending over a hoof, he glanced off across the meadow. Irene's lesson was progressing. He saw her lope short distances with Art close at her side. Breck finished with Kit, then began be-gan on Custer, and as the big gray objected, his whole attention was given to the job. When he did look up again, Irene and Tillson were not in sight He stepped out from the 1 tree and surveyed the meadow, following fol-lowing with his eyes up a narrow arm that disappeared behind a ridge of rock. For a moment he stood doubtful. Perhaps he was making too much of the whole affair. He strode back to work. It was half an hour later when two figures came from the gap and turned toward his station. Immediately Imme-diately Breck saw the unusual distance dis-tance between them. Irene rode in the lead. Art held back. They kept that position across the meadow and at the stream Irene swung up to the camp alone. Art loped into the tourist pasture, brought out his mules and saddled them. Then he lashed on the salt bags, drawing cinches savagely and cursing any animal that moved. With packs secured, he flung himself him-self into the saddle and pushed his train in a fast walk north toward Sulphur Creek. "And that" Breck wondered, "means what?" It could mean much, and he knew the waste of time in trying to guess. One thing he felt would follow now. Irene would come back to him. She usually usu-ally did. Give her time. He cooked his noon meal, loitered in sight about the cabin, then went back to finish his shoeing. Goof was the last. Breck had three shoes on the mule and the fourth fitted, when a small voice behind him said: "You don't know how poetic you look! The village smithy!" He dropped the hoof and turned. Irene was perched on a log. "How long have you been there?" he asked. "Hours. I thought you would never nev-er look around." Breck picked up the hoof again and tacked on the shoe. "Where's Arthur?" "That cowhand?" Irene corrected. correct-ed. "Oh, he couldn't stay any longer. long-er. Had some important business tonight." She drew her shoulders together to-gether in a little disdainful shrug. "I can't stand a brag." Breck bent the nails and clinched them, then finished off with the rasp. He wanted to let Irene continue of her own accord. She did presently; moving nearer near-er and sitting on the anvil. "He was an interesting fellow. But he misunderstood my motives." "Of course," Breck agreed. "How could he know that you were doing it mostly for me to watch." "Why, how can you say that!" Before answering, Breck released Goof, picked up his tools and put them in the box. Then he sat down Deside her. "Irene, we're not children." chil-dren." Suddenly she put both hands on his arm, laughing, "You are, Gordon! Gor-don! Just a big boy. You're not really disturbed, are you?" Breck frowned. "You haven't helped matters by sending Tillson off like that." "Pooh! I'm not afraid of him." "That isn't what I mean." "You're afraid of him?" Irene smiled. Breck ignored it. "I don't like to have things more complicated, that's alL" "He's just a big brag, Gordon. I found that out And my woman's instinct tells me a brag is usually harmless." "Not this one," Breck asserted. He paused midway in rolling a cigarette, cig-arette, then crushed the paper in his hand. "What did Tillson brag about?" "Oh, what a man he Is in these mountains. How many cows he owns and how he is the big boss here. Except for a brother, who is boss too. He can even forecast events, like oh I can't remember. I was tired of it by that time." (TO BE CONTINUED) |
