Buck Peters, Ranchman, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  H. WHITBY BOOTH IS SHOWN HOW

  If any man of the Bar-20 punchers had been brought face to face withGeorge McAllister he would have suffered the shock of his life."Frenchy?" he would have hesitated, "What in--? Why, Frenchy?" And theshock would have been mutual, since Frenchy McAllister had been deadsome months, a fact of which his brother George was sorrowfully aware.Yet so alike were they that any of Frenchy's old friends would havethought the dead come to life.

  A distinguishing feature was the eye-glasses which George had long foundnecessary. He took them off and laid aside his book as the butlerannounced Mr. Booth.

  H. Whitby Booth entered the room with the hesitating step of one who hasa favor to ask. A tall, well-set-up man of the blonde type of so manyof his countrymen, his usual movements were slow when compared with thenervous action of those in the hustling city of Chicago. Hesitationgave him the appearance of a mechanical figure, about to run down. Mr.McAllister's hearty welcome did not seem to reassure him.

  "Ah--Miss McAllister--ah--is not at home," he volunteered, rather thanquestioned.

  The other man eyed him quizzically. "No," he agreed, "she and Mrs.Blake are out somewhere; I am not just sure where. Shall I inquire?"

  "No, oh no. I rather wanted to talk to you, you know--that is--ah--"

  "Sit down, Whitby, and relieve your mind. Cigars on that table there,and some whiskey and fizz. Shall I ring for brandy?"

  "Awfully good of you, really. No, I--I think I 'll go in as I am. Thefact is I want Margaret--Miss McAllister--and I thought I 'd ask if youhad any objections."

  "Margaret has."

  "Oh, I say!"

  "Fact, she has. Might as well face the music, Whitby. The truth isjust this: It's less than a week ago since Margaret was holding you upas a horrible example. Margaret comes from a line of hustlers; she hasnot had common sense and national pride bred out of her in a fashionableschool; and she looks with extreme disfavor on an idler."

  "But I say, Mr. McAllister, you don't think--"

  "No, my boy, I don't think where Margaret is concerned--Margaret thinks.Don't misunderstand me. I like you, Whitby. Confidentially, I believeMargaret does, too. But I am quite sure she will never marry a man whodoes nothing and, as she expressed it herself, lives on an allowancefrom his father."

  "Then I understand, sir, you have no objections?"

  "None in the world--because I believe you will strike your gait beforelong and become something of a hustler yourself. But let me tell you,Margaret does n't deal in futures--I 'm used to it--but she insists on afact, not a probability."

  Whitby drew a breath which was largely expressive of relief. "In thatcase, sir, I 'll try my luck," and he arose to say good-night.

  "You know where to find them?"

  "Rather! I was going there when I had spoken to you."

  "I see," said Mr. McAllister, somewhat grimly, remembering the other'sgreeting. "Sit down, Whitby. The night is young, you can't miss them,and I am so sure of the badness of your luck that I should like to giveyou a little encouragement to fall back on." Whitby resumed his seatand Mr. McAllister puffed thoughtfully at his cigar for a few momentsbefore speaking.

  "Not to go too far back," he began, "my grandfather was a boy when hisfather took him from Ireland, the birthplace of the family, to France,the birthplace of liberty, as the old man thought. Those were stirringtimes for that boy and the iron of life entered into him at an earlyage. He married and had one son, my father, who thought the liberty ofthis country so much better than that of France, that he came here,bringing his young wife with him; the wife died in giving birth to myyounger brother, John. All that line were hustlers, Whitby. They hadto be, to keep alive. Margaret knows their history better than I do andglories in it. You see?"

  Whitby nodded mournfully. He was beginning to lose confidence again.

  "My father would have been alive to-day but for an unfortunate accidentwhich carried off both him and my mother within a few days. My brotherand myself were found pretty well provided for. My share has notdecreased. In fact I have done very well for a man who is notavaricious. But I had to fight; and more than once it was a close call,win or lose. Margaret knows all that, Whitby, and the dear girl is asproud of her father, I do believe, as of any who went before him. Hermother left us very soon and Margaret has been my companion ever sinceshe could talk. Are you beginning to understand?"

  "I am, indeed," was the reluctant acknowledgment.

  "Very good. Then here is where you come in." His face clouded and hewas silent so long that Whitby looked up inquiringly. The motionaroused McAllister and he continued:

  "My brother was queer. I have always thought his birth had something todo with it; but however that may be, he was, in my opinion, peculiar inmany of his ways. The choice of his path in life was quite on a parwith his character: he invested every dollar he had in land out West, heand a partner whom I have never seen; bought and paid for land and stockat a time when Government land was used by any one without payment ofany kind and when live-stock raising was almost an unknown industry, atleast in that part of the country. But that was n't all. He went outto the ranch and took his delicate young wife with him, a bride, andlived in a wild region where they saw only Indians, outlaws, and thosewho were worse than either." His face hardened and the hand he laid onthe table trembled as he turned to face to his listener. "Worse thaneither, Whitby," he repeated. "The Indians were bad enough at times,God knows, but there is excuse for their deviltry; there could be noexcuse for those others.

  "One reason John gave for going West was that the life would bringhealth to his wife. It did so. A few months' time saw her a robustwoman. And then John returned to the ranch one day to come upon a scenethat drove him crazy, I verily believe. No need to go into it, though Ihad the details from his partner at the time--John did not write me foryears. They both started out after the murderers and wandered over agreat part of this country before finding the chief fiend. Even hisdeath brought no peace to John. He would never go back to the old placenor would his partner, out of feeling for him. After much persuasion Igot them to put matters into my hands, but so many years had passed thatI found the ownership in dispute and it is but lately that I havesucceeded in regaining title. It was too late for John, who died beforeI came into possession, but his partner, a man named Peters, has gone upthere from a Texan ranch to run the place. He is half owner and shouldbe the best man for the job. But--and my experience with thoseWesterners places emphasis on that 'but'--I do not really know just whatkind of a man he is. I am putting quite a large sum of money in thisventure, relying upon Peters' knowledge and hoping for a square deal.And if he is the best man for the place, you are the best man I know toshow me that. Don't interrupt.

  "I know right well what Margaret will tell you to-night, and if you wantto make her change her mind, you could have no better opportunity than Ioffer. My brother's history is an abiding grief with Margaret, and ifyou go out there and make good you will surely make good with her.

  "That's all. If I 'm right, come and see me to-morrow at the office. Iwill have everything noted down for you in writing. Commit it to memoryand then destroy the notes; because you would be valueless if any oneinterested discovered you were acting for me. And don't see Margaretafter to-night before you go."

  He arose and held out his hand. Whitby grasped it as he stood up andlooked frankly at him. "It's awfully good of you, Mr. McAllister," hedeclared. "You 've left me deuced little hope, I must say, but there 'sno knowing where you are if you don't ask, is there? And if I come acropper I 'll try your way and chance it."

  "You 'll find my way is right. I 've made mistakes in my life but neverany where Margaret was concerned. Good-night."

  * * * * *

  Whitby stood at the top of the steps, slowly drawing his right-handglove through his gloved left
hand, time after time, casting a long lookbefore he leaped. The driver of his hired _coupe_ eyed him withcalculating patience, observing to himself that if this were a specimenof the average Englishman, England must be a cinch for a cabman. Whitbyhad not yet arrived at the leaping stage when another _coupe_, a privateone with a noticeably fine team, stopped in passing the house, and avoice hailed him: "Hello, Whit! What are you mooning there for?"

  Whitby smiled: for all his consideration he had been pushed in at thelast. He slowly descended the steps while he replied: "Evenin', Wallie.I was just going to drop in on the Sparrows."

  "Good enough! Me, too. Jump in here and let your wagon follow. Do youhear, you driver? Trail in behind--unless you won't need him, Whit."

  "Oh, let him come along. I--ah--I may be leaving rather early, don'tyou know."

  "That so? Me, too. I'm darned glad I met you, Whit. I 'm in a regularblue funk--Brown is sulky as a bear. He 's been driving me about for anhour, I should say, and he does n't understand it. Fact is, Whit, I 'mgoing to ask a girl to marry me to-night, and I don't want to, not alittle bit; but if I don't, some other fellow will, and that wouldbe--well, worse."

  "By Jove! Marry you _to-night_! Do you fancy she will?"

  "No, you 'bloomin' Britisher.' _Ask_ her, not marry her, to-night. Forthe love of Moses! Do you think it's an elopement?"

  "Well, I did n't know, you know," and his tone was one of distinctdisappointment. "You seem to be pretty certain she 'll have you."

  "Oh! She 'll have me right enough, but I 've got to ask first and makesure. There 're too many others hanging around to suit me."

  "I say, old chap, I hope you won't mind my asking but--it is n't MissMcAllister, by any chance, is it?"

  Wallie turned in his seat and stared at the anxious face of Whitby for afew moments, then he broke into shouts of laughter. "You, too," hemanaged to say; and at last: "No, you trembling aspirant, it isn't, byany chance, Miss McAllister. Margie and I are good friends, all right,but not in that way. Oh, you sly Johnnie! Why, I 'll bet a hundred you're up to the same game, yourself. Own up, now."

  "I think a great deal of Miss McAllister, a very great deal. If Ithought she 'd have me I 'd ask her the first opportunity."

  "And that will be in a few minutes. She 's bound to be there--and herewe are. Wish me luck, Whit."

  "I do, with all my heart, Wallie," and he was very serious in hisearnestness.

  "Same to you, Whit, and many--no, not that, of course." They were inthe rooms by this time, both pairs of eyes wandering, searching this wayand that as they moved toward their pretty hostess whose recent marriageseemed to have increased, if possible, her popularity with the male sex;she stood so surrounded by a chaffing crowd of men that they founddifficulty in getting near her. They did not linger, however, as eachcaught sight of the object of his pursuit at the same time, and theirpaths parted from that moment.

  The maturity of Margaret McAllister's mind would never have beensuspected from her appearance. The pale green satin gown, overhung withlong draperies of silk-fringed tulle, the low round satin corsage beingpartly veiled by a diagonal drapery of the same transparent material,and ornamented--as was the skirt--with a satin scarf, tied with knots ofribbon and clusters of water-lilies--this formed a creation that adorneda perfect figure of medium height, whose symmetry made it seem smallerthan it really was. The Irish temperament and quickness of intelligencewere embodied in a brunette beauty inherited from her French ancestry;but over all, like the first flush of morning's light on a lovelygarden, lay the delicate charm of her American mother. One of a groupof girls, with several men hovering on the outer circle, she detachedherself upon Whitby's approach and advanced to meet him.

  "Good-evening, Mr. Booth. Are n't you late?"

  "Yes, rather." Whitby drew comfort from the fact that she had chosen tonotice it.

  "Aunt Jessie is over this way. She is complaining of the heat already.Perhaps you would better mention it."

  "Mrs. Blake? I will. I 've a favor to ask of Mrs. Blake. Let's joinher."

  Mrs. Blake was of that comfortable age, size, and appearance whichexpressed satisfaction with the world and its ways. She affected blackat all times with quite touching consistency; doubly so, since gossiphinted at a married life not altogether happy. However, her widowhooddid not permit derogatory remarks concerning the late Mr. Blake, whomade up to her in dying all his short-comings when alive; and she hadproven a discreet chaperon for Margaret from the assumption of thatposition. Her most conspicuous weakness was endeavoring to overcome agrowing embonpoint with corsets, and the tight lacing undoubtedly hadmuch to do with her susceptibility to heat. Whitby was a favorite withher and she greeted him warmly, closing her waving fan to tap him withit now and again in emphasis.

  But Whitby's purpose would not wait; as soon as the chance offered hebegged free, and arose to the occasion with a daring that surprisedhimself. "I am going to hide up with Miss McAllister for quite a time,Mrs. Blake. If any one comes bothering, just put him off, will you?That is, if Miss McAllister doesn't mind."

  "Mind? Of course she doesn't mind. Run along, Margie, and for Heaven'ssake, don't sit in a draft--though I don't believe you can find one inthis house," and the fan was brought into more vigorous action at thereminding thought.

  "Well, I don't know, Mr. Booth," remonstrated Margaret as they movedaway. "They will begin to dance very soon and I promised Wallie Hartmanthe opening. You came in together, didn't you?"

  "Oh, Wallie! Yes, he was pretty keen on getting here but I rather fancyhe's forgotten about that dance, you know."

  "What makes you say that? What mischief are you two brewing?"

  "Ah--it's Wallie's secret, you know,--that is, his part of it is--I say,here 's the very spot."

  They had made the turn behind the stairs, where a punch bowl stood; thespace immediately behind the stairs being too low in which to standcomfortably upright, a mass of foliage was banked in a half circle,outside of which the stand and punch bowl were placed; inside, athoughtful hostess had arranged a _tete-a-tete_, quite unnoticeable fromwithout. Whitby's attention had been drawn to it by the couple who hademerged upon their approach, the girl radiant and the man walking onair, of which details Whitby was entirely oblivious. Margaret was moreobserving and she looked after Wallie with a dawning look ofunderstanding and then at Whitby with a quick glance of apprehension.There was no time to protest, even if she would, as Whitby had led herbehind the leafy screen before she fully realized the import of hisaction.

  Like many slow starters, Whitby, when once in movement, set a rapidpace. He came to the point now with promptitude:

  "Miss McAllister, I arrived late because I called on your father beforecoming here, to ask his permission to address you. I must say he ratherdashed my hopes, you know. He does n't think I 'm such a bad sort--hedoes n't object in the least--but he seemed to fancy his daughterMargaret would. I--I hope he is mistaken."

  She turned to him a face in which the eyes were slowly filling withtears, nor did she remove the hand upon which his rested, on the curvingback of the seat. It was not her first proposal, by several, but therewas a vibrating earnestness, an unexpected tenderness in this big, slowEnglishman which told her she was going to hurt him seriously when shespoke. And she did not want to hurt him; with all her heart and soulshe wished she did not have to hurt him.

  "I 'm not worthy of you, Margaret. I don't think any man is worthy of agood woman, and I 'm just an ordinary man. But I 'll _be_ worthy ofyou, from to-night.--and that whether you say yes or no.

  "You know I love you. You must know I left London and came over here tofollow you. But you don't know how much I care for you--and I can'ttell you. I 'm a duffer at this sort of game--like everything else--Inever did it before--and 'pon my word, I don't know how. But if I couldsay what I feel, then perhaps, you might know better. What is it to be,Margaret? Wait a bit! If you feel doubtful, I 'll wait as long as youwant me to. But--but--I 'm
afraid it's no go." He sat looking dumblyat her, hoping for some sign of encouragement, but there was nomisreading the answer in her face.

  It was a long minute before she spoke. She was unnerved by thehysterical desire to put her arms around him and soothe him as she mighta hurt child. Something of her embarrassment was conveyed to him andwith the wish to save her the pain of refusing in words he started as ifto rise. She stopped him with a gesture.

  "Wait. I _will_ say what I want you to know. I like you--no! not inthat way; not the way a woman should--the man she expects to marry.Perhaps if you had been--I am not sure--but I could _not_ marry a drone.Oh! why don't you wake up! How _can_ you go on from day to day with nothought but self-indulgence? You say you love me. Ask yourself: Is notthat merely a form of self-indulgence? Oh, I know you would take careof me and defer to me and let me have my way in everything--you are thatkind of a man--but to what end? That I might be the more pleasing toyou. Is it your purpose to dawdle through life, taking only such painsas shall make things more pleasing to you?"

  "Is that all, Margaret? Is it only because you fancy I'm a loafer?"

  "But you are! You are! Oh! I don't know--I 'm not sure--"

  "I 'm sure!" the exulting certainty in his voice startled her. "I 'msure!" he repeated. "I may be a bit of an ass in some things but nowoman would care as you care, what a man was or what he did unless sheloved him. You love me, Margaret, thank God! Give me a chance. You're only a girl, yet. Give me a year and if I go under, or you find I'm wrong, I 'll thank you for the chance and never blame you. Willyou?"

  Her heart was pounding in suffocating throbs and she trembled like aleaf in the wind before the eager intensity of his gaze. A strong willheld her in check, else she had given way then and there, but she facedhim with a fine bravery. "Yes," she promised, "I will. Go away andmake good."

  "Make good! By Jove, that's what your father said. Make good--I 'llnot forget it." His head bent low in an old-fashioned but becomingsalute while her free hand rested unfelt for an instant upon the yellowhair, a gesture that was at once a blessing and a prayer.