Ranching For Sylvia Volume-554 by Harold Bindloss (chrome ebook reader .TXT) 📕

Impossible."

"It's Blamed Hard Luck," Grumbled Flett.  "I May Trail The Fellows, But

I Certainly Won't Get Them With The Liquor Right In The Wagon, As It

Will Be Now, And Without Something Of That Kind It's Mighty Hard To

Secure A Conviction.  I've No Use For The Average Jury; What We Want Is

Power To Drop On To A Man Without Any Fuss Or Fooling And Fix Him So He

Won't Make More Trouble."

"It's Fortunate You'll Never Get It," Edgar Remarked.  "I've A Notion

It Would Be A Dangerous Thing To Trust Even A Northwest Policeman With.

You're Not All Quite Perfect Yet."

Then George, Recovering From His Lethargy, Remembered The Letters And

Eagerly Opened The One From Sylvia.  It Consisted Of A Few Sentences In

Which She Carelessly Told Him That If He Came Over He Would Not See

Her, As She Was Going To Egypt With Herbert And Muriel.  The Hint Of

Regret That Her Journey Could Not Be Put Off Looked Merely

Conventional, But She Said He Might Make His Visit In The Early Summer,

As She Would Have Returned By Then.

George's Face Hardened As He Read It, For The Disappointment Was

Severe.  He Thought That Sylvia Might Have Remembered That He Could Not

Leave The Farm After Spring Had Begun.  The Man Felt Wounded And, For

Once, Inclined To Bitterness.  His Optimistic Faith, Which Idealized

Its Object, Was Bound To Bring Him Suffering When Dispelled By

Disillusion; Offering Sincere Homage To All That Seemed Most Worthy, He

Had Not Learned Tolerance.  Though His Appreciation Was Quick And

Generous, He Must Believe In What He Admired, And It Was, Perhaps, A

Misfortune That He Was Unable To Recognize Shortcomings With Cynical

Good-Humor.  He Could Distinguish White From Black--The One Stood For

Spotless Purity, The Other Was Very Dark Indeed--But His Somewhat

Restricted Vision Took No Account Of The More Common Intermediate

Shades.

For All That, He Was Incapable Of Seriously Blaming Sylvia.  Her Letter

Had Hurt Him, But He Began To Make Excuses For Her, And Several That

Seemed Satisfactory Presented Themselves; Then, Feeling A Little

Comforted, He Opened The Letter From Herbert With Some Anxiety.  When

He Read It, He Let It Drop Upon The Table And Set His Lips Tight.  His

Cousin Informed Him That It Would Be Most Injudicious To Raise Any

Money Just Then By Selling Shares, As He Had Been Requested To Do.

Those He Had Bought On George's Account Had Depreciated In An

Unexpected Manner And The Markets Were Stagnant.  George, He Said, Must

Carry On His Farming Operations As Economically As Possible, Until The

Turn Came.

"Bad News?" Said Edgar Sympathetically.

"Yes.  I'll Have To Cut Out Several Plans I'd Made For Spring; In Fact,

I Don't Quite See How I'm To Go On Working On A Profitable Scale.

We'll Have To Do Without The Extra Bunch Of Stock I Was Calculating On;

And I'm Not Sure I Can Experiment With That Quick-Ripening Wheat.

There Are A Number Of Other Things We'll Have To Dispense With."

"We'll Pull Through By Some Means," Edgar Rejoined Encouragingly, And

George Got Up.

"I Feel Rather Worn Out," He Said.  "I Think I'll Go To Sleep."

He Walked Wearily From The Room, Crumpling Up The Letters He Had Risked

His Life To Secure.

The Storm Had Raged For Twenty-Four Hours, But It Had Now Passed, And

It Was A Calm Night When A Little Party Sat In George's Living-Room.

Outside, The White Prairie Lay Still And Silent Under The Arctic Frost,

But There Was No Breath Of Wind Stirring And The Room Was Comfortably

Warm.  A Big Stove Glowed In The Middle Of It, And The Atmosphere Was

Permeated With The Smell Of Hot Iron, Stale Tobacco, And The Exudations

From Resinous Boards.

Grant And His Daughter Had Called When Driving Back From A Distant

Farm, And Trooper Flett Had Returned To The Homestead After A Futile

Search For The Liquor Smugglers.  He Was Not Characterized By Mental

Brilliancy, But His Persevering Patience Atoned For That, And His

Superior Officers Considered Him A Sound And Useful Man.  Sitting

Lazily In An Easy Chair After A Long Day's Ride In The Nipping Frost,

He Discoursed Upon The Situation.

"Things Aren't Looking Good," He Said.  "We've Had Two Cases Of

Cattle-Killing In The Last Month, Besides Some Horses Missing, And A

Railroad Contractor Knocked Senseless With An Empty Bottle; And

Nobody's Locked Up Yet."

"I Don't Think You Have Any Reason To Be Proud Of It," Edgar Broke In.

Flett Spread Out His Hands In Expostulation.

"It's Not Our Fault.  I Could Put My Hands On Half A Dozen Men Who're

At The Bottom Of The Trouble; But What Would Be The Use Of That, When

The Blamed Jury Would Certainly Let Them Off?  In A Case Of This Kind,

Our System Of Justice Is Mighty Apt To Break Down.  It's A Pet Idea Of

Mine."

"How Would You Propose To Alter It?" Edgar Asked, To Lead Him On.

"If We Must Have A Jury, I'd Like To Pick Them, And They'd Be Men Who'd

Lost Some Stock.  You Could Depend On Them."

"There's Something To Be Said For That," Grant Admitted With A Dry

Smile.

"This Is How We're Fixed," Flett Went On.  "We're Up Against A Small,

But Mighty Smart, Hard Crowd; We Know Them All Right, But We Can't Get

After Them.  You Must Make Good All You Say In Court, And We Can't Get

Folks To Help Us.  They'd Rather Mind The Store, Have A Game Of Pool,

Or Chop Their Cordwood."

"I Can Think Of A Few Exceptions," Edgar Said.  "Mrs. Nelson, For

Example.  One Could Hardly Consider Her Apathetic."

"That Woman's Dangerous!  When We Were Working Up Things Against

Beamish, She Must Make Him Look Like A Persecuted Victim.  She Goes Too

Far; The Others Won't Go Far Enough.  Guess They're Afraid Of Getting

Hurt."

"You Couldn't Say That Of Mr. Hardie," Flora Objected.

"No.  But Some Of His People Would Like To Fire Him, And He's Going To

Have Trouble About His Pay.  Anyhow, This State Of Things Is Pretty

Hard On Us.  There's No Use In Bringing A Man Up When You've Only Got

Unwilling Witnesses."

"What You Want Is A Dramatic Conviction," Said Edgar Sympathetically.

"Sure.  It's What We're Working For, And We'd Get It If Everybody

Backed Us Up As Your Partner And Mr. Grant Are Doing."  He Turned To

George.  "My Coming Back Here Is A Little Rough On You."

George Smiled.

"I Dare Say It Will Be Understood By The Opposition, But I Don't Mind.

It Looks As If I Were A Marked Man Already."

A Few Minutes Later Flett Went Out To Attend To His Horse; George Took

Grant Into A Smaller Room Which He Used For An Office; And Edgar And

Flora Were Left Alone.  The Girl Sat Beside The Stove, With A

Thoughtful Air, And Edgar Waited For Her To Speak.  Flora Inspired Him

With An Admiration Which Was Largely Tinged With Respect, Though, Being

Critical, He Sometimes Speculated About The Cause For This.  She Was

Pretty, But Her Style Of Beauty Was Rather Severe.  She Had Fine Eyes

And Clearly-Cut Features, But Her Face Was A Little Too Reposeful And

Her Expression Usually Somewhat Grave; He Preferred Animation And A

Dash Of Coquetry.  Her Conversation Was To The Point--She Had A Way Of

Getting At The Truth Of A Matter--But There Was Nevertheless A Certain

Reserve In It And He Thought It Might Have Been More Sparkling.  He Had

Discovered Some Time Ago That Adroit Flattery And Hints That His

Devotion Was Hers To Command Only Afforded Her Calm Amusement.

"Mr. Lansing Looks A Little Worried," She Said At Length.

"It Strikes Me As Only Natural," Edgar Replied, "He Has Had A Steer

Killed Since The Rustlers Shot The Bull; We Have Foiled One Or Two More

Attempts Only By Keeping A Good Lookout, And He Knows That He Lies Open

To Any New Attack That May Be Made On Him.  His Position Isn't What You

Could Call Comfortable."

"I Hardly Think That Would Disturb Your Comrade Very Much."

Edgar Saw That She Would Not Be Put Off With An Inadequate Explanation,

And He Was A Little Surprised That She Did Not Seem To Mind Displaying

Her Interest In George.

"Then," He Said, "For Another Thing, He's Disappointed About Having To

Give Up An English Visit He Had Looked Forward To."

He Saw A Gleam That Suggested Comprehension In Her Eyes.

"You Mean That He Is Badly Disappointed?"

"Yes," Said Edgar; "I Really Think He Is."

He Left Her To Make What She Liked Of This, And He Imagined That There

Was Something To Be Inferred From It.  He Thought