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

Passage, For Grierson, Entering The Room, Explained:

"He Means We've Made Up Our Minds To Look For Mr. Lansing."

Grant Nodded In Assent.

"Then My Man Goes.  Turn Out The Boys, Jake; You Know The Place.  I

Want Three Horses Saddled, Quick."

"Four," Said Flora, Firmly.  "I'm Coming."

Grant Did Not Try To Dissuade Her.

"Write To Flett," He Said.

He Went Out Hastily In Search Of Blankets And Provisions, And When He

Returned, His Hired Men Had Gathered About The Door And The Note Was

Finished.  He Threw It To One Of Them.

"Ride With That As Hard As You Can," He Said, And Called Another,

"You'll Come With Us."

"We're A Strong Party Already," Edgar Broke In.  "You're Leaving The

Place Poorly Guarded, And The Rustlers May Have Counted On Something Of

The Kind.  Suppose They Finish Their Work By Driving Off Every Beast

That's Left As Soon As We Have Gone."

"I've Got To Take My Chances; We'll Want The Boys To Make A Thorough

Search."

Grant Swung Round Toward The Remaining Men.

"You Two Will Watch Out Behind The Woodstack Or In The Granary.  No

Stranger's To Come Near House Or Stable."

"The Woodpile," Said Flora, With A Hard White Face And An Ominous

Sparkle In Her Eyes.  "You Would Command The Outbuildings There.  If

Anybody Tries To Creep Up At Night, Call Once, And Then Shoot To Kill."

Edgar Saw That She Meant Her Instructions To Be Carried Out; But He

Forced A Smile.

"And This Is The Canadian Wheat-Belt, Which I Was Told Was So Peaceful

And Orderly!"

"It Looks As If You Had Been Misinformed," Flora Rejoined With A Cold

Collectedness Which He Thought Of As Dangerous.  "One, However, Now And

Then Hears Of Violent Crime In London."

They Were Mounted In A Few Minutes, And After A Hard Ride The Party

Broke Up At Dawn, Dispersing So That Each Member Of It Could Make

Independent Search And Inquiries At The Scattered Homesteads.  Meeting

Places And Means Of Communication Were Arranged; But Flora And Her

Father Rode Together, Pushing On Steadily Southward Over The Vast Gray

Plain.  Little Was Said Except When They Called At Some Outlying Farm,

But Grant Now And Then Glanced At The Girl's Set Face With Keenly

Scrutinizing Eyes.  In The Middle Of The Scorching Afternoon He

Suggested That She Should Await His Return At A Homestead In The

Distance, But Was Not Surprised When She Uncompromisingly Refused.

They Spent The Night At A Small Ranch, Borrowed Fresh Horses In The

Morning, And Set Out Again; But They Found No Trace Of The Fugitives

During The Day, And It Was Evening When Edgar And Grierson Joined Them,

As Arranged, At A Lonely Farm.  The Two Men Rode In Wearily On Jaded

Horses, And Flora, Who Was The First To Notice Their Approach, Went Out

To Meet Them.

"Nothing?" She Said, When She Saw Their Dejected Faces.

"Nothing," Edgar Listlessly Answered.  "If The People We Have Seen

Aren't In League With The Rustlers--And I Don't Think That's

Probable--The Fellows Must Have Gone A Different Way."

"They've Gone South!" Flora Insisted.  "We May Be A Little Too Far To

The East Of Their Track."

"Then, We Must Try A Different Line Of Country Tomorrow."

The Farmer's Wife Had Promised To Find Flora Quarters, The Men Were

Offered Accommodation In A Barn, And When The Air Cooled Sharply In The

Evening, Edgar Walked Out On To The Prairie With The Girl.  She Had

Kept Near Him Since His Arrival, But He Was Inclined To Believe This

Was Rather On Account Of His Association With George Than Because She

Found Any Charm In His Society.  By And By, They Sat Down On A Low Rise

From Which They Could See The Sweep Of Grass Run On, Changing To Shades

Of Blue And Purple, Toward The Smoky Red Glare Of Sunset On Its Western

Rim.  To The South, It Was All Dim And Steeped In Dull Neutral Tones,

Conveying An Idea Of Vast Distance.

Flora Shivered, Drawing Her Thin Linen Jacket Together While She

Buttoned It, And Edgar Noticed Something Beneath It That Broke The

Outline Of Her Waist.

"What's That At Your Belt?" He Asked.

"A Magazine Pistol," She Answered With A Rather Harsh Laugh, Producing

The Beautifully Made Weapon,

"It's A Pretty Thing.  I Wonder Whether You Can Use It?"

"Will You Stand Up At About Twenty Paces And Hold Out Your Hat?"

"Certainly Not!" Said Edgar Firmly.  "I Wouldn't Mind Putting It On A

Stick, Only That The Shot Would Bring The Others Out.  But I've No

Doubt You Can Handle A Pistol; You're A Curious People."

He Thought The Last Remark Was Justified.  Here Was A Girl, As Refined

And Highly Trained In Many Ways As Any He Had Met, And Yet Who Owned A

Dangerous Weapon And Could Use It Effectively.  Then There Was Her

Father, An Industrious, Peaceable Farmer, Whose Attention Was, As A

Rule, Strictly Confined To The Amassing Of Money, But Who Was

Nevertheless Capable Of Riding Or Shooting Down The Outlaws Who

Molested Him Or His Friends.  What Made The Thing More Striking Was

That Neither Of Them Had Been Used To Alarms; They Had Dwelt In Calm

Security Until The Past Twelve Months.  Edgar, However, Remembered That

They Sprang From A Stock That Had Struggled Sternly For Existence With

Forest And Flood And Frost; No Doubt, In Time Of Stress, The Strong

Primitive Strain Came Uppermost.  Their Nature Had Not Been Altogether

Softened By Civilization.  The Thought Flung A Useful Light Upon

Flora's Character.

"If The Trial's A Lengthy One And These Fellows Hold Him Up Until It's

Over, It Will Be A Serious Thing For George," He Resumed, By Way Of

Implying That This Was The Worst That Could Befall His Comrade.  "The

Grain's Ripening Fast, And He Hasn't Made His Arrangements For Harvest

Yet.  Men Seem Pretty Scarce Around Here, Just Now."

"It's A Good Crop; I'm Glad Of That," Said Flora, Willing To Avoid The

Graver Side Of The Topic.  "Mr. Lansing Was Anxious About It, But This

Harvest Should Set Him On His Feet.  I Suppose He Hasn't Paid Off The

Full Price Of The Farm."

"As A Matter Of Fact, He Hasn't Paid Anything At All."

"Then Has He Only Rented The Place?"

There Was Surprise And Strong Interest In The Girl's Expression And

Edgar Saw That He Had Made A Telling Admission.  However, He Did Not

Regret It.

"No," He Said; "That's Not The Case, Either.  The Farm Is Still Mrs.

Marston's."

"Ah!  There's Something I Don't Understand."

Edgar Was Sorry For Her, And He Felt That She Was Entitled To An

Explanation.  Indeed, Since George Was Strangely Unobservant, He

Thought It Should Have Been Made Earlier; But The Matter Had Appeared

Too Delicate For Him To Meddle With.  Now, However, When The Girl's

Nature Was Strongly Stirred, There Was A Risk That, Supposing His

Comrade Was Discovered Wounded Or Was Rescued In Some Dramatic Way, She

Might Be Driven To A Betrayal Of Her Feelings That Would Seriously

Embarrass George And Afterward Cause Her Distress.

"George," He Explained, "Is Merely Carrying On The Farm As Mrs.

Marston's Trustee."

"But That Hardly Accounts For His Keen Eagerness To Make His Farming

Profitable.  It Strikes One As Springing From Something Stronger Than

His Duty As Trustee."

Edgar Nodded.

"Well, You See, He Is In Love With Her!"

Flora Sat Quite Still For A Moment Or Two, And Then Laughed--A Little

Bitter Laugh; She Was Overstrained And Could Not Repress It.  A Flood

Of Hot Color Surged Into Her Face, But In Another Moment She Had

Recovered Some Degree Of Composure.

"So That Is Why He Came Out?" She Said.

"Yes; He Was In Love With Her Before She Married Marston.  At Least,

That's His Impression."

"His Impression?" Echoed Flora, Keenly Anxious To Cover Any Signs Of

The Shock She Had Received And To Learn All That Could Be Told.  "Do

You Mean That Mr. Lansing Doesn't Know Whether He Is In Love With Her

Or Not?"

"No, Not Exactly!"  Edgar Felt That He Was On Dangerous Ground.  "I'm

Afraid I Can't Quite Explain What I Really Do Mean.  George, Of Course,

Is Convinced About The Thing; But I've A Suspicion That He May Be

Mistaken; Though He'd Be Very Indignant If He Heard Me Say So."

He Paused, Doubtful Whether He Was Handling The Matter Prudently, But

He Felt That Something Must Be Done To Relieve The Strain, And

Continued:

"George Has The Faculty Of Respectful Admiration Highly Developed, But

He Doesn't Use It With Much Judgment; In Fact, He's A Rather Reckless

Idealist.  There Are Excuses For Him; He Was Never Much Thrown Into

Women's Society."

"You Think That Explains It?" Flora Forced A Smile.  "But Go On."

"My Idea Is That George Has Been Led By Admiration And Pity, And Not By

Love At All.  I Don't Think He Knows The Difference; He's Not Much Of A

Psychologist.  Then, You See, He's Thorough, And Having Got An Idea

Into His Mind, It Possesses Him And Drives Him To Action.  He Doesn't

Stop To Analyze His Feelings."

"So He Came Out To Look After Mrs. Marston's Property Because He Felt

Sorry For Her, And Believed Her Worthy Of Respect?  What Is Your

Opinion Of Her?"

"I'll Confess That I Wish She Hadn't Captivated George."

Flora's Face Grew Very Scornful.

"I Haven't Your Chivalrous Scruples; And I Know Mrs. Marston.  She's

Utterly Worthless!  What Is Likely To Happen When Your Comrade Finds It

Out?"

Then She Rose Abruptly.

"After All, That's A Matter Which Chiefly Concerns Mr. Lansing, And I

Dare Say The Woman He Believes