The Range Boss by Charles Alden Seltzer (best novels to read to improve english .TXT) 📕

Ruth. “There’s somethin’ I’d like to say to you. It’s business. If you’d rather hear it private—”

“I think there is nothing—” she began.

“Well,” he said, “I’ve got to leave here.”

Ruth’s face grew long. Uncle Jepson gagged on a mouthful of smoke. Aunt Martha ceased knitting. Masten alone seemed unmoved, but an elated gleam was in his eyes.

“Isn’t that a rather sudden decision, Mr. Vickers?” questioned Ruth after a silence.

“Well, mebbe it is, to you,” said Vickers, with some embarrassment. “But the fact is, I’ve been thinkin’ of goin’ for a long time—about a year to be exact. I was goin’ before your uncle died, but I kept holdin’ on because he wanted me to. You see, ma’am, I’ve got a mother back East. She’s been poorly for quite a while now, an’ has been wantin’ me to come. I’ve been puttin’ it off, but it’s got to the point where it can’t be put off any longer. I got a letter from her doctor the other day, an’ he says that she can’t last a heap longer. So—I’m goin’.”

“That’s too bad,” sympathized Ruth. “You ought to go, and go quickly.”

“I’m aimin’ to, ma’am. But I’ve got to tell you somethin’ before I go. Me an’ your uncle was pretty thick; he trusted me a heap.”

“Yes,” said Ruth; “he told me that he liked and trusted you.”

“Well, you’ll understand then. A couple of months before he cashed in, we was talkin’ of him goin’. He knowed it, ma’am. We was talkin’ about the ranch. He knowed I wanted to leave. ‘What’ll I do for a range boss when you’re gone?’ he asked me. ‘I won’t go till you ain’t here any more,’ I tells him. An’ he grinned. ‘I’m goin’ to leave the Flyin’ W to my niece, Ruth Harkness of Poughkeepsie,’ he says. ‘I’d like her to stay an’ run it—if she likes it here. You’ll be gone then, an’ who in Sam Hill will be range boss then?’ I told him I didn’t have no thoughts on the subject, an’ he continues: ‘Rex Randerson, Vickers—he’ll be range boss. Do you understand? If you was to pull your freight right now, Rex Randerson would be range boss as soon as I could get word over to him. An’ if you’ve got any say-so after I’m gone, an’ Ruth wants to keep the ranch, you tell her that—that Bill Harkness wants Rex Randerson to be range boss after Wes Vickers don’t want it any more.’ That’s what he said, ma’am; them’s his very words.”

Ruth looked at Masten. He was staring stonily out into the plains. Ruth’s cheeks reddened, for she felt that she knew his thoughts. But still, Randerson hadn’t really used him ill at the river, and besides, he had apologized, and it seemed to her that that should end the incident. Also, she still felt rather resentful toward Masten for his attitude toward Tom Chavis after she had complained. And also, lurking deep in her unsophisticated mind was a most feminine impulse to sting Masten to jealousy. She looked up to meet Vickers’ gaze, fixed curiously upon her.

“Could you recommend this man—Randerson?” she asked.

“Why, ma’am, he’s got the best reputation of any man in these parts!”

“But is he efficient?”

“Meanin’ does he know his business? Well, I reckon. He’s got the best head for range work of any man in the country! He’s square, ma’am. An’ there ain’t no man monkeyin’ with him. I’ve knowed him for five years, an’ I ain’t ever knowed him to do a crooked trick, exceptin’”—and here he scratched his head and grinned reminiscently—“when he gets the devil in him which he does occasionally, ma’am—an’ goes to jokin’, ma’am. But they’re mostly harmless jokes, ma’am; he’s never hurt nobody, bad. But he got a level head—a heap leveler than a lot of folks that—”

“I think Tom Chavis would make a good range boss, Ruth,” said Masten. He did not look at her, and his words were expressionless.

“Mister man,” said Vickers evenly, “what do you know about Tom Chavis?”

Masten looked quickly at Vickers, and as quickly looked away, his face slowly reddening.

“He’s foreman now, isn’t he?” he said. “It seems that Harkness trusted him that much.”

“There’s a first time for every man to go wrong, Mister,” said Vickers.

Masten’s voice was almost a sneer.

“Why don’t you tell Chavis that?”

“I’ve told him, Mister—to his face.” Vickers’ own face was growing dark with wrath.

“You were range boss after Harkness’ death,” persisted Masten. “Why didn’t you discharge Chavis?”

“I’m askin’ the new boss for permission to do it now,” declared Vickers. “It’ll be a good wind-up for my stay here.”

“We shall keep Chavis for the present,” said Ruth. “However,” she added firmly, “he shall not be range boss. I do not like him.”

Vickers grinned silent applause. And again Uncle Jepson had trouble with his pipe. Aunt Martha worked her knitting needles a little faster. Masten’s face paled, and the hand that held the cigar quickly clenched, so that smoking embers fell to the porch floor. Whatever his feelings, however, he retained his self-control.

“Of course, it is your affair, Ruth,” he said. “I beg your pardon for offering the suggestion.”

But he left them shortly afterward, lighting a fresh cigar and walking toward the bunkhouse, which was deserted, for Chavis and Pickett had gone to a distant part of the range.

Thus Masten did not see Vickers, when a little later he came out on the porch with his war-bag. He said good-bye to Aunt Martha and Uncle Jepson, and then he took Ruth’s hand and held it long.

“You’ll never go a heap wrong when you use your own judgment, girl,” he said. “I’m ridin’ over to the Diamond H to tell Randerson about his new job. Don’t make no mistake, girl. Rex Randerson is square. An’ if any trouble comes sneakin’ around you, take it to Rex; he’ll stick on the right side till hell freezes over.”