"Why, certainly, that would be great, and I expect every girl has such dreams," Carol confessed. "But after a while I would want to come home to Texas."
"Just to go on raising cows," the gambler said, a suspicion of contempt in his tone.
It brought a faint flush to the girl's lightly tanned cheeks. "Just to go on raising--a new Empire," she said quietly Her shining eyes and low voice proclaimed her earnestness. This was a phase of her he had not suspected, but--though he might inwardly sneer at her vision--he was quick to take his cue.
"You're entirely right, Miss Carol, though I'll admit I hadn't looked at it quite that way," he responded. "And I'm proposing to do my share by starting a ranch not very far away from the S E--just to raise cows." He smiled, hesitated a moment and then, "But first, I'm taking a holiday, to see all the places I mentioned, and others." He leant across and laid a hand on one of hers. "Will you come with me--Carol?"
Completely taken by surprise, she could only stare at him. He did not wait for a reply.
"I want you for my wife, girl," he said hoarsely. "I'm mad about you--have been since we first met. I'll give you everything you ask for. We'll see all the world can show us and then come back--to Texas. I'm planning big, my dear, but I can swing it ; the West is going to hear of Jethro Baudry, believe me."
Carol's eyes opened wide and she shrank from him, dragging her hand from his hot clasp. His gaze enveloped her avidly, yet she could scarcely credit she had heard aright. To her youthful mind the idea of a husband nearly twice her own age seemed preposterous.
"But I've no intention of marrying yet, Mister Baudry, and I don't like you--in that way," she stammered at last. The gambler's face showed his chagrin. Women were usually kind to him and he had flattered himself that the dazzling prospect he had held out, combined with his own power of attraction, would be more than sufficient to win this unsophisticated girl of the wilds.
"Perhaps I've spoken too soon. Will you try to care for me, Carol?" he urged. "There isn't anyone else, is there?" He saw the warm colour steal into her cheeks again at that and his lips bunched in an ugly pout.
"No, of course not," she protested.
"You haven't got notions about any of these scarecrow riders, have you?" he asked keenly, and instantly saw that he had made a slip.
The impertinence angered her. "These men may be poor and ragged, Mister Baudry," she retorted, "but there is not one of them who would do or say anything to hurt me, or who would not risk his life for mine."
"I know it--I'm all wrong," he said contritely. "It's pure jealousy, girl ; you've got into my blood. Promise me you'll think it over."
"I would much rather forget it," she replied. "We can be friends."
"No," he cried passionately. "It's all or nothing with me. I'm not taking your answer yet. I'll make you care. Do you know what they say of me in the settlements? `Jethro Baudry always wins--sooner or later.' That's my reputation, and by the Lord, it shan't fail me now."
Wounded pride, desire, and disappointment transformed his usually immobile face into that of a savage beast, but in a moment the smiling mask was back.
"I'll not bother you any more now, Carol," he said. "I fancy Dutt is in front ; I have a word to say to him."
He rode off, raking his mount ruthlessly with the spurs, a fact which did him no good with his lady-love ; Carol loved horses, and distrusted those who ill-treated them.
Scarcely had he gone when his place was taken by Sandy--one of the "scarecrows"--and the girl could not but mentally compare them. Certainly the boy's attire was shabby and worn, but the lithe body, poised so easily in the saddle, and the deeply-tanned, youthful face, with impudent eyes which always dropped before her own, more than swung the balance in his favour.
"Don't often get this chance nowadays," he greeted. "How come the guardian angel ain't ridin' herd on yu?"
"you ought not to speak so of my father's friend," she reproved, but there was a demure twinkle accompanying the words. "Mister Baudry wanted to find Mister Dutt. I expect he thought there was no danger of Indians stealing' me again just now."
"Sometimes I 'most wish they would," Sandy told her. Not daring to ask the obvious question, she changed the subject. "Are we nearing the end of the drive?"
"I dunno, but I'm hopin' there's quite a ways to go yet." Once more she felt she was on dangerous ground, but her eyebrows rose. Sandy's explanation was glib enough: "When the herd is sold, I figure we won't be wanted, an' I'll be out of a job."
Her face was turned away ; truth to tell, she was afraid to look at him lest he should see her fear. For his words had brought a sudden realization of what parting with him would mean, and with it all -thought of Baudry vanished like smoke before a puff of wind. Her voice shook a little when at length she spoke :
"Dad will need you all at the ranch. He won't let any of you go--unless you want to."
"Then here's one he can't lose--I'll stick closer to him than his own skin," the young man replied gaily.
"And Mister Baudry is starting a ranch near the S E." Sandy whistled softly. "Is that so?" he said, and then, "I wouldn't ride for him."
There was no rancour in the remark and she knew that she herself had nothing to do with his decision ; the gambler--as a man--had been weighed and found wanting, in the cowboy's estimation.
Chapter XXI
THE man was sitting, his back against a tree, his eyes closed. By his side lay a rifle and a saddle, while round his middle was slung a heavy revolver. His thin, harsh face, from which jutted a beak of a nose, gave him a predatory expression, and a straggling, uncared-for beard lent an appearance of age which his wiry frame belied. It was Jed, riding point, who discovered him.
"Hey, stranger, yu have shorely picked a port place for a nap," he called.
The man opened his eyes. "Hell!" he said weakly, "I was beginnin' to think I was the last fella left in the world. Ain't got a shot o' licker, 1 s'pose? I'm about all in."
"Friend," the cowboy grinned, "I've helped hustle these yere long-horns from near San Antonio. If yu think a Texan would carry painkiller all that way yu don't know the breed. I figure yu lost yore bronc?" The stranger nodded. "The chuck-wagon an' remuda'll be along presently ; they'll fix yu up."
In camp that night the stranger told his story. His name, he said, was "Rollitt," and he was horse-wrangler to the trail outfit they had followed. One morning he had missed several horses, set out to track them, and had been surprised and chased by Indians.
"Kiowas, they were, I guessed, but I didn't wait to make shore" he said. "I've got used to my hair bein' where it is an' didn't nohow fancy it as a decoration for a brave's bridle, so I scratched gravel plenty eager. By bad luck they was between me an' the camp, so I had to run west. Well, I lost them war-whoops, but I killed my hoss doin' it--just dropped under me--an' then I discovered I'd lost myself. That musta bin near a coupla weeks ago, though I lost count o' time too--I'm a good loser, yu see. Wanderin' around, totin' a saddle ain't so funny, 'specially when yo're outa grub. I was afraid to shoot, case them red devils was about, so I lived mainly on berries an' nuts. Once I knocked a sage hen over with a rock, an' I got a rattler--after he come close to getting me an' skinned an' et him."
Aunt Judy uttered a grunt of disgust. "Lawry me, man, yu must 'a' bin hard put to it," she said.
"Shore was, ma'am," Rollitt replied. "But that rattler was good--nice white meat like a chicken ; I've had wuss eatin'."
Listening to the story, Sudden had studied the man closely but could call up no recollection of him. A whispered question to Sandy brought only a shake of the head. Rollitt's explanation seemed likely enough and yet Sudden had a feeling that something was wrong. Eden, however, seemed satisfied.