`This was the easiest bit of our shopping,' she laughed. `I was cautioned that no ranch-house would be complete without it.'
`Must 'a' been a cattleman or a saloon-keeper who said that.' He helped himself and lifted the glass. `Here's--my love to you.' Her swift gravity warned him, and he hurried an excuse. `That's a common toast to the ladies where I was raised; don't you like it?'
`No,' she said.
Curiously enough, her prudishness pleased him; here was a woman worth winning. `I haven't had much to do with yore sex,' he told her. `You must forgive me if I blunder sometimes.'
He looked so crestfallen that her smile came back. He went on to speak of the great cities he had seen, the crowds, hustle and bustle, the big stores, and places of amusement.
Having created the desired impression, he took his departure. From his saddle he smiled down upon her. `You must show me yore range. I'm a lonely man, an' it does me good to talk to you.' Without waiting for an answer, he rode away.
Recalling the conversation, Gregory Cullin chuckled several times. He was, in fact, entirely pleased with Gregory Cullin, and also with Mary Darrell. Why he, who had always despised women, should now so passionately desire this one, he could not explain. But he knew it was so, and that there was no length to which he would not go.
`Blast those clumsy fools,' he muttered. `Two inches lower....'
Shortly after Cullin left, the S P had another visitor. Mary, day-dreaming in a chair on the veranda, awoke to find her husband regarding her quizzically.
`Runnin' a ranch shorely keeps one on the jump,' he said.
`I've been riding, and I suppose I dozed,' she excused. `Won't you step in?'
He followed her, and gazed round with both amazement and appreciation. `Fine,' was his verdict. `You certainly have the gift.'
`Of what?' she asked.
`Home-makin',' he replied, and the look in his grave eyes brought the warm blood into her face.
`Lindy did a lot,' was all she found to say.
`Skittles!' Nick smiled. `Nobody thinks more o' Lindy than I do, but I'm wise to her limitations.' The bottle attracted his notice. `Must 'a' been expectin' me.'
`Mister Cullin called,' she explained. `He wanted to see the place.'
Drait's expression was wooden. `Yeah, he allus fancied this range,' he returned, and began to roll a cigarette.
She found herself studying him anew. He was not so carefully attired as the Big C man, nor so obviously anxious to impress, yet she was conscious that he had something the other lacked, that mysterious `quality' the Negress had spoken of perhaps; she did not know. She invited him to stay and eat. Cullin would have seized the opportunity for a compliment; Nick did the opposite.
`Shore is a temptation to sample Lindy's grub again. Not that the boys ain't doin' pretty well--considerin'.'
`I feel mean about taking her away.'
`Don't you, it's doin' us all good; we didn't know how well off we were.'
When Lindy brought in the meal she scrutinised the nester closely. `Massa Nick, yoh ain't lookin' too peart,' she announced. `I sho' hab a fohbodin' dem hellions ain't feedin' yoh right.'
'Yo're all wrong, woman,' Nick teased. `It's just grief over the absence o' my housekeeper.' He shot a mischievous smile at Mary as he spoke, and, without thinking, she returned it.
There was little conversation until the meal was over, and then he asked, `Started counting yore cattle yet?'
`I'm going to wait for the Fall round-up,' she replied, and gave her reasons. `It was Sturm's suggestion, and Mister Cullin agreed.'
`Sturm was his man,' Nick said. `Well, yo're the doc.'
`Isn't it possible you are mistaken about Cullin? He helped you, and now me.'
`Must be a change of heart; his reputation is for on'y helpin' hisself.'
He had picked up his hat, and she saw the sinister holes in the front and back of the crown. The reminder brought a look of concern which he read.
`Now what fool had to tell you?' he asked. `Cullin?' `No, I already knew. He seemed very upset about it.'
` "Disappointed" would be a better word,' Nick said harshly. `An' how did you feel?'
Her steady eyes met his squarely. `I was very glad you escaped injury.'
His grin was back. `That makes it a'most worth while. Now, remember, any time yo're in a difficulty, send Yorky, an' we'll come a-runnin'.'
He strode from the room, stepped into his saddle, and with a wave of the perforated hat, spurred across the plain.
Chapter XV
It was a week later that Gregory Cullin halted his horse outside the hotel at Rideout, and having made an enquiry, mounted to an upstairs room. He entered without knocking, and the occupant took his hand away from a gun-butt only when he recognised the visitor. He was a middle-aged man, of medium build, with a thin, sour face and restless eyes. He wore two guns, the holsters tied down. A bottle and two glasses before him.
`Well, Lukor, how's the world treatin' you?' the rancher said. Too damn seldom,' was the growled reply. He pointed to a chair and the whisky. `Help yoreself.'
`I will, but I'm really here to help you.'
This attempt at humour produced only a contortion of the close-shut, almost bloodless lips which was more like a sneer nhan a smile. `Can that kind o' chatter,' their owner said. `I never could figure you as a charitable institootion.'
`But I pay well,' the rancher retorted. He poured out some spirit, and as the other grabbed the bottle and half-filled his own glass, added, `I'd go light on that stuff.'
`Bah! It never does nothin' to me, I was weaned on it. They carried me to bed las' night, an' look.' He held the tumbler high; the liquid in it might have been solid. He gulped the greater part. `Well, what's to do?'
`There's a man in my way,' Cullin told him.
`On'y one?' the gunman jeered. `You used to be fairly handy with a six-shooter yoreself.'
`There's also a reason why I mustn't appear in this.' `Shore.' The tone turned the word into an insult.
The cattleman's patience was at an end; he did not relish. being called a coward. He stood up. `I gather you don't want five hundred bucks,' he said coldly.
The ruffian knew his man, and was not to be bluffed.
'Yo're damn right, I don't; a thousand's the lowest--take it or leave it.'
Cullin hesitated, but only as a matter of form; he was prepared to pay double the amount, for success.
`I'm takin' it, Lukor,' he said. `You come to Midway an' hang about, givin' any excuse you like, waitin' yore chance. Don't use yore own name--it might be known.'
The other revealed his tobacco-stained teeth in a wolfish grin. `I reckon. Figure I'm a greenhorn, huh?'
`The cleverest can make mistakes,' Cullin replied. 'Fella's name is Nicholas Drait, an' he's about my size, mebbe a shadebigger; a nester an' a cattle-thief. You don't like nesters, do you?'
`They ain't fit to live,' Lukor said, and spat in disgust. `Leave it to me. I'll want fifty for expenses, an' it ain't an advance, mind.'
The rancher peeled off some bills from his roll. `Needn't to rush things. It's gotta look natural, an' don't let him get his hands on you--he'd smear you on the wall.'
`If he got past a dozen slugs, mebbe,' the gunmen said scornfully. `Hell, it's good as done; you can wipe him off'n yore worry list right now.'
Cullin left Rideout immediately, unaware of a pair of youthful but sharp eyes watching from the angle of a building across the street. Yorky, having by chance seen Cullin pass through Midway heading east, conceived a desire to discover his destination. When he vanished into the hotel, Yorky followed, got into conversation with the clerk, a youth of his own age, and learned that business was bad--they had only one guest.
`Calls hisself "Fish," drinks like one, an' has all the earmarks of a gunslinger,' the clerk said.