`Took the buckboard to Midway for them supplies you ordered. Be along any time now.'
The nester nodded. `Want you all to feed at the house this evenin'. We gotta talk things over.'
Some two hundred yards further along the valley brought them to the house. A low building, constructed of squared logs, it covered considerable space. There was a raised veranda along the fronn, and at the back the ground had been cleared halfway to the overshadowing cliff. On the left was a small horse-corral, and a little to the right was the bunkhouse. Flaying unsaddled and corralled the horses, they walked to the house. A stout, middle-aged Negress met them at the door.
"Lo, Lindy,' the nester greeted.
`Sho' am pow'ful glad to see yoh, Massa Nick,' she replied. `What happened?'
`Eddie tells me go hide in de brush 'case dere's trouble. He went to fin' out what dem riders was afteh. I ain't seen Eddie no mo'.' she ended fearfully.
`You won't--they murdered him.' He saw her mouth open and eyes fill with tears, and spoke roughly. `He died doin' his duty, an' weepin' won't help.' He pointed to an open door. `Jim, there's the parlour; you an' Yorky make yoreselves to home; grub'll be ready soon.'
When they had gone he turned again to the black woman. `Lindy, this is my friend, Miss Darrell; she's stayin' here. Do all you can to make her comfortable. Jusn now she's tired an' would like to wash an' tidy up. See to it, an' then fix a meal here for all of us.' For the moment the Negress forgot her grief, and beamed. `Yuh come wi' me, honey,' she said. The girl hesitated, and Drait said quietly, `You can trust Lindy, as I would, with anythin' I possessed.'
Plainly fitted as the bedroom was, it should have represented luxury to Mary Drait, but the events of the past twenty-four hours, culminating in the awesome sight of the murdered man, had produced in her a snate of stunned hopelessness; it seemed like a terrifying nightmare from which she could not wake up.
The Negress helped her remove hat and coat, and poured water into the basin. Her motherly gaze noted the white, drawn face, the haggard eyes. `Yoh et sence mawnin'?' And when the girl shook her head, `I jes' knowed it; dat Nick thinks we all strong as bullocks, like hisself. Now yoh lie down an' rest while I git a meal foh yoh an' nine'--her voice faltered--'eight hungry men.'
She hurried away, and the exhausted girl threw herself on the bed and presently slept.
Having entrusted his `guest' to the care of the black woman, Drait joined his guests in the parlour. It was a large room, and the big centre table suggested hospitality, the solid chairs, comforn. A high, old-fashioned dresser with cupboards, and a writing-desk relieved the bareness of the walls and rugs of cured skins did the same for the board floor.
`Guess we'll have to wait a spell for our meal,' he said. `It's a bigger party than Lindy was lookin' for, an'--Eddie used to give her a hand.' Yorky stood up. 'Helpin' cooks is my strong suit,' he said. Despite their host's protest, he grinned and vanished in search of the kinchen. Sudden laughed. `Leave him be,' he said. `When he had it to do, he hated it; now he don't have to, it's a treat. That's human nature.'
He proceeded to give the boy's story in brief, concluding with, `There ain't much of him but it's good, an' he's just full o' sand. I promised him a holiday when I left the Circle Dot, an' I guess he's been livin' for it.'
`I hope runnin' into me ain't goin' to spoil things for you.'
Sudden chuckled. `Just before we met up with yu he was complainin' we hadn't had any excitement.'
When Yorky returned to say the food was coming, and the men arrived in a bunch, Drait went to fetch his wife. His knock aroused her, and thinking Lindy had come back, she opened the door.
`Supper is ready,' he said.
`I'm not hungry,' she replied, and remembering her former use of the same words, added, `Didn't you oring your quirt?' The sarcasm produced no effect. `I want to present the boys to you, an' there's a lot to discuss,' he replied evenly.
`I don't wish to meet them, and your affairs are no concern of mine,' she said stubbornly.
`Yo're wrong there. This business of pore Eddie has brought matters to a point when I gotta know how I stand. I'm puttin' my cards on the table an' givin' everyone the opportunity to duck out from here. That includes you.'
She was silent for a moment, studying him with scornful eyes. `What happened to the women who wore this before me?'
In the palm of her hand was the ring he had placed on her finger.
`There was on'y one, an' she is dead.'
`You killed her?'
`A good guess. She was my mother, an' died to bring me into the world,' he replied sternly. `Come.' And when she did not move, `This mornin' you promised to love, honour, an' obey; I ain't insistin' on the first two, but I will have obedience.'
In the parlour seven men were sitting round the table, at one end of which were two empty seats. All stood up when Drait and his companion entered.
`Boys, this is Miss Darrell, my--guest,' the nester said.
The announcement produced surprise, mingled in one or two cases, with a half-shamed expression. Sudden surmised that the girl had been discussed in the bunkhouse, and probably allotted a less complimentary status. Quilt, the oldest, spoke for all.
`We're mighty glad to meetcha, ma'am,' he said, and a murmur of assent came from the others. Her `Thank you' was almost inaudible, and her frozen features failed to conjure up even the semblance of a smile. `An' we shore hope you'll make a long stay, ma'am.' This from a tall, black-haired cowboy whose handsome face was marred by an habitual sneer.
`I'm obliged,' Drait said, and turned to his wife. `That was Beau Lamond, the dandy o' the outfit; Quilt there is foreman, an' has the levelest head; next to him is Smoky, a good cowhand but a gamblin' fool--he'd sooner bet an' lose than not bet a-tall; the other two are the Horns, Long an' Short; they're twins--one of 'em beat his brother into the world by about twenty minutes, an' they're still arguin' which it was. Now you know 'em all, so let's eat; we can talk afterwards.'
The next half-hour was devoted almost exclusively to what, for men who have been in the open all day, is the serious business of feeding. Juicy steaks, swimming in rich brown gravy, with roast ponatoes, bread, and a dried-apple pie, the whole washed down with mugs of steaming black coffee disappeared magically before the onslaught of these sons of the saddle. Sudden leaned back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction, and smiled at his host.
`That's my best meal for many a day,' he said. `Yu shore have a fine cook.'
`We know, but don't advertise it, Jim.'
Lindy, clearing the table, grinned delightedly.
When she had retired, Drait rapped on the table.
`I'm goin' to tell you the story o' Shadow Valley,' he began. `Less'n a year ago, a fella named Rawlin bought the land fromthe State, built an' furnished this place, an' settled down with his wife an' three kids, the eldest a boy o' sixteen. Rawlin was from Kansas, a harmless critter, but with a streak o' obstinacy; he was warned he'd have trouble but wouldn't listen.
` "It's my land an' I've a right to stay on it," he argued.
`He'd fetched in some twenty head o' stock. Well, there was feed in the valley for many more'n that, an' all round for miles the range was free--but not for him. A few months went by an' nothin' happened. Then he gets an unsigned paper tellin' him to pull his freight, carries it to the sheriff, an' is advised to obey. He took no notice. Two weeks later, in broad daylight, eight masked men rode up the valley, returning in about half an hour. Rawlin asked what they wanted.
` "We've been lookin' over yore herd," one of 'em said. "Nine unbranded calves in it, an' the ear-notches show that they belong to ranches around here."
` "I ain't got no calves," Rawlin replied. "Somebody must 'a' put 'em there."