Part 15 (1/2)

Anything I can do for you, sis? Want anything carried in--or _thrown out?_” He accented the last words.

Farwell, who had read danger signals in men's eyes before, saw the flare of enmity in the young man's, and raised his shoulders in a faint shrug. He smiled to himself in amus.e.m.e.nt.

”No, there's nothing, thanks,” said Sheila, quite unconscious of the hidden meaning of his words. ”Better get cleaned up for supper.”

McCrae swung on silently, with his rapid, noiseless step. Farwell turned to Sheila.

”Do this for me, Miss McCrae,” he pleaded. ”Give me a fair chance with your father if you won't help me with him. Don't tell your brother of what I'm trying to do. If you do that, his influence will be the other way.”

”If my father has made up his mind, none of us can change it,” said Sheila. ”But I'll give you a fair field. I won't tell Sandy.”

Farwell, in spite of previous virtuous resolutions, remained for supper. The elder McCraes had not returned. The young people had the meal to themselves; and Sheila and Farwell had the conversation to themselves, for Sandy paid strict and confined attention to his food, and did not utter half a dozen words. Immediately afterward he vanished; but, when Farwell went to the stable for his horse, he found the young man saddling a rangy, speedy-looking black.

”Guess I'll ride with you a piece,” he announced.

”All right,” Farwell replied carelessly. He did not desire company; but if it was forced on him he could not help it.

The light was failing as they rode from the ranch house. The green fields lay sombre in the creeping dusk. Nighthawks in search of food darted in erratic flight, uttering their peculiar booming notes.

Running water murmured coolly in the ditch that flanked the road.

Cattle, full of repletion, stood in contented lethargy by the watering place, ruminating, switching listlessly at the evening flies which scarcely annoyed them. The vivid opalescent lights of the western sky grew fainter, faded. Simultaneously the zenith shaded from turquoise to sapphire. In the northeast, low over the plains, gleaming silver against the dark velvet background of the heavens, lay the first star.

But Farwell paid no attention to these things. Instead, he was thinking of Sheila McCrae--reconstructing her pose as she bade him good-bye, the direct, level gaze of her dark eyes, the contour of her face, the cloudy ma.s.ses of her brown hair. He was unconsciously engaged in the perilous, artistic work of drawing for his sole and exclusive use a mental ”portrait of a lady”; and, after the manner of man attracted by woman, he idealized the picture of his creation. By virtue of this absorbing occupation, he quite forgot the presence of the brother of the woman. But a mile beyond the ranch young McCrae pulled up.

”I turn off here,” he said.

”That so? Good night,” said Farwell.

”There's something I came to tell you,” McCrae pursued. ”I'm not making any grand-stand play about it; but you'd better be a lot more careful when you're talking to my sister. Understand?”

”No, I don't,” said Farwell. ”I never said anything to Miss McCrae that her father and mother mightn't hear.”

”Oh, _that!_” said young Sandy, and spat in disgust. ”No, I guess you didn't--and you hadn't better. But you told her to do something--fairly ordered her. I heard you, and I heard her tell you she wouldn't.

Perhaps you'll tell me what it was?”

”Perhaps I won't.”

”Why not?”

”Because I don't want to, mostly,” said Farwell impatiently. ”Also because it's none of your business. Your sister and I understand each other. Our conversation didn't concern you--directly, anyway.”

”I'll let it go at that on your say-so,” Sandy returned, with surprising calmness. ”I'm not crowding trouble with you, but get this clear: You know why you're hanging around the ranch, and I don't. All the same, if you are up to any monkey business, you'll settle it with me.”

Farwell's temper, never reliable, rose at once.

”Quite a Wild West kid, aren't you?” he observed, with sarcasm. ”You make me tired. It's a good thing for you your people are decent.” He crowded his horse close to the other. ”Now, look here, young fellow, I won't stand for any fool boy's talk. You're old enough to know better.

Cut it out with me after this, do you hear?”

”Where are you coming with that cayuse?” demanded young McCrae, and suddenly raked a rowelled heel behind the animal's shoulder.