Part 14 (1/2)

”Howdy,” greeted Lane pleasantly. ”I'm looking for Jack Payson.”

”That so?” answered Sage-brush. ”Who may you be?”

”I'm a friend of his.”

The foreman could see no danger to come from this weak, sickly man.

”Then walk right in,” he invited; ”he's inside.”

Sage-brush was about to reenter the house, when d.i.c.k halted him with the request: ”I want to see him out here--privately.”

”What's the name,” asked Sage-brush, his suspicions returning.

”Tell him an old friend from Mexico.”

Sage-brush did not like the actions of the stranger and his secrecy.

He was there to fight his boss's battles, if he had any. This was not in the contract, but it was a part read into the paper by Sage-brush.

”Say, my name's Sage-brush Charley,” he cried, with a show of importance. ”I'm ranch-boss for Payson. If you want to settle any old claim agin' Jack, I'm actin' as his subst.i.toot for him this evenin'.”

”On the contrary,” said Lane, with a smile at Sage-brush's outbreak, ”he has a claim against me.”

It was such a pleasant, kindly look he gave Sage-brush, that the foreman was disarmed completely.

”I'll tell him,” he said over his shoulder.

d.i.c.k mused over the changes that had occurred since he had left the region. Two years' absence from a growing country means new faces, new ranches, and the wiping out of old landmarks with the advance of population and the invasion of the railroad. He wondered if Jack would know him with his beard. He knew--his mirror told him--that his appearance had changed greatly, and he looked twenty years older than on the day he left the old home ranch.

His trend of thought was interrupted by the entrance of Jack on the porch from the house.

”My name's Payson,” Jack began hurriedly, casting a hasty glance backward into the hallway, for the ceremony was about to begin. ”You want to see me?”

”Jack!” cried d.i.c.k, holding out his hand eagerly. ”Jack, old man, don't you know me?” he continued falteringly, seeing no sign of recognition in his friend's eyes.

Payson gasped, shocked and startled. The man before him was a stranger in looks, but the voice--the voice was that of d.i.c.k Lane, the last man in the world he wanted to see at that moment. Frightened, almost betraying himself, he glanced at the half-open door. If d.i.c.k entered he knew Echo would be lost to him. She might love him truly, and her love for d.i.c.k might have pa.s.sed away, but he knew that Echo would never forgive him for the deception that he had practised upon her.

Grasping his friend's hand weakly, he faltered, ”d.i.c.k! d.i.c.k Lane!”

Jack realized he must act quickly. Some way or somehow d.i.c.k must be kept out of the house until after the marriage. Then he, Jack, must take the consequences. d.i.c.k saw his hesitation. It was not what he had expected. But something dreadful might have happened while he was away, there had been so many changes.

”Why, what's the matter?” he asked anxiously. ”You got my letter? You knew I was coming?”

”Yes, yes, I know,” lamely answered Jack. ”But I expected notice--you know you said--”

”I couldn't wait. Jack, I'm a rich man, thanks to you--”

”Yes, yes, that's all right,” said Payson, disclaiming the praise of the man he had so grievously wronged with a hurried acknowledgment of his grat.i.tude.

”And I hurried back for fear Echo--”

”Oh, yes. I'll tell her about it, when she's ready to hear it.”

”What is the matter, Jack? Are you keeping something from me? Where is she?”