Loe raamatut: «Buell Hampton», lehekülg 11

CHAPTER XXIII. – A FORGED LETTER

ALMOST a month had passed since Lord Avondale’s departure, and yet Hugh had not visited the Grove. He thought a great deal about Ethel, and he was conscious of a sense of relief now that the Englishman was gone.

One evening, about this time, he determined to pay the Hortons a visit. His reception was most cordial, and he fancied that there was more than usual of the old-time animation in Ethel’s eyes. An opportunity came during the evening, when they were alone, but he did not improve it as he had intended. He did not declare his love in words, though he felt confident that Ethel read his heart in his flushed face. Thus he procrastinated, day after day, until the weeks hastened into months, and the springtime of the year had come again.

During this time he saw much of the Hortons. The bond of friendship between the cattle king and himself had materially strengthened. Mr. Horton frequently warned him of the collapse, which he believed to be inevitable, of the hopes of all engaged in or dependent upon agricultural pursuits in Southwestern Kansas. At such times Hugh would listen patiently until the cattleman had finished, and then he would adroitly change the subject.

Both Major Hampton and Captain Osborn assured him that, while John Horton was doubtless perfectly sincere, yet the abundant yield of crops during the preceding years, and the entire absence of the hot winds, was proof, irrefragable, that the cattleman’s theory was wrong. They also believed that John Horton was sadly mistaken regarding the cattle thieves, who still continued their untiring and fearless raids. The claim of the cattlemen was that a coterie of farmers had banded themselves together for the profitable and yet dangerous business of cattle-stealing. John Horton was the heaviest loser, because his herds were so extensive. Captain Osborn’s views coincided with those expressed in the Patriot, – that the thieves were a band of cowboys acting under the direction of some able leader. Both these theories were freely discussed, while the cattle-stealing continued without interruption, and not the slightest clue was obtainable as to who did the lawless work.

The thieves knew, all too well, the punishment awaiting them if they should ever be captured, and its severity caused them to exercise the greatest caution.

There is an unwritten code on the frontier that a man may engage in a quarrel, and shoot and kill his adversary, provided both parties are armed and no unfair advantage is taken. If one has a number of such quarrels and each time “kills his man,” he then becomes a most formidable candidate for sheriff in his county. On the other hand, if two men quarrel and one comes upon the other stealthily and, without warning, shoots him in the back, the act is construed by this unwritten code of the West as being a cowardly murder. The assassin is usually taken to some “Dead Man’s Hollow” and shot to death. There is hardly a community on the frontier but has its “Dead Man’s Hollow,” where the “law” is administered at the hands of the vigilantes.

While this code prevents outside interference in a so-called “fair fight,” even though death may result to one of the parties, yet, if a cattle thief is caught, he must, without exception, pay the penalty with his life. Indeed, a thief is looked upon with less commiseration, if possible, than a cowardly murderer.

In the meantime, the winter months were gone, and spring was paying another visit to sunny Kansas. The boundless brown prairie was once more changed to a world of brightest green, and, far and wide, over the landscape were myriads of simple dandelions and modest daisies that danced to the wind like a vast constellation of twinkling stars.

The meadow-lark and the brown thrush had again returned to their summer home to herald the approach of another mating-time, but still Hugh Stanton had not declared his love to Ethel Horton, nor had Lord Avondale returned to pursue his wooing of the American heiress.

Hugh Stanton fancied that he detected a shadow of sorrow in the girl’s face, and in her voice; and a fear arose in his heart. Was she grieving because of Lord Avondale’s absence? His unselfish regard for Ethel was so keen that it caused him much pain. Over and over he assured himself that he would willingly surrender his own slight claim if in doing so he might add to her happiness.

One afternoon Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton came up from the Grove to see Mrs. Osborn. Even a casual observer could have told that the stately wife of the cattle king was unusually agitated. She mounted the Osborn steps and rang the bell in a nervous manner.

Soon after, these two friends were seated in Mrs. Osborn’s private room, engaged in earnest conversation.

“What shall I do, Lucy? What can I do? What ought I to do under the circumstances?”

“My dear Mrs. Horton,” replied her friend, suavely, “do not agitate yourself. It is the easiest thing in the world, I assure you, to arrange this seemingly unfortunate affair.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Lucy, whether it is easy or not. No one knows the half a mother endures with a marriageable daughter to look after.”

“Oh, fie!” Mrs. Osborn laughed, as she rang for her maid. The door opened, and, turning to the girl, she ordered a small bottle of Tokay, which was soon set before them. “Now, my dear, drink a glass of wine. It will strengthen your nerves.”

“You see, Lucy,” said Mrs. Horton, as she sipped her wine nervously, “this is the third letter Doctor Redfield has written. He seems so persistent.”

“You have it with you?” asked Mrs Osborn, as if she were asserting a fact.

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Horton, as she took the letter from her bag and handed it to Mrs. Osborn, “I want you to put this with the others. Oh, dear! I feel so worked up over this affair; and to think of Lord Avondale’s misfortune! How long do you suppose it will be before he can again travel?”

Mrs. Osborn carefully scrutinized the handwriting on the letter. A diplomatic expression came over her beautiful face. “Yes, it is Doctor Redfield’s writing,” she affirmed, half to herself. “Oh, how long, did you ask, before Lenox dare travel? Perhaps a month; his physician tells me he has had a narrow escape. His broken arm – the result of his hunting trip in the mountains – was the least of his sufferings, poor fellow. A fever set in, he writes me, and for a while he was quite delirious. He will be here as soon as he can safely travel, – within a month, I am quite sure.”

“I shall be so glad when he returns,” sighed Mrs. Horton. “Ethel seems much more reconciled of late.”

“Indeed?” replied Mrs. Osborn.

“Oh, yes,” continued Mrs. Horton. “I was urging the advantage of a marriage with Lord Avondale the other day, and she replied, in a most indifferent manner, ‘Very well, mamma, I have ceased to care one way or the other, if it pleases you, I presume it ought to be acceptable to me.’ She then said something about being tired of life, and broke down in tears. Of course I consoled her as only a mother can.”

“Subdued at last!” cried Mrs. Osborn, triumphantly. “We may now hope to see merry old England again. Away!” she went on, exultingly, “away with American stupidity! We have outwitted her blond-mustached ‘brain-worker.’.rdquo; Mrs. Horton seemed to catch the spirit of her friend’s confidence. “Yes,” she ejaculated, “see England and our many friends; and, oh, to think how proud I am, Lucy, that my daughter is to be Lady Avondale. Why, it is quite enough to make the heart of any mother throb with ecstasy.”

“Indeed it is,” replied the designing Mrs. Osborn, “and you are entitled to so much credit for the clever ways in which you have managed it.”

“No, Lucy, you are deserving of the praise in this affair far more than myself,” replied Mrs. Horton. “Indeed, I could not have gotten on at all without you.”

“I certainly have done my utmost to serve you,” said Mrs. Osborn, in a sycophantic tone. “I feel sure you will always be grateful – and Ethel, too, won’t she?”

“Indeed, we shall,” replied Mrs. Horton, unhesitatingly.

“And I shall always be a welcome guest at Ethel’s English home?” Mrs. Osborn went on.

“Always!” replied Mrs. Horton. “Of course you will. Why ask such a question?”

“Oh, I know I shall be, I assure you,” she replied, demurely, “but then I wanted to hear you say so, don’t you know? Now there is only one serious phase in our program – Doctor Redfield.” She still held his letter addressed to Ethel.

“What would you advise, Lucy? You are so clever, and know so much better than I what is best to be done.”

“My dear Mrs. Horton, will you be guided by what I say, entirely?” She was standing near an elegantly carved escritoire as she spoke.

“Entirely, Lucy, I will do as you say,” replied Mrs. Horton. Quick as a flash Mrs. Osborn caught up an ivory paper-knife and tore away the envelope.

“Oh, Lucy!” cried Mrs. Horton, excitedly. “Don’t! don’t – I feel so guilty.”

“My dear, there is no turning back,” replied the cool and calculating Mrs. Osborn. “A title for Ethel is at stake. We must burn every bridge behind us.” Then, glancing at the letter, she read aloud:

“My own dear Ethel: – I lift up my voice for the third time, and call to you. Will you not answer? I am as one in a wilderness of doubt and sorrow. My heart tells me that you have not forgotten your promise – a promise that has stimulated me with sweetest hope all these weary months of waiting. One word, Ethel, – only one word; even if it is to say that you have forgotten me. With my heart’s tenderest love, I am all your own,

“Affectionately,

“Jack.”

“His devotion is quite amusing,” laughed Mrs. Osborn, as she seated herself before her escritoire and began writing. Presently, turning to Mrs. Horton, she said: “Here is your reply:”

“Dr. Jack Redfield,

“Sir: – My daughter has referred your several rather amusing and absurd letters to me for reply, and desires me to say that your communications annoy her very much. As she is already betrothed to Lord Avondale, and will be married in a short time, you certainly cannot, if you possess any gentlemanly breeding, wish to intrude further upon her your unreciprocated attentions.

“Respectfully.”

“Oh, Lucy,” cried Mrs. Horton, half-hysterically, “I cannot sign such a letter; I cannot indeed. Let it go unanswered.”

“Just as you say,” she replied, while a tigerish look of hatred and disdain arose to her usually pretty face. “Perhaps,” she went on, in a low purring voice that required an effort to modulate, “it will be as well to dismiss all thought of Doctor Redfield. I am quite sure we shall never hear of him again.”

Soon after, Mrs. Horton took her leave and, as she drove slowly homeward, she was glad that she had not signed that awful letter. She sighed a little, as if a weight rested on her conscience. “I am truly glad,” she said to herself, “that Lord Avondale will soon be with us.”

Mrs. Osborn was provoked at her friend’s lack of courage in grappling with and crushing all possible danger. After the departure of Mrs. Horton, she read Jack Redfield’s letter again. Then she read the reply which she had prepared for Mrs. Horton to sign. “This letter ought to be sent,” she observed, “or I am no general.” Dipping her pen in the ink, she addressed an envelope to Dr. Jack Redfield, then – turning to the letter – she paused a moment. Her courage failed her, and she laid down the pen. Unlocking a small drawer of her escritoire, she took out a bundle of letters, and, selecting the topmost one, commenced reading. As she read one after another, a passionate light animated her beautiful face and eyes. “Lenox, dear Lenox!” she murmured. “Yes, I will do it.”

Taking up the pen, she hastily signed the name of Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton to the letter, then carefully enclosing it in the envelope, she went quickly out and posted it.

Thus, at the expense of conscience, she made an instalment payment on a title for Ethel Horton.

CHAPTER XXIV. – REVERSING THE HIGHER COURTS

THE evening after the mailing of that fatal letter to Dr. Jack Redfield, some one rapped on Hugh Stanton’s door.

“Come in,” said Hugh, as he went on with his toilet. The door opened, and Judge Lynn walked in. The judge’s facial appearance gave evidence that he had just come from a barber shop. He frequently passed one hand over his smooth-shaven chin, as if to call attention to it.

“Hello, Mr. Stanton,” said he, as he helped himself to a chair. “You’re dressin’ up like you might be goin’ somewhere.”

“I have been invited to dine with the Osborns.”

“Jist so; danged good place to get a square meal; bet yer life it is.”

“The Osborns are very hospitable people,” observed Hugh, as he went on with his toilet.

“Look ‘e here, Stanton,” said Judge Lynn, “did you think I was drunk the other evenin’ when you and Major Hampton and myself were discussin’ the Barley Hullers?”

“I don’t know,” replied Hugh, evasively, “were you?”

“No, sir,” said the judge, emphatically, “don’t you believe it; not for your life. I jist got to thinkin’ about a case I’d decided in my court that day. A complex, tryin’ question of law, sir, always exhausts me, as it did the other night, and I fell asleep.” Hugh turned his face away to conceal his amusement.

“What’s the matter with you, anyhow, Stanton; you’re gettin’ mighty disbelievin’ it ‘pears to me; what are you grinnin’ ‘bout? Can’t a feller go to sleep if he feels like it?” asked the judge.

“How is business in your court, Judge?” asked Hugh, paying no attention to his irritation.

“Oh, she’s poppin’ these days, and don’t you forget it,” replied the judge. “You see, we’ve had no rain since last fall, and here it’s the first of May. Dry weather nachally makes our people irritable and brittle. Fellers ‘round here can’t pay their interest, and the Eastern capitalists are gettin’ down on ‘em. Mortgages are bein’ foreclosed, right and left; bet yer life, law business with me is hummin’.”

“We certainly need rain,” said Hugh. “The farmers, however, tell me that the barley, wheat, corn, and other crops are looking fairly well, notwithstanding the dry weather.”

“That’s a fact,” replied the judge, “crops are lookin’ devilish good, considerin’. Fact is, there’s lots of water in the ground from last year’s rains, but she’s oozin’ out danged fast lately, and within a week or two more, unless we have rain, things’ll be dryer ‘n powder dust. Yes, sir, loan companies are already gettin’ skittish, and sendin’ back applications for farm loans, unfilled.”

“Oh, come,” said Hugh, “you are a pessimist. We shall have a good rain before many days, and then you will change your mind.”

“Don’t you believe it, sir,” remarked the judge, with emphasis. “Now let me tell you, – but gosh almighty, what’s the use of talkin’ to you, Stanton; I can’t convince you, though I am right. It’s only a waste of words. You ‘re lariated with the balance of ‘em, and held in the iron grip of error. You go on believin’ jist as you please, anyway. Say, I called for a little favor. I want to borrow five dollars.”

“Want to borrow five dollars?” repeated Hugh.

“Yes, sirree, I do,” answered the judge, “and see here, Stanton, you must n’t refuse me. You see I had a case in my court the other day, and sort of attempted to interfere with a decision of the Supreme Court of the Sunflower State. It has resulted in the attorney-general’s gettin’ gay and frisky like, and sendin’ me the most contemptible and impudent telegram I ever read. I want the five dollars to telegraph back my defense. Fact is, I have jist got to have it; bet yer life I have. Oh, I can mighty near tell by the way my neck itches that somebody is makin’ a halter for it, bet yer life.”

“Why don’t you send it collect?” asked Hugh.

“Why, dangnation, man, I tried it, and the fool of an operator down here someway don’t have the right idee about the importance, dignity, and responsibility of my court, and he would n’t send it unless the shekels were put up in advance.”

Hugh handed the judge five dollars, and asked him if he did not think he had exceeded his authority in interfering with a decision of the Supreme Court.

“Law, my dear Stanton,” replied the judge, blandly, as he put the five dollars in his pocket, “law is my hobby. Speakin’ unreserved-like, they can’t down me on the statutes, no, sir; and if I had that low-down varmin of an attorney-general here, why, I’d fine him for contempt of court; bet yer life I would. Oh, I know a whole lot when it comes to law. Well, I must be goin’.”

“Good day,” said Hugh, as the judge started toward the door; “call again.”

“Good day,” responded Judge Lynn. “I’ll hand you back this special accommodation tomorrow.”

A little later Hugh hurried along the street toward Captain Osborn’s, laughing softly to himself at the oddities of Judge Lynn. When he reached the Osborn home, to his surprise he found Miss Marie Hampton there.

“I intended to surprise you,” said Mrs. Osborn, coquettishly, “by having Major Hampton and Marie with us, but have succeeded only partially. The major is away from home, but I carried Marie away with me this afternoon, and have persuaded her to remain with us for dinner.”

“I am truly delighted with your thoughtfulness,” replied Hugh, bowing deferentially to Marie, “but, really, Mrs. Osborn, you have no need of adding to the attractions of your lovely home to induce me to come.”

“I am not so sure of that,” replied Mrs. Osborn, as her musical laugh rang out merrily, “the captain and I are beginning to believe that you are incorrigible in your habit of neglecting your friends.”

“Hugh is a most excellent man of business,” replied the captain, “but he throws social obligations to the winds, unless his frequent visits to the Hortons prove an exception.”

“Don’t jest about impossibilities, Captain,” said Mrs. Osborn. “Lord Avondale will soon return, and – well, we all know what that means.”

Hugh’s face reddened at Mrs. Osborn’s words. He was not at all sure about the correctness of her inference.

“My calls at Major Hampton’s are quite as frequent as at Mr. Horton’s,” replied Hugh.

“You could come oftener and still be welcome,” observed Marie, while her heart beat fast with admiration for Hugh, an admiration she could not entirely conceal.

“Oh, thank you,” said Hugh, “that is a compliment I shall not soon forget,” and, as he spoke, caution beat a hasty tattoo on the drumhead of conscience.

Hugh could not help noticing that Marie was growing more and more beautiful. She was attired in an evening dress of black lace, which was admirably becoming to her graceful figure. Her heavy tresses shone like burnished gold and the softer shades of copper, while the rose hue of perfect health tinted her cheeks. The animated way in which she conversed with Hugh confirmed Mrs. Osborn’s suspicions that she was in love with him, while he was too stupid, she told herself, even to suspect it.

The dinner-hour passed pleasantly, Mrs. Osborn giving the captain but few of her tiger-claw scratches. The veteran invariably took refuge in the snug harbor of little Harry, whenever a serious break seemed imminent, and thus warded off all collisions with the war-cruiser of his domestic life. As they arose from the table, Hugh turned to Mrs. Osborn and asked her rather abruptly when Lord Avondale was expected.

“Why, what is that to you?” replied the wily

Mrs. Osborn, as she looked rather exultingly at him.

“I am interested in knowing,” replied Hugh.

“Well, but your interest is only platonic, you know.”

“Perhaps,” answered Hugh.

“Oh, perhaps,” repeated Mrs. Osborn, as she elevated her eyebrows and smiled bewitchingly at him. Hugh, however, made no reply, and Mrs. Osborn’s nerves received a shock by his silence as well as by the turn affairs were taking. She mentally resolved to wire Lord Avondale, on the next day, to hasten his coming.

Returning to the drawing-room, Captain Osborn pushed aside the heavy hangings that separated it from Mrs. Osborn’s music-room.

“Lucy, my dear,” said he, “I am sure Miss Marie and Mr. Stanton would enjoy some music.”

“By all means,” said Marie, “I have often wished to hear you play, Mrs. Osborn.”

“Captain, what shall I play?” asked his wife, seating herself languidly at the piano.

“Oh, anything,” replied the jovial old captain, “anything from ‘Old Dan Tucker’ to the ‘Fisher’s Hornpipe.’.rdquo;

“You will observe,” said Mrs. Osborn, looking back at Hugh over her shoulder, and smiling, “that my husband is quite primitive in his musical tastes.”

Then followed several selections. She played mechanically, however, and with little expression. There was no soul to rebound from the strings of the instrument. In the very middle of a classical piece, which was beyond her, she suddenly stopped playing, and, turning to Hugh, said:

“Excuse me, but did you not, on one occasion, speak of Miss Hampton’s playing?”

“I doubtless have mentioned it,” replied Hugh.

“Ah, you naughty girl!” exclaimed Mrs. Osborn, laughing, “why did you not tell me? Come, Marie, you must help me entertain these American financiers – these men of affairs. I promise you,” she went on, patronizingly, “that they will not know whether you play excellently or otherwise.”