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  THE FORFEIT

  by

  RIDGWELL CULLUM

  Author of"The Night Riders," "The Way of The Strong," "The Trail of The Axe,"Etc.

  A. L. Burt CompanyPublishers ------ New YorkPublished by arrangement with George W. Jacobs & CompanyCopyright, 1917, byGeorge W. Jacobs & CompanyAll rights reserved

  CONTENTS

  I. AT RAINBOW HILL VALLEY II. CONFLICTING CURRENTS III. TRAILING THE "BLACK TAIL" IV. THE WEAKER VESSEL V. THE HANGING BEE VI. THE RAIDERS RAIDED VII. OUTLAND JUSTICE VIII. JEFF CLOSES THE BOOK IX. FOUR YEARS LATER X. THE POLO CLUB RACES XI. ELVINE VAN BLOOREN XII. THE TEMPERING XIII. THE NEWS XIV. THE KNOCKING ON THE DOOR XV. THE HOME-COMING XVI. THE RANCHMAN XVII. THE CALL TO ORRVILLE XVIII. DUG MCFARLANE XIX. THE RETURN HOME XX. AT BUD'S XXI. THE BARRIER XXII. THREATENINGS XXIII. THE HEARTS OF TWO WOMEN XXIV. TO SPRUCE CROSSING XXV. AN EPIC BATTLE XXVI. UNDER THE VEIL XXVII. THE ROUND-UP

  THE FORFEIT

  CHAPTER I

  AT RAINBOW HILL VALLEY

  A companionable silence prevailed in the room. At intervals it wasbroken, but only by the rustle of paper or the striking of a match.The heavy breathing, almost amounting to a snore, of one of the twomen, and the inarticulate protests of a laboring "rocker" chair--thesethings were only a part of it.

  The man at the table was deeply immersed in a miniature sea ofcalculations. His fair brows were drawn in deep concentration.Frequently he was at great pains to relight a pipe which containednothing but charred remnants of tobacco and a moist, unsmokable mixturewhich afforded only a somewhat offensive taste and aroma.

  The partner in this companionship overflowed an undersized "rocker,"which withstood, with supreme heroism, the overwhelming forces of itsinvader. But its sufferings, under the rhythmic rise and fall imposedupon it, found expression at intervals, although they failed to inspirethe least sympathy. The heedless giant's whole attention seemed to beabsorbed in the personality and effort of his friend.

  Finally the latter raised a pair of deep blue eyes. Following upon asigh, he thrust his papers aside with a brusque movement of relief.Then he raised a hand to his broad forehead and smoothed his disheveledfair hair, which seemed to have undergone some upheaval as a result ofthe mental disturbance his efforts had inspired in the brain beneath.The handsome eyes smiled a reassuring smile into the rugged face of hisfriend.

  "Well?" he enquired, without seeming to desire a reply.

  "Wal?" echoed the gruff voice of the man in the rocker.

  "It's done."

  "So--I guessed."

  The patient amusement in the twinkling eyes of the man in the rockerwas good to see. There was confidence, too, in his regard of theyounger man.

  "Can we do it--sure?" he enquired, as the other remained silent.

  "Without a worry."

  "Then dope it out, boy. The easiest thing in the world is handin' outdollars on a right enterprise. I don't know nothin' better--except itis takin' 'em in on the same sort o' play."

  Jeffrey Masters smiled more broadly into his friend's good-humored face.

  "Five years back, handing out twenty thousand dollars would have givenus a nightmare, even on a right proposition," he said. "It isn't thatway now. Guess we'll sleep on this thing like new-born babes with ourtanks filled right. Nat Williams is out to sell quick, and if we'rebright, it's up to us to buy quick. For twenty thousand dollars," heproceeded, referring to his figures, "we get his house, barns, corrals,and all his rolling stock. His growing crops and machinery. The bunchof old cows and calves he's pleased to call his 'herds.' Also threeteams of Shire-bred heavy draft horses, and six hundred and forty acresof first-class wheat land and grazing that only needs capital andhustle to set right on top. I don't guess it'll worry us any to handit all it needs that way. This buy will join up my 'O----' territorywith your 'T.T.' grazing, and will turn the combination into one of thefinest ranching propositions west of Calthorpe, and one which evenMontana needs to be proud of."

  He leaned back in his chair with a certain air of satisfaction. Butthere was just a shade of anxiety, too, in the glance with which hefavored his friend. However, he need have felt no misgivings. BudTristram had none. He understood the keen business brain underlyinghis friend's tumbled fair hair. Moreover, Jeff, who was only half theolder man's age, was regarded with something like parental affection.

  They had fought their way up together from obscure beginnings to theirpresent affluence, as the owners of the "T.T." ranch and the "O----"ranch respectively. They had been partners in all but name. Now theycontemplated a definite deed of that nature. It was a consummationwhich the older man had looked forward to ever since he first lent ahand to his new and youthful neighbor. It was a consummation whichJeffrey, with acute foresight and honest purpose, had set himself toachieve. If the older man regarded him with almost parental affection,that regard was fully reciprocated. The business conference betweenthem had for its purpose their mutual advantage, and both men wereperfectly aware of the fact.

  But the thought that slightly worried the younger man was the ease, theunconcern of his future partner's attitude. It disquieted him becauseit increased his responsibility. But long ago he had learned thegenerous nature of the Great Bud. Long ago he had realized histrusting simplicity. Now he would have preferred a keencross-examination of his statement. But none was forthcoming, and hewas forced to continue in face of the silent acceptance.

  "Bud, old friend, I wish I could get you interested in--figures. And Iguess they surely are interesting, when you apply them to our ownconcerns."

  But Bud remained unmoved. He stretched himself in an ecstasy of ease,raising his great arms above his grizzled head in profound enjoyment ofhis bodily comfort.

  He shook his head.

  "Guess I know a steer. Guess I know grass when I see it. I wouldn'tsay there's a brand in Montana I ain't familiar with. Butfiggers--sums--they're hell. An' I don't guess I'm yearning for hellanyway. Figgers is a sort o' paradise to you. You're built that way.Say, I don't calc'late to rob you of a thing--not even paradise. We'lltake your figgers as they stand."

  Jeffrey Masters shook his head.

  "They're right, sure. But it's no sort of way to talk business."

  "Business talk always makes me sweat."

  It was quite impossible. Jeffrey was growing impatient. A frownsettled upon his broad brow, and the man in the rocker watched it withamused eyes.

  Quite suddenly the younger man's impatience broke forth into verbalprotest.

  "Say, you make me mad. Was there ever such a feller looking for sharpsto play him? How do you know I'm not out to beat you? Why, I couldroll you for every dollar you possess without lying awake five minutesat night. It's not fair, Bud. It's not fair to me--to you--to yourlittle Nan----"

  "What's not fair to Nan?"

  Bud's twinkling eyes shot round upon the open French window with analertness scarcely to be expected in a man of such apparent mentalindolence. Jeffrey's eyes cleared of their hot impatience as theysought a similar direction. The gaze of both men encountered thepicture of a brown-eyed, brown-haired girl of exquisite proportions,standing framed in the open window. She was clad in a riding suit oflight material, with a long-skirted coat which obviously concealed thedivided skirt beneath. Her long, brown top boots were white with dustof the trail, and her vicious-looking Mexican spurs hung loosely uponher heels. Her eyes were bright with intelligence and good humor, andher pretty oval face smiled out from under the wide brim of an ampleprairie hat.

  Jeff began to laugh.

  "It's your crazy old father, Nan," he cried. "Say, just look at him.Feast your eyes on him. Can you bea
t it? Here we are right up to ournecks in an epoch-making business proposition and he don't concernhimself two whoops. Was there ever such a bunch of simple trustingfolly as is rolled up in that six feet three of good-hearted honesty?_That's_ what's not fair to--Nan."

  The girl came and laid a protecting hand upon the flannel-cladshoulders of her father. Just for a moment her laughing eyes gazedaffectionately down upon the recumbent form of the only parent shepossessed, and whom she idolized. He was stretched out luxuriously,his great be-chapped legs reaching to the table leg as a support tohold the rocker at a comfortable poise. His shirt sleeves were rolledup displaying a pair of arms like legs of mutton. The beadworkwristlets were held fixed in their position by the distended musclesbeneath them. She was proud of him, this father who went through theworld trusting human nature, and handling cattle as only an artist inhis profession can handle them.

  Then her dancing eyes sought the face of Jeffrey Masters. Her smileremained, but a subtle something crept into their depths as shesurveyed it. It was the handsome, clean-cut face of a purposeful man.There was a straight-forward directness in the gaze of his blue eyes.It was the face of a man who has no fear, physical or moral. It wasalmost too uncompromising in its fearlessness.

  Nan knew its every line by heart. She had thought of it, dreamed ofit, since the time when she had first realized that a woman's life iswholly incomplete without the care of a man upon her hands. Sometimesshe had felt that Jeffrey Masters possessed depths which could never befathomed. Depths of strength, of resource, and all those qualitieswhich make for success. Sometimes she even went further, when heranalytical faculties--which she possessed in an unusual degree--weremost active. She felt that the possession of all these firm qualitieshad rather smothered, to an extent, the gentler emotions of the humannature in him. He was strong, passionate, with a conscience of analmost puritanical order, and somehow she felt that a little softening,a little leavening of human weakness would have been all to the good.But this understanding made no difference to her woman's regard, unlessit were to strengthen it to a sort of gentle worship such as woman isalways ready to yield to strength. It required no effort upon her partto picture this man in the heroic mould of a Spartan warrior.

  "'_That_,'" she replied, with a whimsical smile, "is a man, who mostgenerally seems to fancy his own way of doing things." Then she shookher head as her arm slipped protectingly around the big man's bronzedneck. "I don't guess a woman's argument ever made a man see thingsdifferent yet. What's he done, Jeff?"

  Jeff laughed without humor.

  "Done?" he exclaimed. Then, with a shake of the head: "It's not whathe's done. Guess it's what he hasn't done, and what he don't seem tofigure to do. I'd kind of raised a hope when I saw you in the window.But--well, it was only her father's daughter that came in, I guess."

  Then he drew his papers toward him again, and glanced seriously at thefigures.

  "It's Nat's farm," he explained. "And it's the thing we've beenwaiting on years. We're getting it fixed right, and your Bud's justabout as much help as a deaf mute at a talking bee. I hand himfiggers, and--and he smiles, just smiles. I hand him facts, and--hekeeps on smiling. It's the kind of smile you most generally see on adog-tired feller's face when you hand him a funny story. He don't carea cuss anyway. He's figuring to hand Nat ten thousand dollars with nomore kick than a government spending public money. He don't kickreasonably or unreasonably, and I'd gamble you a new hat he hasn't anotion what he's getting for it. It makes me feel like a 'hold-up,'and I say it's not fair to me--nor to himself--nor to--you."

  Jeff was serious enough. In such affairs it would have been difficultto find him otherwise. Nan understood. These two men had long beenher profound study. Her smiling regard remained unchanging while theman was talking. When he ceased she bent over her father in acaressing fashion.

  "He'd lose his bet. He surely would, daddy dear, wouldn't he? But wereally need to answer, don't we? He'd think we were both fools, else.He wouldn't like it either. Say, daddy, shall--shall I talk?"

  Bud chuckled comfortably.

  "I'd hate to stop you, Nan."

  Nan smiled contentedly, and raised a pair of challenging eyes in thedirection of the table.

  "My daddy thinks I talk too much," she said. "But I s'pose that's myway--most girls talk when they get the chance--just the same as it'shis way talking too little. But neither ways suggest a fool, Jeff.And anyway the only sort of fool you need to worry with is the fool whodon't see and act in a way of his own. My daddy's acting in his ownway, and I guess it isn't his way, working overtime with the bandplaying. If you're dead fixed on having a gamble, it's a new hat to anew and less smelly pipe than you're smoking now, that he knows theinside of this deal to the last cent's worth. But what's more, Jeff,he knows you, and knows you couldn't 'hold-up' a Sunday-school kiddiewithout going and telling its teacher first. And now the mail."

  She left her father's side and moved to the table, a very picture ofgentle decision and practice.

  "Three for you, my daddy," she cried, dropping three letters on hischest, where his shirt gaped just below his neck. Then she turnedabout. "Only one for you, honest Jeff. Just one, and I've guessed atthe writing till I'm sick."

  Jeff was smiling up with frank amusement.

  "Say, that's great. It's got you beat. Well," he added, as he pickedup the letter, "I'll just keep you right on guessing. Where's yours?"

  The girl laughed merrily.

  "Had mine. I don't guess any right-acting girl would sit easy in thesaddle twelve miles without reading her mail. Say----" she paused.The smile had died out of her eyes. Jeff's expression had abruptlychanged. He was regarding the address on his envelope with startledseriousness. Then she went on quickly: "Guess I'll wait till you'reboth through. I'll get right out an' off-saddle. Then for supper."

  In the parlor the silence remained unbroken. It became undulyprolonged. Bud finished his mail. Jeff was still reading his. It wasnot a long letter. He had already read it twice through. Now he againturned back to its beginning.

  Bud observed him closely. He saw the knitted brows. The curious setof the man's lips. His absorbed interest. Nor did he interrupt. Hecontented himself with that patient waiting which betrayed much of thesolid strength of his character.

  Presently Jeff looked up. But his eyes did not seek his friend. Theywere turned upon the open window, his gaze wandering out toward thedistant hills, which marked the confines of Rainbow Hill Valley.

  Still the other refrained from speech. Finally it was Jeff, himself,who broke the silence.

  "Bud," he began, without withdrawing his gaze from the scene beyond thewindow, "it's a letter from Ronald. It's the second word I've had ofhim in--five years."

  Bud nodded.

  "The twin."

  Jeff's gaze came slowly, thoughtfully back to Bud's face.

  "Sure. We're twins."

  An unusual softness crept into the eyes of the man at the table.

  "I'm kind of wondering, Bud," he went on presently, "wondering if youget all that means--means to me. I don't know." He passed a handslowly across his brow, as though to brush aside growing perplexities."I don't seem to get all it means myself. No, I don't. The wholething's so queer," he went on, with a nervous, restless movement in hischair. "It sort of seems crazy, too." He laughed meaninglessly. Thenhe suddenly leaned forward with flushed cheeks and hot eyes. "Bud,don't think me crazy, but--well, say, I'm only part of me without Ronnynear. Oh, I don't guess that explains. But it's what I feel--and Ican't just talk it right. You don't get it? No, of course you don't.I can see it in your eyes. You think I'm right for the foolish-house.Listen. Is it possible--is it ordinary reason that when twins areborn, the nature of one normal child can be divided between the two,one having what the other feller lacks? There, that's how I feel aboutit. It's the way it is with Ronny and me. All that he is not, I am.I haven't one of his better features. Say, Bud, I'm a pretty
cold sortof man. I'd have made a fair sort of Puritan if I'd been on earth acentury or so ago. I've little enough humor. I don't care for play.I don't care for half the fun most folks see in life. I'd sooner workthan eat. And Ronny--well, Ronny isn't just any of those things. He'sjust a boy, full of every sort of human notion that's opposite to mine.And I'm crazy for him. Say, Bud, I love him better than anything inlife. If anything happened to that boy, why, I guess all that's worthwhile in me would die plumb out."

  He paused. Bud's shrewd eyes remained studying the emotion-litfeatures of this usually unemotional man. He felt he was beingadmitted to a peep at a soul that was rarely, if ever, bared, and hewondered at the reason. Was it a calculated display, or was it theoutlet for an emotion altogether too strong for the man's restraint?He inclined to the former belief.

  "Nothin' _has_ happened?" he enquired presently, in his direct fashion.

  Jeff laughed without any visible sign of lightness.

  "No," he said. Then with a deep sigh. "Thank God nothing hashappened. But----"

  "Then the trouble----?"

  "The trouble? Say, Bud, try to get it all as I see it. It'sdifficult. The boy's away up trapping and shooting--for aliving--somewhere in the Cathills. He's away there living on hard pan,while I'm here steadily traipsing on with you to a big pile. Rememberhe's my other--half. Do you know how I feel? No, you can't. Say,he's as merry as I am--dour. He's as fond of life, and play, and thegood things of the world as I'm indifferent to 'em. He'sreckless--he's _weak_." Suddenly Jeff's eyes lit. A great passionseemed to surge through his whole body. "Bud, I want him here. I wantto be always around to help him when he gets bumping into potholes.It's that weakness that sets me crazy when I think. He ain't made forthe dreary grind of the life we live. That's why he cut it out when Icame here. Well there's no grind for him now, and I want to have himcome along and share in with me. That's why I'm talking now. Fromthis moment on we're a great proposition in the ranching world, and Iwant Ronny to share in with me."

  Bud nodded.

  "I get it," he said. Then he added: "You're a great feller."

  "Great! Cut it out, Bud," Jeff cried sharply. "It's my love for thatother half of me that's talking. That merry bit of a--twin."

  "An' you're sendin' for him?"

  Jeff shrugged, and depression seemed suddenly to descend upon him.

  "If I could fix it that way I don't guess I'd have opened my face tohand you all this. But I can't. He's in the Cathills, away a hundredand more miles northwest of us. That's all he says. He don't give amail address. No, Bud, I'm going to hunt him out. I'm going to findhim, and bring him back. I'll find him sure. We're just one mind an'one body, an'," he added thoughtfully, "I don't guess I'll need adetective bureau to locate him. If he was chasin' around the other endof the world I'd find him--sure. You see, he's the other half of me."

  Bud nodded in sympathy, but made no verbal reply.

  "See, Bud," Jeff went on, a moment later. "The spring round-up'sthrough. We're going to fix this deed right away. When the attorneyshave robbed us all they need, and Nat's handed over, there'll be a goodmonth to haying. That month I'm going to spend in the Cathills. I'llbe back for the hay."

  The other eased himself in his rocker. Then for some moments no soundbroke the silence of the room.

  "It's been a heavy spring," Bud said at last.

  Jeff nodded. His thoughts were away in the Cathills.

  "Seems to me," Bud went on. "Work kind o' worries me some thesetimes." He smiled. "Guess the wheels need the dope of leisure. MebbeI ain't as young as you."

  "No."

  Jeff's attention was still wandering.

  "Guess the Cathills is an a'mighty big piece o' country gropin' aroundin," Bud went on.

  "Sure. A hell of a piece. But--it don't signify."

  "No-o," Bud meditated. Then he added: "I was kind o' thinkin'."

  "How?"

  "Why, mebbe two folks chasin' up a pin in a bunch o' grass is li'ble tohalve most o' the chances agin either of 'em jabbin' their hands on thebusiness end of it."

  "Two? You mean you're goin' to come along an' help find--Ronny?"

  Jeff's eyes were expressing the thanks his lips withheld.

  Bud excused himself.

  "Them Cathills is plumb full of fur an' things. Say, I ain't handled agun in weeks."

  "Bud, you're----"

  The door of the room was abruptly flung open and Jeff's words remainedunspoken.

  "Supper, folks!"

  Nan's smiling eyes glanced from one to the other. She stood in thedoorway compelling them. Besides, the memory of Jeff's letter wasstill with her, and she was anxious to observe its later effect. Thatwhich she now beheld was obviously satisfactory, and her smile deepenedcontentedly.