Читать книгу Acres of Unrest - Max Brand - Страница 6

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Now you understand why it, was that the entire county knew that this was the day of Ross Hale. They knew, for one thing—for the papers had proclaimed it—that young Peter had graduated with honors, which seemed to mean a great deal more than football, at the Crimson, although not to sporting editors.

Here was a note from the great Crossley to Ross Hale.

Dear Mr. Hale: If we have missed your son mightily on the football field during the past three seasons, you now see for yourself that he has been doing a work that is a great deal finer for himself and for our college than anything that he could possibly have performed upon the football field!

I wish you joy of him. He is true blue—true-blue steel. There was never a finer fellow.

What a letter from the busy Crossley; how much heart in it; what an outpouring! It raised the head of Ross Hale into the clouds, and he almost forgave Peter for having failed in the football—owing to injuries of course. The great Crossley himself had pledged his word that was the reason. Did he not have that letter to show to the doubters?

The whole county was willing to believe—all except Andy Hale. He had reason to doubt—for it would not be long before he would have to let his boy stand at the side of big Peter Hale in front of the sheriff. And if Will Nast's eyes had not suddenly grown dull, were they not apt to see something in the great athlete, the man who spoke so many languages, who read, at least, in two dead ones. He wondered how Charlie would stand this comparison.

Big and strong Charlie undoubtedly was, and straight in the back, and broad in the shoulders. At bulldogging a yearling, where was there his superior in the county? He had a good business head, too, and one day he would have all of his father's rapidly growing estate to handle. Yet, in the eyes of Will Nast, would he be as valuable to the community as this startling Peter Hale, into whose well-being half the life and all the prosperity of Ross Hale had been poured?

Such an effort was worth a great crop. And it seemed as though one had surely grown from it. There were thousands of students picked from all parts of the country—hand-picked. Yet this Peter Hale had distinguished himself among them all. He had been great in athletics; he had been great in his studies—or far, far above the average, at the least.

As for Andy Hale, what was it that he had invested? In preparing an inheritance for his son, he had simply discovered the means of occupying himself more fully and happily than he had ever been able to do before. Ross Hale had completed his active life; he shrank, a weak and exhausted soul, from the business of life. But Andy was ready to attack life with more fervor than ever. He had used everyone of the past eleven years to push out his boundaries. If he had begun the work in the interest of his boy, was it not true that in the end he had been completing the task for his own sake? But it was certain that he dreaded the day on which Peter Hale should reach his old home. Of all the people who streamed toward the station to await the incoming of the express, there was not one down-hearted spirit except that of Andy.

As for Charlie himself, his smile never varied on his brown face, and his eyes remained as bright and as clear as ever they had been. You would say that malice could not live in the heart of such a man. If the people looked with a pleasant expectancy down the track where the front of the express would soon show itself, they looked also with a very definite satisfaction at the son of Andy Hale.

Everyone knew the terms of the contest. And they felt a jealous interest in its outcome. They knew that Charlie Hale had had what every Western boy was apt to expect, except that he had a little more of it. He had been trained on a prosperous ranch under a clever father. He had a sharp head for business, a keen knowledge of cows, their ways, and how to make money out of them, and he knew how to use the range to the best advantage, summer and winter. In addition to this, he was big and handsome, rode well, shot straight, and feared no man. Peter Hale would have to be a fine fellow to take a mark above his Western rival.

Andy Hale, driving toward the station, found that the platform was already crowded, though it was well before train time. Still others were coming in haste to join the throng, but a way was made for him.

For instance, since there was a crowd of buggies and buckboards at the nearest hitching rack, Tom Ransom backed his rig out and gave the place to the father of the returning hero. When Ross Hale climbed up the steps to the station platform, way was made for him, so that he walked through to the front. He paused here and there—to take a cigar from one friend, to shake hands with another, and to exchange a word with a third.

He felt the admiration in the eyes that were fixed upon him. They were quite willing to overlook the shabbiness of his clothes, as if they felt that this were proof of the sacrifices and the efforts that he had made to complete his boy's education.

Now and then they looked from him to Andy Hale, and their faces darkened perceptibly. It was not that anyone could have a word to speak against Andy Hale, but, compared with the sterling example of his brother, it was felt that Andy had almost sold his soul to the devil. He had preferred to make money; Ross Hale, on the other hand, had preferred the mental welfare of his boy.

To be sure, Charlie Hale was as fine a looking fellow as could be found on the range; his hand was as strong and his heart was as steady—but to compare him with his cousin from the Eastern school would be a very silly thing, indeed.

Weaker and smaller men than Andy Hale and his son would perhaps have felt all of the implied criticisms in these glances, and melted from the crowd, but they endured it all with smiles. However, it should be remembered that prosperity, when it passes the common point, cannot be tolerated with complacency by others. The commonest cowpuncher could see that in the past eleven years Andy Hale had lifted himself fairly out of their ranks, to a position in which the bankers smiled most cordially upon him, the officials of the county asked his opinion, and that opinion was liberally quoted by the county newspaper—where reputations were made and buried, also.

Here was old McNair with his keen blue eye and his bulldog jaw. He grinned at Ross Hale and wrung his hand with the paw of a giant.

"Look here, Ross," he said. "You got the finest boy in the range, and I got the prettiest girl. How about making a match between them, eh?"

It was a sad thing to say in the very presence of his daughter. But Ross Hale noted that, although crimson flooded her throat and her face, it was rather with confusion than anger that she quickly turned to her father and shook her finger at him to keep him quiet.

"Darn it, Ruth," said McNair, louder than before, "you are the prettiest girl, and I'll see no man that dares to say that you ain't. But they won't make such fools of themselves to say that. Eh, lads?"

He looked about him with the eye of a bull but he met with smiles only. What would have been an intolerable speech from any other man could be endured, coming from the lips of McNair, because he was a known man. For that matter, Ruth McNair was a known girl, too, and it would be hard to bring from any man in that crowd a speech that would offend her in any way.

If she had to turn away to hide her color, Ross Hale passed on with a keen sense that the sun was warmer and more gently golden than he had ever known it to be. The very smell of tar from the tracks seemed to him more bitingly delicious than any fragrance of flowers.

Presently there was a faint humming of the rails. He looked east along the line above the hills, where the trees met with the pale blue of the sky, and he saw a streak of white smoke. It blended in with the glistening clouds in the sky. Then the whistle screeched twice, and here came the front of the engine, swaying around the long curve into view, and then straightening out, staggering with speed, as it sped on for the station.

Now the train was slowing. The brakes went on with a screech. Voices began to be raised around him, excited voices frankly and freely speaking, because they had the thunder of the engine and the roar of the grinding wheels to drown their noises. The more they talked, the more excitement grew. A buzz and a stir filled them, and all the Sumnertown people pressed a little forward on the station platform.

The great moment had come, and Ross Hale, as he saw the train slowing toward a halt, tried to see through the windows, but found that his eyes were misted over. The gasp and whisper of the crowd—which was all that was left of their rattling excitement of the moment before—sank still lower and went out. Silence swept through them, and it was as though a great searchlight had fallen upon Ross Hale and his boy.