Читать книгу Majesty's Rancho - Zane Grey - Страница 5

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It was along about sunset when Gene Stewart drove into the courtyard of his ranch. The drive out from Bolton, despite the old car, had seemed short, and for once he had failed to enjoy the magnificent range that he had loved so well for over thirty years. That day the many familiar spots, memorable of the wild past, failed to start the old dreams. Even the adobe ruins of the Mexican village where Madeline had importuned him to abandon his bad habits and come to work for her, failed for once to remind him of the turning point, the blessed uplift of his life. Trouble indeed gloomed Gene Stewart’s eyes when he could not see the sage flat where, bitter and hopeless, he had pulled Madeline off her horse, and knowing that she was secretly his wife, that though she did not dream of it, she was his, and he was leaving her forever, to ride out on his old hard-shooting, hard-drinking trail to get himself killed, he had kissed her with the mocking passion of renunciation. When Gene, passing the place, did not remember that, though it had been over twenty years ago, he was indeed sore distraught with worries.

Nels, the old Texan who was the last of his great riders of that earlier and wilder day, sat on the porch of the store, smoking and waiting. Gene seemed to see that white head, and the narrow eagle eyes, the lean lined face, with a rare and shocking sense of their age. Nels must be close to seventy now. And all the West showed its life and havoc under that mild mask of tranquillity.

“Wal, you’re late, Gene, an’ come draggin’ along like you was on a bogged hawse,” remarked Nels.

“Yes, old-timer,” replied Gene, wearily, as he sat down on the porch, a folded newspaper in his hand.

“What’s on yore chest?”

“Things have gone from bad to worse, Nels.”

“Heahed from Majesty?” queried the old cowman, eagerly.

“Letter and telegram to me. More for Madeline.... Madge is on her way home. For good!”

“You don’t say?—Aw! Then nothin’ can be bad,” replied Nels, settling back with an air of beautiful relief.

“Bad news from Madge, Nels. But let that go for the moment. There are lesser evils. Lawson has gone into bankruptcy. No hope of the money he owes me. I had banked on that. My creditors are pressing. Money must be raised.”

“Any better market for cattle?”

“Gone down to thirty dollars on the hoof.”

“Boss, I reckon I’d sell.”

“All the herd?” queried Gene, in surprise. Nels would be the last cattleman to sacrifice all his stock. There was not in Arizona a keener judge of matters pertaining to cattle.

“Every horn an’ hide, Gene.”

“But that is an unheard of thing for a rancher to do,” protested Stewart.

“Shore. How aboot these times? Onheard of, ain’t they? Never in my life have I seen the like. Lookin’ far ahaid, Gene, I’ll predict thet the day of the big cattleman is over.”

“Unthinkable!” ejaculated Stewart. The idea somehow hurt him. “What warrant have you for such a prediction?”

“Government interference, sure as shootin’. Then the range land grows less an’ less every year. Last an’ wust, we already have Argentine meat comin’ heah to the U.S., cheaper than we can raise it. Gene, we’re in for bum years. I’ve got a hunch.”

“I always respected your hunches, Nels,” replied Stewart, testily. “But this seems preposterous.”

“Gene, jest how bad in debt air you?”

“I haven’t the nerve to figure it up,” replied Stewart, evasively.

“Wal, if you sold oot at thirty you could pay up, an’ then tide over ontil good times come again. If we live thet long!”

“I might consider selling half my stock,” rejoined Stewart, thoughtfully.

“You’re the boss. An’ you asked my opinion. I forgot to tell you thet Danny Mains rode up today. He ain’t makin’ oot with his cattle raisin’. Been losin’ too many steers. An’ Danny is afeared thet the Mexicans air doin’ the stealin’.”

“But how could a few Mexicans, even if they were crooked, get rid of cattle without leaving any sign?”

“I don’t know, Gene. But there’s shore somethin’ doin’. All of Bonita’s relatives cain’t be good. Some of them won’t be good until they’re daid. Danny’s got a fine wife in Bonita, an’ shore a dandy girl in their daughter, young Bonita. But thet’s aboot all. And he’s scared of her relatives. Asked me plumb oot what to do?”

“And what’d you say, Nels?”

“Wal, I told him to sell. An’ when he bucked on thet I advised him to throw in with you. Then if you hired a couple of good cow hands we could beat this game. At least the stealin’ end. Thet’s the profit-eatin’ cussed part of it.”

“Not a bad suggestion, Nels. But what’d we pay hired cow hands with?”

“Aw, shucks, Gene! It cain’t be thet bad with you,” complained Nels, plaintively.

“I’m sorry, old-timer. But it is. I hate to face Madeline. And especially with this.” Stewart unrolled the newspaper he had twisted in his hands and spread one over the old cowman’s knees. Nels took out his glasses, and adjusting them he read slowly:

COLLEGE CAMPUS RIOT

Co-ed Expelled for Inciting Riot

Between Students and Police

”Wal, I’ll be ... !” he ejaculated, jerking up his fine white head. Gene had seen those blue eyes flash fire many a time, though hardly ever like this. Nels divined the truth and his affections were attacked.

“Majesty?”

“Yes, I’m damn sorry to say. But read what it says, Nels.”

“Aw!”

Gene watched that fine lined face as Nels laboriously read the half column in the newspaper. He had seen Nels face death many times and deal it often, with never a gray shade creep over his features nor a convulsive quiver, such as were visible now for a fleeting instant. And he remembered that it was Nels who loved Madge as well as her own father, it was Nels who had long years ago named the imperious child Majesty, who had put her upon a horse and taught her to ride. Nels folded up the newspaper and handed it back.

“Gene, I’d give somethin’ to throw a gun on the cuss who wrote thet.”

“Nonsense, Nels. Are you crazy? This is 1932.”

“Why hell yes! And there’s more shootin’ in the U.S. now than when we come first to this range, thirty years ago for you an’ more for me.... He’s a damn liar, Gene.”

“Who? The writer of this article?”

“Yes. I don’t believe a word of thet dirty part. Aboot her bein’ wild, rich, an’ as hard a drinker as she was a speed demon. Gene, don’t you believe thet an’ fer Gawd’s sake, don’t tell Madeline.”

“I’m sort of sunk, Nels. Kind of a last blow. I don’t know what to think. Madge’s letter admits it. Honest, right out! And her telegrams say she’s on the way home to stay.”

“Gosh! Thet’s the best news I’ve heahed fer a long time.”

“It is good news, Nels. It hurts, though. Looks kind of like disgrace is responsible.”

“Aw no, Gene. Why, Majesty loves this range, this house where she was born. It’s home.”

“I don’t know my own girl,” sighed Stewart. “Remember, Nels, I haven’t laid eyes upon Madge for over three years. You know I was in Mexico the last time she came home. And the summer before that she went to Europe.”

“Wal, I have. An’ I’m gamblin’ on her, Gene. Wild as a young filly, shore she was. But good as gold an’ as true as steel. When she was heah last I had some jars, you bet. I had to figger oot thet times had changed since you an’ me ran after girls. We’ve stayed right in one spot, Gene, an’ this old world has moved on.”

“Right. I’ll bet you we have it coming to us. Madge said in her letter she was having a crowd of college friends come to visit her.”

“Fine. She did thet last time an’ I never had such fun.”

“Nels, you’re a hopeless old fool. Madge will have you eating out of her hand. But I’m her father!”

“Shore. An’ I’m gonna have fun oot of you, Gene.”

Gene slowly walked up the winding green-bordered path toward the ranch house. He had not told Nels all his worries. As a matter of fact he was both overjoyed at the prospect of Madge’s return and greatly dismayed. A crowd of college friends!

Mockingbirds and quail and robins and magpies were rustling and chattering in the thick pines. The last rays of the setting sun burned gold on the flowering vines and the open weathered walls and arches of the old Spanish mansion. The fragrance of roses mingled with that of pine, and the soft sage wind from off the range. Gene felt the fact that the grounds, the great adobe structure, were more beautiful than ever. But the evidence of decay struck Gene most forcibly this evening. The trellises were falling down; the planking of the porches had rotted through in places, the weathering of plaster showed the adobe bricks.

Passing through the high archway at the rear of the house, Gene entered the patio. It appeared a dusky jungle of dark verdure, running water, drowsy twittering of sleepy birds, and odorous fragrance. A savory smell wafted from the kitchen where he heard the servants talking in their low voices. When Gene crossed the wide porch to enter Madeline’s sitting room, the newspapers to which Nels had objected did not show among the large quantity of mail. Madeline had heard his step on the porch and had come to meet him. Love for this patrician woman who as a girl had forsaken the East to make his country and his life hers, and pride in her well-preserved beauty and charm, seemed to be strong and moving emotions at the moment when these disclosures about their only child had to be made. Would Madge be another Madeline? There was gray visible in Madeline’s hair and lines had begun to show in the handsome face. But the light in her lustrous eyes appeared as soft and glad as in her youth.

“Gene!” she exclaimed, kissing him. “A whole day late! ... You look tired—worried.”

“Howdy, Madeline,” replied Gene, laying the bundles and packets of mail on the table. “Yes, I’m tired—and worried. Bad news, Wife. It never rains but it pours. Lawson failed, Madeline. Gone into bankruptcy. No hope of money. I’ll have to sell some stock. Nels advises selling all my herd.... That’s nothing though. I’ve got a big surprise for you. Madge is coming home.”

“Madge! Coming home? Why? What has she done now, Gene?” rejoined Madeline, quietly.

“Got herself expelled from college,” Gene blurted out, knowing that he should have broken the news more gently, but incapable of the guile necessary to spare his wife’s feelings.

“Oh, no! Not on the eve of her graduation? June eleventh.”

“Yes. It’s tough, but maybe not so bad as it seems. Here’s her letter and telegrams to me. Read them before you open yours.”

Gene went into his office, which adjoined the sitting room, turned on the lights, and laid all his unopened mail, and some business papers upon his table. Then he repaired to his room to wash and change for the evening meal. He took plenty of time about this, his thoughts under the dominance of gloom. Presently Madeline called him to supper, and he found her in the dining room. If he had expected her to be cast down he was agreeably surprised.

“I ought to be hungry,” he said. “Most forgot to eat in town.” And he asked Madeline questions pertaining to the ranch during his absence. Nothing had happened. The drowsy languorous summer had come and the tranquil tenor of the lonely range land had not been broken. When Gene had finished a hearty meal he suggested that they go into the sitting room and get it over.

“Dear, it will never be over until you change your habit of mind,” she replied, sweetly. “You always look upon the dark side.”

“Madeline, this time of trouble has brought back the Gene Stewart of other and darker days.”

“It should not. You have made me perfectly happy for more than twenty years. Loss of money, for you and me, is nothing.”

“Madeline, I could take my losses without.... But it’s yours that distress me. All your life you have had luxury. You were born to it. This last year and more you’ve been using your money to pad Madge’s bank account. She keeps overdrawing her income and you keep from telling her that her income isn’t one with what it was. Now through me and that spendthrift girl of ours you must suffer. When the depression hit us you should have told Madge the truth. How much her income had fallen off. Instead of that you never told her—made up the difference yourself. And she spends hundreds like a drunken cowboy does dollars. That is what hurts me.”

“Gene, I expected the shrinking of capital and income would be only temporary. I still believe, as my lawyer in New York assures me, that we will recover. Madge’s capital is intact and eventually her income will grow normal. That was a wise provision of Aunt Helen’s. Madge can’t spend the capital. And it doesn’t make so great a difference that her income has dwindled. But now we should tell her—if we have the courage!”

“We!” expostulated Gene, startled. “Not much. Why, I don’t know Madge since she grew up. When she was seventeen—before she left for college I was scared to death of her. You’ll have to tell her.”

“That’ll be hard. I’m afraid myself of these years she has lived away from us. If I had it to do over I’d not have sent her away to college.”

“Well, let’s forget the financial side of it for the present. You read her letters and telegrams?”

“Yes. Madge asked me to reserve judgment until I had heard her side. Evidently she became involved in some kind of a college row, for which she was not responsible, but which resulted in her expulsion. She regretted greatly that she could not graduate.”

“Was that all? No regret for the—the disgrace?”

“She never mentioned disgrace. I don’t believe that has occurred to her.”

“Same old Majesty, eh? She couldn’t do any wrong,” returned Gene, and there was a tinge of bitterness in his tone. “What else?”

“She said she had invited her college friends to come out here for the summer—for the summer, mind you. That will be after graduation. It worries me more than the fact of her being expelled.”

“That’s easy. Tell Madge she can’t have her friends this summer.”

“Could you tell her that?”

“Sure I could,” replied Gene, grimly.

“Very well. That will be a relief. For the rest she wired from L.A. she was leaving. And last evening from Yuma. Gene, don’t excite yourself over probabilities. The fact seems that at that rate she may get here tomorrow.”

“Madeline, it—it’ll be so wonderful to see her again that I almost don’t care what she’s done,” replied Gene with emotion.

“Gene, she’s our problem. She’s a composite of you and me.”

“Madeline, not much of me?” implored Gene.

“A very good deal of you, her father.”

“Suppose she inherited some of that wild blood of mine?” ejaculated Gene, aghast.

“If it hadn’t been for that, there might have never been any Madge, darling.”

“Lord!—I always said Madge had your beauty, your sweetness, your intelligence. But if she’s got my old devil in her, too—come out in these modern days of freedom for women—what, Maddie, what on earth can we do?”

“I don’t know, Gene. Love her, trust her. Make her love her home. Let us agree on that right here, Gene.”

“I promise, Madeline. But I’m scared.”

“So am I. But not the way you are. I’m scared of a crowd of young college people, just freed from cramping restrictions, let loose upon us here.”

“Madeline, do you remember your young crowd—that you had come out here from New York just after you bought this place?”

“Indeed, I do,” replied his wife, musingly, her eyes shadowed. “My brother Alfred—his romance with Flo—my sister Helen—my best friend Edith Wynne. Oh, they seem so far away—so long ago. But Alfred has been coming back to us for ten years.... Gene, did you ever guess that Helen was in love with you—then, when you were El Capitan?”

“Helen!—Why, Maddie, you’re crazy,” protested Gene.

“No. It’s the truth. I never told you. Helen never married, you know. And she left her fortune to Madge—which after all has been such a problem—is so yet.... Gene, if Madge’s friends are like her, we would have a more exciting summer than that one twenty-three years ago.”

“I haven’t the slightest doubt of that,” growled Gene.

“If we only had an El Capitan to tame Madge!”

“Maddie, we don’t want a wild hombre like he was.”

“Perhaps no other kind could ever win Madge.... My husband, why do you always disparage yourself so bitterly?”

“I’ve failed as a rancher. After raising a herd of eighty thousand head.”

“But that was not your fault. Who could foresee what would happen to the cattle business? Anyway I was referring to your status as the cowboy who came—and conquered.... Gene, my memories are beautiful, always, eternally all-satisfying. Even to this day I can dream of that awful ride down into Mexico to save you from being shot—and revel in the sight of you striding out, as you supposed, to your execution. To meet instead—me—your wife, who you had no idea knew your secret!”

“Well, I find it sweet too, Madeline. The past would be enough for me. But there is you—our home—and now Madge to think of.”

“Gene, it will all come out right.”

“Sure it will, dear. I’m an old croaker. Wish I could be like Nels.... You’ll want to read your mail. And I’ve a lot of papers to look over.”

Gene left his wife, conscious of a sense of guilt and remorse. He had not told her all. The deal with Lawson had been made to raise money to pay a mortgage he had secretly placed upon the ranch. Gene had meant to confess this, but could not bring himself to it. Nels had sensed that something was wrong, though the keen old friend had not dreamed that it was so bad. It was insupportable for Gene to think of Madeline and Madge losing this beautiful ranch.

Outside he walked the old familiar path under the cotton woods that had been planted there before Don Carlos built the house. The sultry heat of day was wafting away; a fragrant incense of flowers and pine needles filled the air; the irrigation ditch in its stone-walled vine-covered confines murmured on musically like a brook.

There was strength and help in this environment, and in the solitude that hung over it. But there was no comfort in Gene’s confession that he had not been equipped to cope with these modern days of bewildering changes and upsets in business. Nels was a far better cattleman than he. For fifteen years there had been too much money to spend, and he had spent instead of saving it. Then out of a clear sky, like a thunderbolt, had come the collapse of eastern securities, and the bank that had held the rest of Madeline’s fortune. She did not know how poor they really were. Sober reasoning assured Gene that Madge could and probably would save the ranch. Nevertheless telling her of the straits he had brought about seemed absurdly beyond him. Gene made up his mind to sell two thirds of his stock, pay his pressing debts and the interest on the mortgage, then plan and plot somehow to save the situation.

With a mighty effort he threw off the depression, and went back into the house, to deceive Madeline with an apparent return of his old cool unconquerable spirit, and presently to bed.

In the morning there had come a change. Whether or not the anticipated home-coming of Madge had wrought the magic or a vivid realization of the sweetness of life on this glorious June morning, so rich in song of birds and blaze of purple range and golden sun, Gene did not know. A good sleep and then the light of day always worked wonders.

Gene found Danny Mains with Nels, having a cup of coffee in the old cowboy’s bachelor quarters which had been his home for twenty-five years. Danny had been one of Gene’s wild outfit in those long-past prosperous days. His bow legs, his sturdy build had not altered. But Danny’s homely visage betrayed the havoc of the years.

“Howdy, Boss,” he greeted Gene, gladly. Danny had not worked for Gene for a whole decade and more, but he always addressed him in the cowboy vernacular of rider to his employer. “I was comin’ up. Nels an’ me hev been talkin’ over my throwin’ in with you. I like the idee, Boss. Are you goin’ to sell some stock?”

“Good morning, you two old hombres,” replied Gene, cheerfully. “Yes, I’m selling two thirds of my cattle. What’s your angle on that, Danny?”

“Like it, Boss. If the price is goin’ up, as Nels figgers, why by the time we can round up an’ drive to the railroad it ought to reach thirty-five dollars a haid.”

“Shore it will,” drawled Nels, as he sipped his coffee. “Danny figgers he has aboot seven hundred haid, probably more. An’ he aims to sell half of them.”

“Boss, with a lot fewer cattle we can keep count better an’ mebbe stop this queer rustlin’.”

“Who’s doing it?” demanded Gene, angrily.

“I’m damned if I know. I’m shore afeared, though, thet some of my wife’s lazy kin are mixed up in it some way.”

“Ahuh. So Nels said. That ought to be easy to correct.”

“Yes? How’n hell can I hang her relatives?”

“Danny, we don’t need to hang them. Just stop them.”

“An’ you knowin’ greasers for thirty years! ... Gene, we’re growin’ dotty in our old age.”

“Let’s pull out of it, Danny.”

“I’ll drink on thet.”

“Nels, I can see you’ve got it all figured out for us. Spring it pronto.”

“Mighty simple to me,” rejoined Nels, thoughtfully. “Hire a couple of rattlin’ good cowboys. An’ with you an’ Danny an’ the vaqueros heah you can do the job in a week.”

“Hire two good cowboys, eh? Where? How? What with?” queried Gene, spreading wide his hands.

“Sech ain’t to be had, Boss,” declared Danny, hopelessly.

“Wal, I’ve an idee,” went on Nels. “Gene, you an’ Danny open the store while I clean up heah.”

Gene took the key with its buckskin string attached, and accompanied by Danny went out by the long-deserted bunkhouse, across the green toward the store. He could hear the whistling of Madge’s horses beyond the corrals.

“Danny, I’d closed up this store long ago but for Nels,” said Gene.

“Aw, Boss, you can’t do thet. Why, it’d kill the old feller. An’ the store ain’t runnin’ at a loss, is it? All the Mexicans deal with Nels.”

“Yes, and they owe him plenty. He must restock. And I just can’t go deeper in debt.”

“Hell no! We’ll do somethin’, Boss. I’m afraid we’re down in the mouth. As if I didn’t hev enough to pester me without thet girl of mine!”

“Bonita?” queried Gene, quickly, with a chord of sympathy.

“Yes, Bonita. Boss, I’m damn ashamed to confess it, but I’m afeared she’s a no-good little hussy. After all your wife has done for Bonita—educatin’ her—makin’ a lady out of her—why, she’s jest cussed.”

“Danny, what do you mean?”

“Bonita has the vaqueros nutty. But she doesn’t give a damn for one of them. She’s white an’ she runs with the white. Ren Starr, you know, was tumble stuck on Bonita. But her flirtin’, mebbe wuss, I don’t know, queered her with him. She goes to town every chanct thet comes along. She drinks an’ Lord knows what. I ought to beat the hell out of her. But I jest can’t. I love thet kid like I loved her mother, Bonita, long ago. You remember, Gene, ’cause you saved Bonita for me.”

“Yes, I remember, Danny, old pard. It’s tough sledding now for us old boys, who can’t figure the present and this younger generation.... I’ve a daughter of my own, Danny. An’ she’s due home today or tomorrow.”

“Majesty comin’? Aw, thet’s grand! Why, Boss, she’ll put the life in us. I’m sure glad, Boss. This time you gotta make her stay home.”

“Make her?—Danny, didn’t you just admit you couldn’t do anything with Bonita?”

“Sure. But what the hell has thet got to do with Madge?”

“I suspect these girls are precisely the same.”

“Lord help us, Boss!”

Gene unlocked the rickety door of the old supply store and threw it open. The shelves were almost bare. Some print goods, gaudy in color, and glass jars of pink and yellow candy, and gewgaws for children, and a spare supply of tobacco and cigarettes were about all the stock left for Nels. In the wintertime he sat beside the old stove, to smoke his pipe, and feed billets of wood to the fire; and to talk about the past when, at rare intervals, somebody dropped in.

“Always makes me think we’re living in the past,” said Gene, coming out to join Danny.

“Aw, Boss, don’t talk as if it was all over,” returned Danny. “We got a future.”

At that juncture Nels appeared behind them, his free clinking stride belying his white locks. As he was about to step up on the porch he halted, his keen blue gaze fixed beyond the village, far down on the range.

“Look!”

Gene sighted a streak of yellow dust tailing out behind a motorcar. His heart swelled up in his throat to check his utterance.

“Car. Comin’ hell-bent fer election!—Boss, doesn’t thet remind you of Link Stevens when he used to drive Madeline’s white car across thet sage flat?”

“Yes. I’ve never forgotten Link. A great cowboy who could no longer ride! He loved to drive and scare us all stiff. But, Danny, it’s a cinch Link would turn over in his grave if he could see that car coming.”

“I should smile. Makin’ seventy miles an hour. On thet road. My Gawd, some fellers have nerve! He’s young an’ don’t give a damn fer his life!”

“Wonder who it can be?” queried Gene, under his breath. “Important telegrams, I’ll bet. Hope it’s not bad news. Nels, have you a field glass handy?”

“Don’t need none, Gene. Thet’s Majesty!” rang out Nels.

“Madge! ... Say, can you see? Or is it one of your hunches?”

“Both.... Look at thet car streak along! Gene, it shore ought to make you feel as young as it does me.”

“Young! Man alive, it makes me a doddering old man,” replied Gene, thickly, and he sat down to relieve shaky legs.

Somehow he knew that reckless driver was Madge and he wondered why he had not grasped the fact at once. At the same instant he had a resurgence of pride in the girl’s spirit and ability. She could drive—she could ride a horse like an Indian—she could do anything.

“Nels, what color is the car?” asked Gene, whose eyes had grown dim.

“Color of a coyote, I reckon. Gene, she had two cars heah last time, both of them black, if I recollect.... Dog-gone, but it does my pore heart good to see Madge eatin’ up the miles like thet.”

“Nels, you always were an inhuman monster, a bloody gunman,” declared Gene. “How do you suppose it makes me feel to see my only child risking her life that way?”

“Boss,” interposed Danny, impressively. “You an’ me hev a common cause. Nels has no feelin’s. I reckon we oughta git drunk.”

“You said it, Danny.”

“Say, you fellers air blessed among men,” put in Nels. “Both got purty daughters an’ you rave aboot yore troubles! I wisht to Gawd they was both mine.”

“Boss! Did you see her take thet wash? Must hev forgotten it.”

“I’m looking, boys, but I can’t see very well.”

Nels had walked to the end of the porch. Gene could make out only the streaking dust-comet, blurred in his sight. Yet that appeared to grow magically closer.

“Gene, she’s off the wust of the road. Be heah in a few shakes of a lamb’s tail.... It’s a low open car—shiny—with a long front—a nose like them staghounds Madeline used to have.”

Presently car and rising dust disappeared under the slope.

“Heah thet drone? All the same airplane,” shouted Danny.

Gene heard and thought that his ears had never drunk in such sweet music. Madge—his kid—his little girl—his second Madeline—come home for good! He heard Danny babbling in his old cowboy manner, and then Nels let out a “Kiyi!” The drone gave place to hum and then a mellow roar. Then like a flash a tan car shot into sight, passed the village, to turn left at the fork of the road, and speed out of sight up the knoll into the green foliage.

“Shore, I oughta reckoned on thet,” said Nels to himself.

“Boss, I’ll be waitin’ home when you come down,” added Danny. “Welcome Majesty home fer me.”

“Nels, I think I’ll go up.”

“Wal, I should smile.... Tell her my heart ain’t as strong as it used to be,” drawled Nels, with a hand on his breast.

That jest in earnestness troubled Gene Stewart as he made his way up the knoll. The years were flying by. This home-coming of his daughter seemed to mark an epoch in his life and Nels’, too. The old cowboy had no kin; he did not remember his age and he could not have worshiped Madge more if she had been his own. Gene fought a disloyal and disturbing thought about Madge. If she turned out to be wild and flighty, undutiful! ... But he conquered the incipient fear. As a child she had been warmhearted, loving, imperious and willful as her mother had been. Gene expected to find Madge bewildering, and he walked slowly up the shady path, seeking to prepare himself for he knew not what. His steps, however, led him inevitably up to the house, through the great arch into the patio and on toward the east wing. Before he stepped into the flagstone corridor he heard a strange voice, swift and high-pitched, sweet and happy. That would be Madge. She was with her mother in the living room. Gene took some long strides to reach the wide doorway. He saw Madeline in her big armchair with the girl on her lap.

“... Mom, darling, I am wild with joy to be home. I have forgotten nothing. I am drunk with the sage. I am....”

And then Gene stepped into the room. They heard his step. The girl raised a lovely face, flushed and radiant, with great violet eyes that were wet and dim. Gene knew her, yet he did not know her. This Madge had golden hair.

“Dad!” she cried, poignantly.

“Yes—if you are—Madge,” he replied, a little huskily.

She sprang up, taller than he remembered her, and not so slim, to rush at him arms spread. She threw them around his neck, and swinging free of the floor she hugged him tight. “My handsome Dad! My El Capitan! ... Oh, how—good to see—you!” And with kisses and incoherent words she at last let down her feet, to lean upon him breathlessly. As Gene gazed down, his breast congested and his utterance clogged, he saw that her long dark lashes lay upon her cheeks, and tears were streaming from under her lids.

“Madge, is—is it really you?”

“Yes, Dad—your bad chicken come home to roost.” And she opened eyes that were like her mother’s, only a deeper, darker blue, exquisite in their soft and misty lights. “Darling! You’ve changed somehow. Lines I don’t remember.... And this white over your temples!—Mom, what has grieved our El Capitan?”

“Dearest, the years leave their marks,” replied Madeline, her voice not quite steady.

“I think he’s handsomer. Can you find me a lover like him?”

“Lord forbid, Madge!” laughed Gene. “Now stand away and let me look at you.”

She revolved for his inspection, like the models in fashion shows, and from the crown of her golden head to her suede shoes she appeared to be the ultimate in grace and beauty, in vivid and intense pulsing life. Then her eyes, wide upon him, brought back the child and the girl to prove this lovely young woman his own Madge. It was a profound and moving moment for Gene.

“Madge, my girl. It is you, yet not you. I recognize your eyes, your look, your smile. All else is strange—especially this.” And he caressed a waving tress of her golden hair.

“Mom said almost the same,” rejoined Madge, with a laugh. “Both of you have forgotten your darling.”

“Not much,” said Gene.

“Madge, once your hair was chestnut, like mine before it darkened,” added her mother.

“Well, honey bunches, we will waive that question. But really I am disappointed. I was sure you’d fall for me hard.”

“Daughter, if you are one hundredth as good as you are lovely, I shall be the happiest father in all the West.”

“Dubious, but eminently satisfactory.” Then with striking suddenness she changed from gay to grave. “Let’s get it over, my darling Mom and Dad.” It struck Gene that she addressed both of them but looked at him with eyes no man on earth could have doubted. “You had my letters and wires. I hope you did not see the L.A. papers.... I was expelled from college, in disgrace. It was hateful—the publicity. I’m sorry I couldn’t graduate, for your sakes. For mine, I don’t care in the least. I learned all they gave me and yelped for more. I was secretary of the student body and I’m a Phi Beta.”

“What does that mean, Madge?” asked Gene.

“Why Dad!—To belong to the Phi Beta is one of the highest honors any woman can attain in college.”

“Dearest,” murmured Madeline, “that makes me happy indeed.”

“Madge, what did they expel you for?” queried Gene, stern despite his emotion.

“Dad, I was indirectly to blame for a riot between the students and the police.”

“Indirectly? Does that mean innocently?”

“It certainly does.”

“Okay. Tell us what came off.”

“I like to drive fast and I didn’t pay overmuch attention to laws and rules,” rejoined Madge, frankly. “I never had time to poke along slowly. Several times I received tickets for speeding. Once after that I was in a rush and the officer who caught me happened to be the same one. Well, he was a sap, swelled on himself, and by making eyes at him and telling him he wouldn’t pinch his little co-ed, or some such rot, I kept him from taking me to court; he said, ‘I’ll be seeing you, sweetie,’ and the next time he saw me he was fresh. I cut him dead, of course. One afternoon I was driving up to college and saw him coming up alongside. That time I was not exceeding the speed limit. Nor did I forget to put out my hand at the corner, but he accused me of that. He followed, calling for me to stop, which I did presently along the side street halfway down the campus. It happened in between classes, and there were students everywhere. Some of my friends were right there when I stopped. They heard my argument with this policeman. And did they take my side? Students came running from everywhere. Then I noticed a young fellow in the front line, and at first took him for a student. There were two policemen in this car and a motorcycle cop came up. Both officers got out, and the mean one stepped on the running board of my car—told me to move over—that he was taking me for a ride. Then the students rushed a vegetable truck, and loading up with tomatoes and oranges they just swamped that police car. The motorcycle cop called out the reserves, and the dirty bum of a policeman who had been to blame for this—he actually laid his hands on me—to push me out of my seat. Then this young fellow I mentioned, socked him in the stomach—a terrific wham! The officer began to fold up. Did I get a kick out of that? Then my champion laid him out in the street and leaping into my car told me to step on it. We left the mob of reserves and students having a swell fight. When I got out of the crowd I did step on it. We escaped.... That’s all, Dad, except the board of directors expelled me and the officers forgot to come and arrest me.”

“It doesn’t strike me as so terrible,” replied Gene, with a reassuring smile. It was certain Madge had no idea she had done the least wrong. “What do you think, Madeline?”

“Madge was rather thoughtless and indiscreet.”

“What became of the young man?” queried Gene. “I’d like to shake hands with him.”

“So would I,” flashed Madge, her eyes lighting up. “I drove him downtown, to a parking place where we chatted. He was the handsomest fellow. Shy. He had no line at all. Oh, I liked him. Made a date with him to meet me right there the next day. But he didn’t come, the idiot! Instead, oh, never mind—that was all of that.”

“If you don’t feel badly over it, why should we?” asked Madeline, happily.

“Then we’ll forget it. I think you are both darling. I’m going to make up for my long absence by loving you to death.”

“Madge, we can stand some loving,” returned Gene, fervently. “Are you really going to stay home now?”

“Dad! Don’t look so wistful. Oh, how I have neglected you both! But you wanted me educated. You’ve had your way. I am, and how!”

Neither Madeline nor Gene could resist a laugh.

“You will stay home with us—at least once in a while?” asked her mother.

“Forever, darling. I’ll have my friends come to see me. I wired you to expect a crowd after graduation. What a place this ranch is to entertain city tenderfeet! I’ll have the time of my life.”

“Madge, the ranch—is run down,” said Gene, hesitatingly. “Hardly fit now for your friends.”

“But, Dad, it’s so western, so Spanish. I adore the atmosphere of years and leisure. Before I left L.A., I bought three truckloads of stuff. Everything under the sun. Mom, I hope you like my modernistic taste. I’ll refurnish my rooms, and all those in the west wing. Oh, it’ll be swell.”

“Only three truckloads!” ejaculated Gene, with a smile at Madeline. He had to laugh. His daughter was amazing, electrifying. He felt shot through and through with new life. The flush on Madeline’s lovely face was pleasant to behold. “What about your baggage?”

“My car outside is full. And I expressed ten trunks and a lot of bags. They will be at Bolton today. The other stuff comes by freight. I do hope soon. We have only two weeks to get ready for my crowd.... Dad, will you carry in my truck? I brought you both presents galore, when I can unpack. Mom, are my rooms ready?”

“They are clean, my dear, and exactly as you left them.”

Gene went out in front, conscious of varied emotions. A good deal of the happiness that possessed him was the pent-up delight Madeline had betrayed.

“Gosh! No wonder this car could travel!” ejaculated Gene, sizing up the magnificent machine, new, glittering, apparently all engine. The back seat was packed full of bags and parcels. And there were three beautiful coats, one of them fur. All about the car and its contents reminded Gene of Madeline Hammond when she had first arrived at El Cajon, which was now Bolton. Like mother, like daughter! Still could Madge ever adjust herself to the changed times? She had a fortune but she could not squander her principal. Aunt Helen, wise in her vision, had seen to that. But Madge’s income now could not support her present extravagance. Gene thought of these things and many more, in the fifteen trips he made with Madge’s baggage. On the last she and her mother met him in Madge’s sitting room.

“Mom! Why should you apologize for my rooms?” Madge was saying. “They are just swell. I wouldn’t change them. Of course the furnishings are rather dingy and old. But I anticipated that.... I’ll paint these walls.”

“You’ll what?” asked Gene, incredulously.

“I’ll paint them. I bought the paint and brushes.”

“You learned that in college?”

“I certainly did. See here, Dad Stewart, you give me a job I can’t do?”

“You’re on, Madge.... I’d like, though, that you’d run down to see Nels.”

“Nels and my horses! Oh, am I happy? ... Where’s my purse? I don’t want Nels to see me such a sight,” she babbled. Finding the purse she sat down to open it and take out something shiny on a chain. From this she extracted a powder puff, with which she powdered her nose. This act was performed deftly and while she talked to her mother. But when she took out a small metal tube and began to paint her lips with it, Gene observed that she was careful and quiet. Her lips took on a hue still more scarlet. Madge, bouncing up, encountered her father’s nonplused gaze, and she burst into mirth.

“Why do you do that?” he asked, curiously.

“You old range rider! Why do you suppose?”

“I’ve no idea, unless you imagine it makes you prettier. Nothing artificial could do that.”

“Dad, don’t you fool yourself. I just could. I’ll make up really for you some day. It’s an art.... I suppose, to answer you, that the custom grew popular through motion pictures. The most beautiful stars are those who have the artistry, or do their making up under experts.... Mom, would it interest you to know that I had an offer to go into the movies?”

“Yes, of course. But it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“There was one studio hot after me. It turned out that I had met some official or director at some function, or the Grove, I forget which. He talked me deaf, and phoned the house until I told him where to get off. I was interested, of course. Any girl in the world is keen about the movies. I’d like to have taken a fly at it. But—I decided it would cost more than I’d pay.”

“Cost? Why, I read about the big salaries the companies pay their stars.”

“Oh, Dad!—Mom, isn’t he a darling old dumbbell? ... I’ll be back right away to unpack.” She ran out, her high heels clicking.

Gene stood there, smiling quizzically at Madeline. Presently he heard the slam of a car door and the burst of engine.

“Dumbbell? I suppose I am. Poor Nels and I are in for hell.”

“Gene, I’m tremendously relieved. Whatever college and city may have done to her these four years she is wholesome and sweet. And oh! so lovely!”

“I liked the way she looked when I spoke of Nels.... Maddie, I think, if she’s got a heart, we can stand anything.”

“Be assured then, Gene, and relieved as I am. She is warmhearted. She loves us. She loves—this home.”

“Why, Madeline! You’re crying.... At that I feel sort of—weak myself. Our little girl come home—grown up—a woman! I never saw a princess, but she’s one. I’m so proud of her I could burst.... Wife, I forgot to ask you. Don’t you think we ought to patch up the telephone system to town? The wires are down in places. And there are other things.” Whereupon Gene went over with her the talk he had had with Nels and Danny Mains. After that he proceeded to the room Madeline and he used as an office, and there he read neglected mail, carefully studied books, and figures that always were Greek to him, and wrote some important letters. Madge’s coming had seemed to fire his energy, to make a break in the old mañana habit of mind he had fallen into, and to stimulate his determination to see this climax of hard times through. To Gene’s surprise he was called to lunch before he had any idea the morning had passed.

Madge met him as he entered the living room, and he halted in sheer amazement. She looked like a slim boy.

“Madge, what kind of a riding outfit is that?” Evidently his reaction to her appearance gave her delight.

“Dad, I have on slacks. Don’t you like them?”

“Daughter, I’m afraid I’ll like anything you wear,” he replied, putting his arm around her.

“Against your better judgment, yes?”

They entered the dining room, which appeared brighter than for many years. The sunshine sifted through the foliage over the open window. There were roses and Indian paintbrushes and sage in the vases. Madeline had celebrated the occasion by gracing the table with white linen and some of her old silver and china.

“Swell to be home!” exclaimed Madge.

“Disappointed in—anything?” asked Gene, haltingly.

“Not a thing. The ranch had gone to hell when I was home last. But I didn’t mind the tumble-down corrals and sheds. Fits the range. But the big barn must have a new roof.... Dad, it gave me a shock to see Nels. I think he has failed a little. But he is the same old darling. I was so overjoyed to see him that I forgot my horses. Fancy that? Then the luncheon bell rang. I had scarcely time to change. This afternoon I’ll get into riding togs, just to please Nels. What do you think he said, Dad? ... ‘Wal, Majesty, the only things aboot this heah ranch thet ain’t gone daid is yore hawses. Me an’ yore vaqueros hev seen to thet.’ ... Oh, I love to hear the old Texan talk.”

“Yes, your horses are okay, Madge,” replied Gene. “I hope Nels didn’t talk too much.”

“He couldn’t keep anything from me.... Dad, I’ve known for a couple of years that your financial situation was not so hot. Mom told me when I was home last. And of course I’ve read about the depression going from bad to worse. Just how bad is it for you?”

Madge’s direct query and the gaze that added more to it were not easy to meet.

“Pretty tough, Madge—but I’d rather not confess just what a poor businessman your dad is.”

“Gene, it is not your management of the ranch,” interposed Madeline. “You made it pay expenses until the bottom dropped out of everything.”

“Madeline, that’s darn good of you,” protested Gene. “But it’s not so. We had too much money and too many cattle. For ten years we ran behind, a little more every year. Then came the crash....”

Gene hesitated, spreading wide his hands, looking from wife to daughter. Nels was not the only one who would find it difficult to lie to Madge Stewart.

“I get it,” she said, soberly, dropping those penetrating eyes. “I’ve always understood Majesty’s Rancho was mine. You know, just in a vain and playful way, perhaps. How about that, Dad—seriously?”

“Of course this ranch is yours—or will be someday, which is just the same. And a white elephant—my daughter.”

“Not for little Madge. What do you suppose I went to college for? What did I study economics for? ... Dad—Mom, I tell you I’m home for good. I’m crazy about my home. It has been swell to have unlimited money. Let me play around this summer—entertain my friends—then I’ll hop to the job.”