The Last Straw. Titus Harold

she had a quick fear that despite her assurance this man was leaving her with a strange feeling of inferiority, and when he went through the doorway into the night she was quite certain he was smiling merrily.

      She stood until the sound of his footsteps dwindled, then turned to the table and stood idly caressing the wood. Her fingers encountered something which she picked up and examined, at first abstractedly. It was a bit of straw, the one Beck had refused and, which drawn, would have made him her right hand man. She moved towards the fire to toss it into the flames; checked herself and, instead, put it between the covers of a book which lay handy.

      She stood on the stone hearth thinking of what he had said, cigarette smoke curling up her small hand and delicate wrist. The offended feeling subsided and, wonderingly, she tried to restimulate it; the sensation would not return! Of a sudden she felt small and weak and of little consequence.

      So he doubted, even, that she could be herself!

      She dropped the stub of her cigarette into the fire and, frowning, reached for another, and tapped its end on the mantel. She struck a match and put the white cylinder to her lips. Then, quite slowly, she waved the glare out and tossed the tiny stick into the coals. With a movement which was so deliberate that it was almost weary she dropped the unlighted cigarette after it. Slight as was the gesture there was in it something of finality.

      The coals were dimmed with ash before she moved to walk slowly to the window and look out. It was cold and still.

      A movement among the cottonwoods attracted her. A man was walking there, slowly, as one on patrol. She watched him go the length of the row of trees; then followed his slow progress back, saw him stand watching the house a moment before he moved on towards the bunkhouse.

      She lay awake for hours that night, partly from a helpless rage and, later, a rare thrill, a hope, perhaps, kept sleep from her mind.

CHAPTER III

       Table of Contents

      THE NESTER—AND ANOTHER

      "Now about the men, Miss Hunter," said Hepburn. When he reached this subject he looked through the deep window far down the creek and had Jane known him better she might have seen hesitancy with his deliberation, as though he approached the subject reluctantly.

      "How many will you need?" she asked.

      "Not many yet. Four besides myself. There's seven here now. That is, there'll be six, because one is pullin' out this mornin' of his own accord. We'll need more when the round-up starts, but until then—about June—we can get along. The fewer the better."

      "That will be largely up to you. Of course, I will be consulted."

      "I guess we'll keep Curtis and Oliver. Then there's Two-Bits—"

      "Oh, keep Two-Bits by all means!" she laughed. "I'm in love with him already!"

      "All right, we'll keep Two-Bits. As for the other, there's a chance to choose because—"

      "Beck; how about him?"

      Her manner was a bit too casual and she folded a sheet of memoranda with minute care before her foreman, who eyed her sharply, replied:

      "He's settled that for himself, I guess. He was packin' his war bag when I come down here. I told him to come to the house for his time."

      "You mean he's leaving?"

      Hepburn nodded.

      "Why?"

      "Well, I guess his nose is out of joint at not bein' picked for foreman."

      "But he wouldn't even draw. Said he wouldn't take a chance!"

      "I know. He appeared not to give a hang for the job, but he's a funny man. He an' I never got along any too well. We don't hitch."

      "Is he a good worker?"

      "If he wants to be. He don't say much, but he always.... Why, he always seems to be laughin' at everybody and everything."

      "I think I could persuade him to want to work for me."

      "Perhaps. But then, too, he's hot tempered. In kind of bad with some of the boys over trouble he's had."

      "What trouble?"

      "Why, principally because he beat up a man—Sam McKee—on the beef ride last fall."

      "What for?"

      "Well.... He thought this man was a little rough with his horse."

      "And he whipped him because he had abused a horse? That, it seems to me, isn't much against him."

      "No; maybe not. He beat him a sight worse than he beat his horse," he explained, moving uneasily. "Anyhow, he's settled that. Here he comes now, after his time."

      Jane stepped nearer the window. Beck approached, whistling softly. He wore leather chaps with a leather fringe and great, silver conchos. A revolver swung at his hip. His movements were easy and graceful. She opened the door and, seeing her, he removed his hat.

      "I've come for my time, ma'am," he explained.

      "Won't you come in? Maybe you're not going to go just yet."

      He entered and she thought that as he glanced at Hepburn, who did not look up, his eyes danced with a flicker of delight.

      "I don't know as I can stay, ma'am. I told your foreman a little while ago that I'd be going. Somebody's got to go, and it may as well be one as another."

      "Don't you think my wishes should be consulted?" she asked.

      He twirled his hat, looking at her with a half smile.

      "This is your outfit, ma'am. I should think your wishes ought to go, but it won't do for you to start in with more trouble than's necessary."

      "But if I want you and Mr. Hepburn wants you, where is the chance for trouble? You do want him, don't you, Mr. Hepburn?"

      The older man looked up with a forced grin.

      "Bless you, Miss Hunter, yes! Why, Tom, the only reason I thought we might as well part was because I figured you'd be discontented here."

      "Now! You see, your employer wants you and your foreman wants you. What more can you ask?" the girl exclaimed, facing Beck.

      "Nothin' much, of course, unless what I think about it might matter."

      Her enthusiasm ebbed and she looked at him, clearly troubled.

      "I am not urging you to stay because I need one more man. It is essential to have men I can trust. I can trust you. I need you. I ... I'm quite alone, you know, and I have decided to stay ... if I can stay."

      She flushed ever so slightly at the indefinable change in his eyes.

      "You told me last night some of the things I must do, which I can't do wholly alone. I should like very much to have you stay,"—ending with a girlish simplicity quite unlike her usual manner.

      "Maybe my advice and help ain't what you'd call good," he said.

      "I thought it over when you had gone," she said, "and I came to the conclusion that it was good advice." Her eyes remained on his, splendidly frank.

      "Some of us are apt to be disconcerted when we listen to new things; and, again, when we know that they come sincerely and our pride quits hurting we're inclined, perhaps, to take a new point of view. I have, on some things."

      His face sobered in the rare way it had and he said:

      "I'm mighty glad."

      Hepburn had watched them closely, not understanding, and in his usually amiable face was a cunning speculation.

      "I