Forlorn River. Zane Grey

the more reason a young man of good family—once a neighbor and—and friend of ours should not be accused of being a—”

      As Ina halted over the unspeakable word Setter flicked the ashes from his cigar and then bent his inscrutable colorless eyes upon her.

      “Any man is known by the company he keeps,” he asserted. “Young Ide lives with a renegade Modoc Indian, an’ a cowboy who was run out of Nevada for bein’ a horse thief.”

      The pointed positiveness of the man struck Ina strangely even while his information made her heart sick. She stared at Setter until his cool assurance seemed slightly to change. Ina caught a glimpse of what hid behind that mask. She was fascinated by something impossible to grasp. Forced to listen to damning statements, she was unconsciously peering, with a woman’s strange inconsistency, at a man whose face and voice and look struck antagonism from her. There was no reason in the attitude of her mind.

      “Dad, what Mr. Setter said does not strike me quite right,” she declared, frankly. “It makes me remember Ben Ide more than I thought I did. Dad, I don’t believe Ben would steal to save his life. How could any boy change so in a few years?”

      Then she deliberately faced her father’s new partner.

      “Mr. Setter, if I remember Ben Ide at all you will have to prove what you say. I shall certainly see him and tell him.”

      “Ina, what’re you talkin’ about?” queried Blaine, impatiently. “That’s ’most an insult to Setter. An’ you can’t hunt up this Ide boy. I wouldn’t let you be seen talkin’ to him.”

      “I should think you would take me to see Ben, so I—”

      Ina saw the leap of red to her father’s craggy face and suddenly remembered his temper; she also saw several cowboys that had edged closer and now stood gaping.

      “Girl, you’ve come back with queer ideas,” declared Blaine. “If that’s all school’s done for you I’m sorry I sent you.”

      “Dad, I have a mind of my own—I can think,” replied Ina, feelingly.

      “Wal, you needn’t do any thinkin’ about seein’ Ben Ide, an’ that’s all there is to that.”

      “My dear father, I shall most certainly see Ben Ide,” said Ina.

      “Go in the house,” ordered Blaine, harshly.

      Ina strode away with her head high and face burning, and it was certain that she looked straight at the cowboys.

      She heard Setter say: “Spunky girl, Hart, an’ you have your hands full.”

      “Why’d you rub it in about young Ide?” demanded her father, angrily. “Seems you’re set on it, blowin’ at Hammell an’ all over—”

      Ina passed out of hearing, and when she was also out of sight she slipped through the bars of a gate and went back to the grove. Here she found a seat under the double pine tree, and the act of returning there established a link between the past and the lamentable news she had just heard. Whereupon she went over the whole conversation. It left her with a desire to feel grieved at instantly distrusting a man close to her father, and at the ensuing clash, but she could not feel in the least sorry. Instead, she found she was angry and hurt.

      “If it’s—true,” she faltered, “I’ll—I’ll—somehow I’ll bring Ben back to his old self.”

Chapter Three

      INA spent the rest of the morning under the pine tree in the grove; and after she had recovered her equanimity she applied some solid and tolerant thought to the problem which confronted her.

      The complexity of that problem would have to be understood and dealt with as it became obvious. She would not try to cross any bridges before she came to them. Disappointment must not be allowed to get a hold on her.

      She had lunch alone with her mother. Kate had gone to Hammell with Mr. Blaine. Ina exerted herself to be amusing and sympathetic, to reach her mother, and was not wholly unsuccessful. She had quickly sensed that if she let herself be guided by the desires and whims of her family there would be no strife. Mrs. Blaine seemed preoccupied with the innumerable duties of a rancher’s wife, when these duties had mostly been made impossible for her. For thirty years she had been a slave to labor, early and late, to the imperative need of saving. She now occupied a position where these things, though fixed in habit and mind, must not be thought of at all. It was impossible to forget them, and her trouble rose from the consequent bewilderment. The truth was, she was a sorely puzzled and unhappy woman because the circumstances of the Blaines had vastly changed. Yet she did not know this. It would have been natural for her to talk to Ina about the past, and their trials and joys, about all the homely tasks that had once been and were now no more, about neighbors as poor as they used to be, gossip, blame, worries, praise, and the possibility of a manly young rancher who might come wooing Ina. But as she had to talk of things relating to this new and different life, she was no longer natural. Ina thought her mother a rather pathetic person, yet recalling the severe toil and endless complaint of earlier years she concluded this was to be preferred.

      “Mother, tell me about the Ides,” asked Ina, among other casual queries.

      “Well, I’m sorry to say the Blaines and the Ides are not the neighbors they used to be,” replied Mrs. Blaine, reflectively. “I reckon it’s your father’s fault. Amos Ide has made money, but it’s never got him anywhere. He thinks we’re stuck up. Mrs. Ide these late years has kept more to herself. She used to go to church regular. But since the parson preached about prodigal sons she has stayed away. I haven’t been over there in ages. But I’ve seen Hettie. She has grown up. Fred was sweet on her once, but lately he’s taken to a town girl.”

      “How about Ben?” inquired Ina.

      “He’s a wild-horse hunter now, the cowboys say.”

      “Sort of a—an outcast, isn’t he?” went on Ina.

      “The story goes that Amos Ide gave Ben a choice between plowin’ fields an’ livin’ his wild life in the hills. Ben preferred to leave home. It was hard on his mother.”

      Ina gained some little grain of comfort from her mother’s talk, and she decided to go over and call on Mrs. Ide and Hettie some day. But once the idea had come, it gave her no peace. Ina spent the early part of the afternoon unpacking her belongings and changing her room into a more comfortable and attractive abode. Books, photographs, pennants, served her in good stead, and were reminders of happy college days. While she was thus occupied her mind was busy with the Ides, and when she had finished she decided to go that very afternoon to visit them.

      Once upon a time there had been a well-trodden path between Tule Lake Ranch and the farm of the Ides. Ina had observed that it had been plowed up in places, and fenced in others. She would take the lane out to the road, and upon her return wait for Dall and Marvie to pick her up on their way home from school.

      While changing her dress Ina suddenly realized that she was being rather particular about her appearance, something which since her arrival home had not caused her concern. She could not deny that she had unconsciously desired to look well for the Ides. “What Ide? Do I mean Mrs. Ide or Hettie?” she asked, gravely, of the dark-eyed, fair-faced girl in the mirror. The answer was a blush. Ina became somewhat resentful with her subtle new self.

      It happened that Kate saw Ina come down the front stairs.

      “For the land’s sake!” she ejaculated, in genuine surprise. “Goin’ to a party?” Her hawk eyes swept over Ina from head to toe and a flush and a twinge appeared on her sallow face.

      The look and the tone completely inhibited Ina’s natural frank impulse, which was to tell where she was going.

      “Like my dress, Kate?” she asked, coolly. “Aunt Eleanor got it for me in St. Louis. It’s only a simple afternoon dress, but quite up to date.”

      “I’m