Her Prairie Knight by B. M. Bower (e reader comics txt) 📗

an unsophisticated girl might easily think Keith in earnest, with that look in his eyes.

Dorman, scowling at them over his shoulder, unconsciously did his divinity a service. Beatrice pursed her lips in a way that drove Keith nearly wild, and took up the weapon of silence.

“You said you women are alone—where is milord?” Keith began again, after two minutes of lying there watching her.

“Sir Redmond is in Helena, on business. He's been making arrangements to lease a lot of land.”

“Ah-h!” Keith snapped a twig off a dead willow.

“We look for him home to-day, and Dick drove in to meet the train.”

“So the Pool has gone to leasing land?” The laugh had gone out of Keith's eyes; they were clear and keen.

“Yes—the plan is to lease the Pine Ridge country, and fence it. I suppose you know where that is.”

“I ought to,” Keith said quietly. “It's funny Dick never mentioned it.”

“It isn't Dick's idea,” Beatrice told him. “It was Sir Redmond's. Dick is rather angry, I think, and came near quarreling with Sir Redmond about it. But English capital controls the Pool, you know, and Sir Redmond controls the English capital, so he can adopt whatever policy he chooses. The way he explained the thing to me, it seems a splendid plan—don't you think so?”

“Yes.” Keith's tone was not quite what he meant it to be; he did not intend it to be ironical, as it was. “It's a snap for the Pool, all right. It gives them a cinch on the best of the range, and all the water. I didn't give milord credit for such business sagacity.”

Beatrice leaned over that she might read his eyes, but Keith turned his face away. In the shock of what he had just learned, he was, at the moment, not the lover; he was the small cattleman who is being forced out of the business by the octopus of combined capital. It was not less bitter that the woman he loved was one of the tentacles reaching out to crush him. And they could do it; they—the whole affair resolved itself into a very simple scheme, to Keith. The gauntlet had been thrown down—because of this girl beside him. It was not so much business acumen as it was the antagonism of a rival that had prompted the move. Keith squared his shoulders, and mentally took up the gauntlet. He might lose in the range fight, but he would win the girl, if it were in the power of love to do it.

“Why that tone? I hope it isn't—will it inconvenience you?”

“Oh, no. No, not at all. No—” Keith seemed to forget that a superabundance of negatives breeds suspicion of sincerity.

“I'm afraid that means that it will. And I'm sure Sir Redmond never meant—”

“I believe that kid has got a bite at last,” Keith interrupted, getting up. “Let me take hold, there, Dorman; you'll be in the creek yourself in a second.” He landed a four-inch fish, carefully rebaited the hook, cast the line into a promising eddy, gave the rod over to Dorman, and went back to Beatrice, who had been watching him with troubled eyes.

“Mr. Cameron, if I had known—” Beatrice was good-hearted, if she was fond of playing with a man's heart.

“I hope you're not letting that business worry you, Miss Lansell. You remind me of a painting I saw once in Boston. It was called June.”

“But this is August, so I don't apply. Isn't there some way you—”

“Did you hear about that train-robbery up the line last week?” Keith settled himself luxuriously upon his back, with his hands clasped under his head, and his hat tipped down over his eyes—but not enough to prevent him from watching his Heart's Desire. And in his eyes laughter—and something sweeter—lurked. If Sir Redmond had wealth to fight with, Keith's weapon was far and away more dangerous, for it was the irresistible love of a masterful man—the love that sweeps obstacles away like straws.

“I am not interested in train-robberies,” Beatrice told him, her eyes still clouded with trouble. “I want to talk about this lease.”

“They got one fellow the next day, and another got rattled and gave himself up; but the leader of the gang, one of Montana's pet outlaws, is still ranging somewhere in the hills. You want to be careful about riding off alone; you ought to let some one—me, for instance—go along to look after you.”

“Pshaw!” said his Heart's Desire, smiling reluctantly. “I'm not afraid. Do you suppose, if Sir Redmond had known—”

“Those fellows made quite a haul—almost enough to lease the whole country, if they wanted to. Something over fifty thousand dollars—and a strong box full of sand, that the messenger was going to fool them with. He did, all right; but they weren't so slow. They hustled around and got the money, and he lost his sand into the bargain.”

“Was that meant for a pun?” Beatrice blinked her big eyes at him. “If you're quite through with the train-robbers, perhaps you will tell me how—”

“I'm glad old Mother Nature didn't give every woman an odd dimple beside the mouth,” Keith observed, reaching for her hat, and running a ribbon caressingly through his fingers.

“Why?” Beatrice smoothed the dimple complacently with her finger-tips.

“Why? Oh, it would get kind of monotonous, wouldn't it?”

“This from a man known chiefly for his pretty speeches!” Beatrice's laugh had a faint tinge of chagrin.

“Wouldn't pretty speeches get monotonous, too?” Keith's eyes were laughing at her.

“Yours wouldn't,” she retorted, spitefully, and immediately bit her lip and hoped he would not consider that a bid for more pretty speeches.

“Be'trice, dis hopper is awf-lly wilted!” came a sepulchral whisper from Dorman.

Keith sighed, and went and baited the hook again. When he returned to Beatrice, his mood had changed.

“I want you to promise—”

“I never make promises of any sort, Mr. Cameron.” Beatrice had fallen back upon her airy tone, which was her strongest weapon of defense—unless one except her liquid-air smile.

“I wasn't thinking of asking much,” Keith went on coolly. “I only wanted to ask you not to worry about that leasing business.”

“Are you worrying about it, Mr. Cameron?”

“That isn't the point. No, I can't say I expect to lose sleep over it. I hope you will dismiss anything I may have said from your mind.”

“But I don't understand. I feel that you blame Sir Redmond, when I'm sure he—”

“I did not say I blamed anybody. I think we'll not discuss it.”

“Yes, I think we shall. You'll tell me all about it, if I want to know.” Beatrice adopted her coaxing tone, which never had failed