"Well, are you never going to see me?"

VB started at the sound of Gail's voice so close to him. He bowed and smiled at her.

"I was interested," he said in excuse. "Getting my bearings."

She did not reply, but the expectancy in her face forced his invitation, and they joined the swirl about the stove.

"I can't dance in these riding boots," he confided with an embarra.s.sed laugh. "Never thought about it until now."

"Oh, yes, you can! You dance much better than most men. Don't stop, please!"

He knew that no woman who danced with Gail's lightness could find pleasure in the stumbling, stilted accompaniment of his handicapped feet; and the conviction sent a fresh thrill through him. He was glad she wanted him to keep on! She had played upon the man down in him and touched upon vanity, one of those weak spots in us. She wanted him near. His arm, spite of his caution, tightened a trifle and he suddenly knew that her _hair_ was as fragrant as it should be--a heavy, rich odor that went well with its other wealth! For an instant he was a bit giddy, but as the music came to a stop he recovered himself and walked silently beside Gail to a seat.

After that he danced with the wife of a cattleman, and answered absently her stammered advances at communication while he watched the floating figure of Gail Thorpe as it followed the bungling lead of her father's foreman.

The end of the intermission found him with her again. As they whirled away his movements became a little quicker, his tongue a little looser.

It had been a long time since he had felt so gay.

He learned of the other women, Gail telling him about them as they danced, and through the thrill that her warm breath aroused he found himself delighting in the individuality of her expression, the stamping of a characteristic in his mind by a queer little word or twisted phrase. He discovered, too, that she possessed a penetrating insight into the latent realities of life. The red-handed, blunt, strong women about him, who could ride with their husbands and brothers, who could face hardships, who knew grim elementals, became new beings under the interpretation of this sunny-haired girl; took on a charm tinged with pathos that brought up within VB a sympathy that those struggles in himself had all but buried. And the knowledge that Gail appreciated those raw realities made him look down at her lingeringly, a trifle wonderingly.

She was of that other life--the life of refinements--in so many ways, yet she had escaped its host of artificialities. She had lifted herself above the people among whom she was reared; but her touch, her sympathies, her warm humanness remained unalloyed! She was real.

And then, when he was immersed in this appreciation of her, she turned the talk suddenly to him. He was but slightly responsive. He put her off, evaded, but he laughed; his cold reluctance to let her know him had ceased to be so stern, and her determination to get behind his silence rose.

As they stood in the doorway in a midst of repartee she burst on him:

"Mr. VB, why do you go about with that awful name? It's almost as bad as being branded."

He sobered so quickly that it frightened her.

"Maybe I am branded," he said slowly, and her agile understanding caught the significance of his tone. "Perhaps I'm branded and can't use another. Who knows?"

He smiled at her, but from sobered eyes. Confused by his evident seriousness, she made one more attempt, and laughed: "Well, if you won't tell me who you are, won't you please tell me what you are?"

The door swung open then, and on the heels of her question came voices from without. One voice rose high above the rest, and they heard: "Aw, come on; le's have jus' one more little drag at th' bottle!"

VB looked at Gail a bit wildly.

Those words meant that out there whisky was waiting for him, and at its mention that searing thing sprang alive in his throat!

"What am I?" he repeated dully, trying to rally himself. "What am I?"

Unknowingly his fingers gripped her arm. "Who knows? I don't!"

And he flung out of the place, wanting but one thing--to be with the Captain, to feel the stallion's nose in his arms, to stand close to the body which housed a spirit that knew no defeat.

As he strode past the bonfire a man's face leered at him from the far side. The man was Rhues.

CHAPTER XV

Murder

The incident at the schoolhouse was not overlooked. Gail Thorpe was not the only one who heard and saw and understood; others connected the mention of drink with VB's sudden departure. The comment went around in whispers at the dance, to augment and amplify those other stories which had arisen back in the Anchor bunk house and which had been told by Rhues of the meeting in Ranger.

"Young VB is afraid to take a drink," declared a youth to a group about the fire where they discussed the incident.

He laughed lightly and d.i.c.k Worth looked sharply at the boy.

"Mebby he is," he commented, reprimand in his tone, "an' mebby it'd be a good thing for some o' you kids if you was afraid. Don't laugh at him! We know he's pretty much man--'cause he's done real things since comin' in here a rank greenhorn. Don't laugh! You ought to help, instead o' that."

And the young fellow, taking the rebuke, admitted: "I guess you're right. Maybe the booze has put a crimp in him."

So VB gave the community one more cause for watching him. Quick to perceive, ever taking into consideration his achievements which spoke of will and courage, Clear River gave him silent sympathy, and promptly put the matter out of open discussion. It was no business of theirs so long as VB kept it to himself. Yet they watched, knowing a fight was being waged and guessing at the outcome, the older and wiser ones hoping while they guessed.

When Bob Thorpe announced to his daughter that he was going to Jed Avery's ranch and would like to have her drive him over through the first feathery dusting of snow, a strain of unpleasant thinking which had endured for three days was broken for the girl. In fact, her relief was so evident that the cattleman stared hard at his daughter.

"You're mighty enthusiastic about that place, seems to me," he remarked.

"Why shouldn't I be?" she asked. "There's where they keep the finest horse in this country!"

"Is that all?" he asked, a bit grimly.

She looked at him and laughed. Then, coming close, she patted one of the weathered cheeks.

"He's awfully nice, daddy--and so mysterious!"

The giggle she forced somehow rea.s.sured him. He did not know it was forced.

They arrived at Jed's ranch as Kelly, the horse buyer, was preparing to depart after long weeks in the country. His bunch was in the lower pasture and two saddle horses waited at the gate.

Thorpe and his daughter found Jed, VB, and Kelly in the cabin. The horse buyer was just putting bills back into his money belt, and Jed still fingered the roll that he had taken for his horses.

"Aren't you afraid to pack all that around, Kelly?" Thorpe asked.

"No--n.o.body holds people up any more," he laughed. "There's only an even six hundred there, anyhow--and a fifty-dollar bill issued by the Confederate States of America, which I carry for luck. My father was a raider with Morgan," he explained, "and I was fifteen years old before I knew 'd.a.m.n Yank' was two words!"

VB was preparing to go with the buyer, to ride the first two days at least to help him handle the bunch. They expected to make it well out of Ranger the second day, and after that Kelly would pick up another helper.

Gail followed VB when he went outside.

"I'm going away, too," she said.

"So?"

"Yes; mother and I will leave for California day after to-morrow, for the winter."