Chapter 19

Jeff's strong chin stuck out, and his eyes sparkled "You bet I don't."

The boy eyed him attentively. The qualities conspicuous in the pioneer--energy, fortitude, grit, patience--shone finely out of Jeff's eyes.

"I like you, Jeff," said the boy, almost shyly.

"Shake," said Jeff. "I like you, Bud."

The two shook hands solemnly.

"Although I am a city boy," said Bud.

"But it beats me what yer doing--here?"

"Just camping. Dad's a botanist and an entomologist."

"Is that so?" Jeff's face shone. The presence of these strangers in the wild foothills was adequately explained. Then he laughed, showing strong, even teeth. "I'd like to meet your dad first-rate, and, Bud, I'd like even better to meet your sister."

He punched the boy in the ribs, chuckling to himself. The boy laughed too, freshly and frankly.

"Something like you, I reckon," said Jeff, "only cleaner and----"

"I'm as clean as they make 'em," Bud declared angrily.

"Keep your hair on, sonny. I'll allow yer as clean as they make boys, mebbee cleaner, but we're speaking o' girls. Have ye got her picture?"

"Whose picture?"

"Your sister's."

"Well, I declare! How do you know I've got a sister?"

"I know it," said Jeff. "Call it instinct. Didn't I tell ye that in my business I've got to jest naturally know things? I jump, Bud, where the ordinary citizen might, so ter speak, crawl."

The boy laughed gaily. Then he ran off, returning in a minute with a small leather case. Out of this he took a cabinet photograph, which he handed to Jeff. That gentleman became excited at once.

"I knew it--I knew it!" he exclaimed. "She's a--_peach_! Bud, I'm mighty glad ye showed me this. Jee--whiz! Yes, and like you, only ten thousand times better-lookin'. What's her name, Bud?"

"You don't want to know her name."

"I want to--the worst kind. My! Look at that cunning little curl! And her shape! You know nothing o' that yet, Bud, but I tell ye, sir, yer sister is put up just right according to my notions. Not too tall. Them strung-out, trained-to-a-hair, high-falutin girls never did fetch me. I like 'em round, and soft, and innocent. What's her name, sonny?"

"Sarah."

"Sairy! Bud, I don't believe that. Sairy! I never did cotton to Sairy. Yer pullin' my leg, ye young scallywag. The nerve! No--ye don't."

Jeff had stretched out a long, lean arm, and seized the boy by the shoulder in a grasp which tightened cruelly.

"Oh--oh!"

"Tell me her right name, ye little cuss, or I'll squeeze ye into pulp."

"Lemmee go! Dad calls her Sadie."

Jeff released the shoulder, grinning.

"Sadie--that's a heap better. I--I could love to--to distraction a girl o' the name o' Sadie."

"If Sadie were here----" Bud had removed himself to a respectful distance, and was now glaring at Jeff, and rubbing his bruised shoulder.

"I wish she was, I wish she was. You were saying, Bud----"

"I was saying that if Sadie were here, she'd fix you mighty quick."

"Would she? God bless her!" He stared sentimentally at the photograph.

"Yes, she would. She'd let you know that a girl may be round--an' soft--an' innocent--and a holy terror, too, when a big, blundering galoot of a dep'ty-sheriff talks o' loving somebody to whom he's never been introduced, and never likely to be, neither."

Jeff looked up in amazement.

"Why, Bud; why, sonny--ye're real mad! Why, you silly little whipper- snapper, ye don't think I'd talk that way if the young lady was around. Great Scot! Look ye here! Now--now I ain't goin' to hurt ye any. Come nearer. Ye won't? Well, then, don't! But, strictly between ourselves, I'll tell ye something, although it's agen myself. If your sister was here, right now, I--I'm so doggoned bashful--I wouldn't have a word to say--that's a fact."

"I wish she were here," said Bud, savagely.

"Now, Bud; that's a real nasty one. Ye don't mean that. Did I hurt yer shoulder, sonny?"

"Hurt it? I'll bet it's black and blue most already."

"I'll bet it ain't. Pull down your shirt, an' let's see. Black and blue? You air a little liar."

Bud slowly pulled up the sleeve of his faded blue jumper. Hand and wrist were burnt brown by the sun, but above, the flesh was white and soft. Just below the elbow flamed the red and purple marks left by Jeff's fingers.

"The shoulder's a sight worse than that," said Bud sulkily. Jeff displayed honest concern.

"Pore little Bud," said he, patting the boy's hand which lay in his own. "It is lucky fer me Miss Sadie ain't round. I reckon she _would_ fix me for this. And I shouldn't have a word for her, as I was tellin' ye. She'd think me the biggest kind of a mug."

So speaking, he picked up the photograph and half slipped it into the case.

"Twon't do fer me to look at her," he murmured; "but if ever there was a case----"

"Eh?"

"Never mind."

"What were you going to say?"

"Somethin' very fullish."

"Say it, Jeff. I'll not give ye away to Sadie. Honest, I won't."

"I believe," said Jeff solemnly, "that I've got it where the bottle got the cork. It's a curious sort o' feeling, not unpleasant, but kind o' squirmy."

"What in thunder are you at?"

"It's love, Bud--love at first sight. Now, mind--yer not to give me away. I'm in love end over end with your sister. Don't git mad! She'll never know it."

"Are you often taken this way?"

"Never before, by Jing! That's what's so queer. Mebbee I pitched on my head. Mebbee I'm delirious."

"Mebbee you always were--half-baked. Looks like it, I must say. Give me the case."

"Any more sisters, Bud? I reckon not. The mould must ha' been broke when Miss Sadie was born. One'll make trouble enough for we men. Is there another, Bud?"

"No."

"There's another picture in there."

"Yes--Dad's."

Now it chanced that as Jeff drew the portrait of Bud's father from the case the boy had turned, and so missed the amazing expression of surprise, dismay, horror, that flitted into Jeff's honest face, and for the moment distorted it. But when he spoke his voice was the same, and his features were composed.

"This is your--dad?"

"Yes. I call him a peach." "It's a fine head--sure," murmured Jeff.

Bud bent over him, eager to sing the praises of his sire. But, for the first time since man and boy had met, Jeff's face assumed a hard, professional look. Bud eyed him interrogatively.

"Does your leg hurt any?"

"N-n-o."

"I'll fetch some more hot water, if you say so."

"I'm feelin' a heap easier--in my leg."

He put the two photographs into the case, closed it, and handed it to Bud with a sigh.

"Maybe you will meet Sadie some day," said Bud, taking the case.

"Maybe," Jeff replied, with an indifference which made the boy stare. Jeff was gazing across the foothills with a queer steely glint in his blue eyes. Bud ran into the house.

Instantly, Jeff was alert. He pulled a tattered handbill from his pocket, smoothed it out, and read it with darkening brows. The bill offered a handsome reward for any information which would lead to the arrest of one Sillett, a defaulting assistant-cashier of a Santa Barbara bank. Sillett and his _daughter_ had disappeared in a springboard, drawn by a buckskin horse, and were supposed to have travelled south, in the hope of crossing the border into Mexico. At the head of the bill was a rough woodcut of Sillett. Jeff crumpled up the sheet of paper, and stuffed it into his pocket.

"It's him--sure 'nough," he growled. Then he gasped suddenly, "Jee- roosalem! Bud is a rosebud!"

He smiled, frowned, and tugged at his moustache as Bud appeared with some more hot water. Jeff blushed.

"You're real kind, but I hate to give ye all this trouble."

Bud, after bathing the swollen leg, glanced up sharply.

"You're as red as the king of hearts. You ain't going to have a fever?"

"I do feel kind o' feverish," Jeff admitted.

Bud lightly touched his forehead.

"Why, it's burning hot, I do declare."

Jeff closed his eyes, murmuring confusedly, "I b'lieve it'd help me some if you was to stroke my derned head."

Bud obediently smoothed his crisp curls. Jeff's forehead was certainly hot, and it grew no cooler beneath the touch of Bud's fingers.

"Hello!" exclaimed Bud, a few minutes later.

"Here's Dad coming across the creek."

* * * * *

Sillett advanced leisurely, not seeing the figures under the live-oak. He carried a tin box and a butterfly-net. He was dressed in the brown over-alls of Southern California, stained and discoloured by sun and tar-weed. His face, brown as the over-alls, had, however, a pinched look, and in his eyes lay a curious tenseness familiar enough to deputy-sheriffs. For the rest, he had a mild forehead, which he was wiping as he crossed the creek, a pleasant mouth, and a chin a thought too delicately modelled for a man. He walked soberly, with the dragging stride of a tired pedestrian. He was tall, thin, and angular.

Bud ran to meet him.

"We've comp'ny," he cried, indicating Jeff. Sillett quickened his step.

"Company?"

Sillett met Jeff's glance with a simple bow, and the inevitable remark, "Hurt yourself?"

Jeff explained. While describing his misadventure he decided that Bud could not be a party to the father's crime. Sillett asked for permission to examine the wounded leg Presently he asked Jeff to stand up.

"Oh, Dad!" protested Bud.

Jeff obeyed, glad to discover that he could stand upon the injured foot.

"Same thing happened to me once," Sillett remarked. "The tight boot caused more than half the trouble. Sit down, Mr.----?"

"Wells. Jefferson Wells."

"Thank you. My name is--of no service to you. And this is my daughter --Sarah. Run away, Sadie."

Jeff, watching the daughter, thought her confusion the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

"You are a cowboy, I presume?" said Sillett, as Bud disappeared. Not waiting for Jeff's answer, he went on fluently: "I'm sure I can trust you; you have an honest face, sir. I'm collecting certain plants and butterflies, but--I have other reasons for camping out. My daughter has played the boy, because a boy is safe in these wild hills; an unprotected girl might be molested. We will do what we can for you. You, I am sure, will respect this confidence."

Sillett played his trumps boldly, not knowing that he was speaking to a deputy-sheriff. Jeff said nothing. Sillett, after asking if the horse had been fed and watered, followed his daughter into the hut. Jeff groaned to himself. "Mighty soon I'll be wishing I'd never been born!"

However, assured that he was alone, he carefully examined his six- shooter, and began to reckon what chances there were for and against arresting Sillett single-handed. Ordinarily, he was quick enough at such calculations, but Bud introduced confusion into every sum. "I'm in an awful hole," reflected the unhappy Jeff.

The hole became a bottomless pit when Bud appeared in a pretty linen frock, and asked him demurely how he fared.

"You're looking worse," she said.

Changing her dress, she had cast off with the rough overalls such rugosities of manner, speech, and intonation as belonged to the ragamuffin of the foothills. Poor Jeff assumed his "society" manner and accent.

"If I'd only known," he began lamely.

"You never suspected?"

A note of anxiety escaped Jeff's ears.

"N-n-no. Of course not. Why, think how I handled you."

Sadie blushed.

"I'll forget everything," she whispered, showing a couple of dimples, "and we'll begin all over again, Mr.--Wells."

His confusion, which she attributed to bashfulness, encouraged the shameless coquette to add: "Maybe you liked me better as Bud?" Jeff was scarlet as he replied: "I liked Bud first-rate, but Bud'll remember what I said about his sister." Then he quite spoiled the effect of this happy phrase by adding hurriedly: "Say, I'd just as lief you didn't tell your father that I am a deputy-sheriff."

Sadie raised her dark brows.

"I thought you were so proud of that."

"I tooted my own horn, like a tenderfoot."

"But I liked what you said, Mr. Wells. That's the part I shan't forget. About doing your duty, you know. Dad would like that too. He's done his duty, has Dad--always."

"I'll allow he's done his duty by you."

She laughed gaily; then, seeing with a woman's quick eyes that the man was in pain, she said for the second time, "I know you're feeling worse, Mr. Wells."

A wiser than Jeff would have assented to this. Jeff rose hastily and walked a few paces.

"I'm most well," he declared irritably.

"Then what ails you?"

Jeff sat down again, smiling nervously.

"Well, Miss Sadie, I was thinking of the cruellest thing in this cruel world."

"My! What's that?"

"Why do the innocent suffer for the sins o' the guilty?"

"You do fly the track." She paused, gazing first at Jeff's troubled face, and then at the scene about them. The enchantress, Spring, had touched all things with her magical fingers The time had come when

"Half of the world a bridegroom is, And half of the world a bride."

Very soon--within a month at most--the creek which ran so joyfully to the great ocean yonder would have run altogether out of sight, leaving a parched and desolate watercourse in its place. The grass, now a vivid green, bespangled with brilliant poppies, would fade into premature age and ugliness. The trees would have assumed the dust- covered livery of summer. The birds would be mute.

Sadie shrugged, protestingly, her slender shoulders.

"Suppose we talk of something else this lovely day?"

But Jeff paid no attention. In a crude, boyish fashion he had come to a decision.

"Shall I tell you a story?"

"Oh, please!"

"It happened to a friend of mine, a man I knew real well."

"A love story, Mr. Wells?"

"There's love in it, Miss Sadie."

"I'm glad of that."

"This man, my friend, he was a brother deputy o' mine, came to be twenty-six without ever falling in love."

"My! He must have been hard-hearted--your friend."

"Mebbee. Well, one fine day he met his mate----"

"What was she like?"

"Like? Why, she was the sweetest thing on earth. I'd as lief try to describe a day such as this----"

"Oh! I know what's coming. You fell in love with your friend's sweetheart. Poor Mr. Wells!"

Jeff ignored this interruption.

"I was saying that my friend met _his_ mate, nobody's else's, and though he'd never met her before, by Jing! he knew right off she was his mate."

"Love at first sight."

"That's right. Love at first sight."

Sadie's face and figure perceptibly relaxed. Her eyes softened delightfully. With parted lips she seemed to hang upon Jeff's next words.

"Unfortunately, she was the daughter of a thief."

"A thief!"

"That ain't the right word. Embezzler, I reckon, would fit better. Leastwise, he'd made away with other folks' money, meanin' to put it back, no doubt, if he happened to strike the right lead. Luck was dead against him. Mind ye, he was a good citizen enough, as Westerners go. I don't deny that he'd average up as well as most. I remember the case well, because I read about it in the papers. The dry years had bust him, and the most of his friends too. Some o' these friends he'd helped. He was on their notes of hand, ye understand?"

He glanced at her sharply. Would she understand? Would she guess? No. In the pure, clear eyes upturned to his he read pity, sympathy interest--nothing more. She nodded.

"When times mended in Southern California he thought he saw his chance to get back all he'd lost: just one o' those dead sure shots which will miss fire. He'd not a cent of his own, so he borrowed, without askin' leave, a few hundreds, that was all, jest a few hundreds from somebody else."

"He was a--thief," said Sadie calmly.

"It's too hard a word that. Now then, I'm getting to the point. My friend, deputy-sheriff like me, found himself in this hell of--I mean in this terrible tight place. He was sent to arrest the father of the girl he loved."

"Oh-h-h!"

This prolonged exclamation sadly puzzled Jeff, whose claim to consideration at the hands of many friends was a guileless transparency of purpose, a candour and simplicity unhappily too rare. Now, his climax, so artfully introduced, provoked nothing more satisfactory than this "Oh-h-h!"

"Well," continued Jeff, gazing almost fiercely into Sadie's eyes, "my friend found the father, and he knew that he could arrest him, or he could earn the everlastin' gratitude of the girl by letting him escape--and _helping_ him to escape."

"And what did your friend do?" Sadie asked quietly.

"What do you think he did, Miss Sadie?"

"Did the girl know that her father was a thief?"

"She was as innocent as Mary's little lamb."

"I don't know what your friend did," said Sadie, in a clear, emphatic voice, "but I do know what he ought to have done. His first duty was to his State."

Jeff stared, and then laughed.

"To his State. That's so. Yes, yes; and that's how my friend acted. He did arrest the father, and the daughter--why, o' course, she never spoke to him again."

"It's a sad story," said Sadie, after a pause. "I'm sorry you told it to me to-day, because----" her voice faltered.

"Yes," said Jeff, "because----"

"Because it has been so pleasant to-day-for me, I mean."

She looked down, blushing. Jeff seized her hand. Sadie tried, not very hard, to pull it away. Jeff felt the muscles relaxing, the slight form swayed towards him. Suddenly he released her.

"O, my God!" he exclaimed. "You are right, I feel in all my bones you're dead right. I ought to do my duty. I'm feeling and behaving like a madman."

Sadie stared at him in troubled silence. She believed that in losing his heart the poor fellow had lost his wits also. Yet she was sensible that love for her lay at the root of his distress. And his pain, for his suffering was pitiful to behold, puckered her brows, twisted her lips. With a soft cry she touched timidly his shoulder.

"If you think," she smiled faintly, "that because we've only known each other a few hours, I----"

Jeff laughed. The laugh hurt the girl, so that she shrank from him. So engrossed were the pair that neither marked Sillett as he opened the door of the hut. He advanced a couple of steps, smoking a pipe, and then paused, astonished, as Jeff's next words reached him.

"Look at here," he burst out. "That story----It's my own story. I left San Lorenzo yesterday afternoon to arrest your father. The sheriff an' me knew he was somewhere in these foothills."

"You have come to arrest--Dad?"

"That's it."

She stared at him confusedly, trying to recall his story. Jeff waited.

"You called him a thief. Dad--a thief! How dare you? How dare you? It's a lie, or--or," she faltered, "or a mistake."

"No mistake," said Jeff wretchedly.

He had risen. Man and maid stared fiercely into each other's faces. Behind them, Sillett stood quietly observant, but his right hand stole down to his pocket.

"Hold up your hands!" he said sharply.

Jeff and the girl sprang apart. Sillett had levelled a pistol at the deputy-sheriff, repeating his words with one addition: "_Quick!_" Jeff raised his hands.

"He carries a 'gun,'" said Sillett to his daughter. "Take it from him."

She obeyed. Her face was white as milk, but not with fear. The man who held the pistol had ceased for the moment to bear any resemblance to her father, but assuredly he was the defaulter whom Jeff Wells and the sheriff sought. The expression upon his face revealed that, if nothing else. Sadie removed the pistol and brought it to Sillett.

"In the hut, on a nail behind the door, is a piece of cord. Fetch it!"

She fetched it.

"Tie his hands behind his back. Tie 'em good and firm. Take your time. Make a job of it. That's it. Now, then, hitch the loose ends round that scrub-oak. That's right. Now go into the house, and slip into your overalls. We'll be shifting camp in less than half-an-hour."

"Dad!"

"Well?"

"It's true, then?"

He smiled grimly.

"Yes--it's true. Get a move on you. Mr. Wells and I are going to have a little talk."

She walked slowly towards the hut; then suddenly she turned, flying back on nimble feet.

"Dad," she said quickly. "Mr. Wells will help us, if you ask him, if-- if _I_ ask him." She approached Jeff. "I told you that your duty was to the State," she continued, "but I take that back. Do you hear? Save Dad! I don't care what he has done to others, he's always been so good to me. And if you will help us, I--I----"

"Sadie!"

Sillett's voice was very harsh.

"Yes, Dad."

"Leave us. Not a word, child. Go!"

She moved away, the tears trickling from her eyes. Nothing was said till the door had closed behind her; then Jeff broke the silence, in a voice with a strange rasp to it.

"I _will_ help you, Mr. Sillett."

Sillett thrust his weapon into his pocket, and came close to the speaker, eyeing him attentively. An impartial observer might have pronounced the younger man to be the defaulter.

"You'll help me--eh? How?"

"I can get you safe into Mexico."

"Can you?"

"At a word from me the sheriff'll be huntin' somewheres else. See?"

"I see."

"Don't think you'll squeeze through without me. I reckon you've a springboard and a buckskin in the barn over there?"

"Maybe."

"The officers are looking for that buckskin in every little burg between Santa Cruz and San Diego. You can't pack your grub and blankets a-foot. I can supply everything. Nobody'll suspect me."

"Why not?"

"Because--because o' my record."

"Oh. It's a clean one, is it?"

"It is that."

"Sadie cottoned to you right away. Because she sized you up as straight, I surmise."

The speaker smoked silently for a moment; Jeff held his tongue, but his cheeks were red and hot.

"Sadie may sour on me now," said the father heavily.

"Sour on you, Mr. Sillett! Not she."

Sillett frowned. Then he opened a knife and slashed the cord which bound Jeff. The fingers which held his pipe were trembling.

"You'll let me fix things?" said Jeff, in a low voice.

"And then--suppose--suppose Sadie soured on you?"

"I'll risk that," Jeff answered slowly. "She's more'n likely to."

"Um."

"You're going to give me a free hand?"

"No."

The monosyllable burst from his lips with a violence that indicated the rending asunder of strong barriers.

"No," he repeated. "One of us, Jefferson Wells, must be an honest man. I ain't going to whine about the luck, but I stole--I stole--for her. I wanted to give her what she'd always had from me: a pretty home, nice clothes, a good time. And what's the result?" He laughed hoarsely. "This,--this hut, those overalls, beans and bacon to eat, and now--now--the knowledge that her dad is a thief. Well, she's cottoned to you. I read it in her face. Quick work, they'd say back East, but in this new country folks have to think quick and act quick. I can think quick and act quick. You want her?"

"Worse than I ever wanted anything in my life."

"You can take care of her?"

"I am well fixed. A nest-egg in the bank, a good salary, and a pair of arms that can carry a heavier load than she'll ever be."

Sillett nodded; then he spoke very deliberately: "I'm going back to Santa Barbara to face the music. I shall give myself up. Hold on--let me finish! I know something of women, and Sadie is the daughter of a good mother. It's lucky she's dead, poor soul! Don't you ever dare to tell Sadie _that you weakened_. When she lies awake nights--and she will--it may comfort her some to think that her husband is an honest man. I'm going to hit the trail now. When Sadie comes out o' there, tell her with my love, that I've left her in your charge."

XX

DENNIS

The odd thing was that his name was really Dennis. In the West, Dennis stands genetically for the under dog, for the man who is left. His name is--Dennis! Why? The man in this story was christened Dennis, and, being a native son of the Golden West, he took particular pains to keep the fact a secret from the "boys." When he punched cattle on our range he was known as "Kingdom Come" Brown, because, even in those days, it was plain to tenderfeet that physically and intellectually D. Brown, cowboy, was not likely to inherit the kingdoms of the earth.