Ranching For Sylvia Volume-554, Harold Bindloss [ink book reader .txt] 📗

Volume 554 Chapter 11 (Diplomacy) Pg 77

Believe It's Right About A Friend Of His Wanting One--And Nobody Could

Have Blamed You For Selling.  The Fact Is, Your Position Counts.  The

Bluff Would Make A Handy Place For A Depot, And, While There's Nobody

Else Near, You Command The Trails To It And The Reservation.  Nobody

Could Get By From The Settlement Without Being Seen, Unless They Made A

Big Round, If You Watched Out."

 

"I'm Beginning To Understand.  What You Say Implies That They're Doing

A Good Trade."

 

"That's So," Grant Assented.  "I Wouldn't Have Believed It Was So Big

Before Hardie Put Me On The Track And I Began To Look Around.  But You

Want To Remember That What You're Doing May Cost You Something.  I'm

Your Nearest Neighbor, You're Running Stock That Are Often Out Of

Sight, And You're Up Against A Determined Crowd."

 

"It's True," George Admitted.  "Still, I Can't Back Out."

 

Grant Cast A Keen, Approving Glance At Him.  George Sat Quietly In His

Saddle With A Smile On His Brown Face; His Pose Was Easy But Virile:

There Was A Stamp Of Refinement And Old Country Breeding Upon Him.  His

Eyes Were Suggestively Steady; His Skin Was Clear; He Looked Forceful

In An Unemphatic Manner.  The Farmer Was To Some Extent Prejudiced

Against The Type, But He Could Make Exceptions.  He Had Liked Lansing

From The Beginning, And He Knew That He Could Work.

 

"No," He Said; "I Guess You're Not That Kind Of Man.  But Won't You Get

Down And Go Along To The House?  Flora Will Be Glad To Talk With You,

And I'll Be In For Supper Soon."

 

George Thanked Him, And Did As He Suggested.  He Was Beginning To Find

Pleasure In The Conversation Of Flora Grant.

 

It Was Two Hours Later When He Took His Leave And The Farmer Went Out

With Him.

 

"I Don't Know What Hardie's Doing, But I've An Idea That Mrs. Nelson

Means To Make Some Move At The Farmers' Club Fair," He Said.  "She's A

Mighty Determined And Enterprising Woman.  If You Can Spare The Time,

You'd Better Ride In And See What's Going On."

 

On Reaching Home, George Was Not Surprised To Find That The Man Who Had

Come For The Horses Had Departed Without Waiting For His Answer.  The

Next Day He Received An Intimation That The Annual Exhibition Of The

Sage Butte Farmers' Club Would Shortly Be Held; And One Morning A

Fortnight Later He And Edgar Rode Off To The Settlement.

 

They Found The Little Town Rudely Decorated With Flags And Arches Of

Poplar Boughs, And A Good-Humored Crowd Assembled.  The One-Sided

Street That Faced The Track Was Lined With Buggies, Wagons, And A Few

Automobiles; Horses And Two Or Three Yoke Of Oxen Were Tethered Outside

The Overfull Livery Stables.

 

A Strong Breeze Drove Blinding Dust-Clouds Through The Place, But Even

Volume 554 Chapter 11 (Diplomacy) Pg 78

In The Wind The Sunshine Was Scorching.

 

As He Strolled Toward The Fair-Ground, George Became Interested In The

Crowd.  It Was Largely Composed Of Small Farmers, And Almost Without

Exception They And Their Wives Were Smartly Attired; They Looked

Contented And Prosperous.  Mingling With Them Were Teamsters, Many As

Neatly Dressed As Their Masters, Though Some Wore Blue-Jean And

Saffron-Colored Shirts; And There Were Railroad-Hands, Mechanics, And

Store-Keepers.  All Of Them Were Cheerful; A Few Good Years, Free From

Harvest Frost And Blight, Had Made A Marked Improvement In Everybody's

Lot.

 

Yet, There Was Another Side To The Picture.  Odd Groups Of Loungers

Indulged In Scurrilous Jests; Hoarse Laughter And An Occasional Angry

Uproar Issued From The Hotels, And Shabby Men With Hard Faces Slouched

About The Veranda Of One.  George Noticed This, But He Presently

Reached The Fair-Ground, Where He Inspected The Animals And Implements;

And Then, Toward Supper-Time, He Strolled Back With Grant.  They Were

Walking Up One Of The Side-Streets When Shouts Broke Out Behind Them.

 

George Looked Around But For A Moment He Could See Very Little Through

The Cloud Of Dust That Swept The Street.  When It Blew Away It Revealed

A Row Of Women Advancing Two By Two Along The Plank Sidewalk.  They

Were Of Different Ages And Stations In Life, But They All Came On As If

With A Fixed Purpose, And They Had Resolute Faces.  Mrs. Nelson Led

Them, Carrying A Riding Quirt, And Though George Was Not Astonished To

See Her, He Started When He Noticed Flora Grant Near The End Of The

Procession.  She Was Paler Than Usual, And She Walked Quietly With A

Rather Strained Expression.

 

Grant Touched George's Shoulder.

 

"This Is Certainly More Than I Figured On," He Said; "But I Guess

There's No Use In My Objecting.  Now She's Started, She'll Go Through

With It.  They're Making For The Sachem; We Had Better Go Along."

 

Shortly Afterward, A Gathering Crowd Blocked The Street.

 

"Speech!" Somebody Cried; And There Was Ironical Applause.

 

Mrs. Nelson Raised Her Hand, And When The Procession Stopped, She

Looked Sternly At The Men Before Her.

 

"No," She Answered; "Speeches Are Wasted On Such Folks; We're Here To

Act!"

 

She Waved The Quirt Commandingly.

 

"Let Us Pass!"

 

She Was Obeyed.  The Women Moved On; And George And Grant Managed To

Enter The Hotel Behind Them Before The Throng Closed In.  The Big

General-Room Was Hot And Its Atmosphere Almost Intolerably Foul; The

Bar, Which Opened Off It, Was Shadowy, And The Crowded Figures Of

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Lounging Men Showed Dimly Through Thick Cigar Smoke.  The Hum Of Their

Voices Died Away And There Was A Curious Silence As The Women Came In.

Edging Forward, George Saw Beamish Leaning On His Counter, Looking

Quietly Self-Possessed And Very Dapper In His White Shirt And Well-Cut

Clothes.

 

"Well," He Said, "What Do You Ladies Want With Me?"

 

Their Leader Faced Him, A Small And Yet Commanding Figure, With An

Imperious Expression And Sparkling Eyes.

 

"You Got A Notice That From Supper-Time This Bar Must Be Shut!"

 

"I Did, Ma'am.  It Was Signed By You.  Now, So Far As I Know, The

Magistrates Are The Only People Who Can Close My Hotel."

 

"That's So!" Shouted Somebody; And There Were Confused Murmurs And

Harsh Laughter Which Suggested That Some Of The Loungers Were Not Quite

Sober.

 

"Fire Them Out!" Cried Another Man.  "Guess This Is Why Nelson Gets

Cold Potatoes For His Supper.  Ought To Be At Home Mending Socks Or

Washing Their Men's Clothes."

 

The Lady Turned Sternly On The Last Speaker.

 

"Yes," She Said; "That's The Kind Of Idea You Would Hold.  It's Getting

Played Out Now."

 

George Was Conscious Of Slight Amusement.  The Affair Had Its Humorous

Side, And, Though He Was Ready To Interfere If The Women Were Roughly

Handled, He Did Not Think They Ran Any Serious Risk.  Beamish Looked

Capable Of Dealing With The Situation.

 

"You Don't Require To Butt In, Boys," He Said.  "Leave Me To Talk To

These Ladies; I Guess Their Intentions Are Good."  He Bowed To Mrs.

Nelson.  "You Can Go On, Ma'am."

 

"I've Only This To Say--You Must Close Your Bar Right Now!"

 

"Suppose I'm Not Willing?  It Will Mean A Big Loss To Me."

 

"That," Answered Mrs. Nelson Firmly, "Doesn't Count; The Bigger The

Loss, The Better.  You Will Stop The Sale Of Drink Until To-Morrow, Or

Take The Consequences."

 

Another Woman, Who Looked Careworn And Haggard, And Was Shabbily

Dressed, Stood Forward.

 

"We And The Children Have Borne Enough!" She Broke Out.  "We Have To

Save The Cord-Wood In The Bitter Cold; We Have To Send The Kiddies Out

In Old, Thin Clothes, While The Money That Would Make Home Worth Living

In Goes Into Your Register.  Where Are The Boys--Our Husbands And

Sons--Who Once Held Steady Jobs And Did Good Work?"  She Raised An

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Accusing Hand, With Despair In Her Pinched Face.  "Oh!  I Needn't Tell

You--They're Rebranding Farmers' Calves Or Hiding From The Police!

Don't You Know Of One Who Walked To His Death Through The Big Trestle,

Dazed With Liquor?  For These Things The Men Who Tempted Them Will Have

To Answer!"

 

"True, But Not Quite To The Point," Mrs. Nelson Interposed.  "We Have

Found Remonstrance Useless; The Time For Words Has Passed.  This Fellow

Has Had His Warning; We're Waiting For Him To Comply With It."

 

There Was An Uproar Outside From The Crowd That Was Struggling To Get

In And Demanding To Be Told What Was Going On; But Beamish Made A Sign

Of Resignation.

 

"It Looks As If I Couldn't Refuse You; And Anyway It Wouldn't Be

Polite."  He Turned To His Customers.

 

"Boys, It's Not My Fault, But You'll Get No More Drinks To-Day.  For

All That, I Must Make A Point Of Asking You To Treat These Ladies With

Respect."

 

"Smart," Grant Remarked To George.  "He Has Handled The Thing Right.

This Means Trouble For Hardie."

 

Then Beamish Once More Addressed The Intruders.

 

"Now That I've Given In, Has It Struck You That There Isn't Much Use In

Closing My Place If You Leave The Queen's Open?"

 

"We'll Shut Them Both!" Mrs. Nelson Declared.

 

"Then There's Just Another Point--I've Folks Who Have Driven A Long

Way, Staying The Night With Me, And There's Quite A Crowd Coming In For

Supper.  How Am I To Treat Them?"

 

"They Can Have All They Want To Eat," Mrs. Nelson Told Him Graciously;

"But No Liquor."

 

"I Can't Refuse To Supply Them Without A Reason.  What Am I To Say?"

 

"Tell Them That The Women's Reform League Has Compelled You To Close

Your Bar."

 

"And I've Been Given The Orders By Their Acknowledged Secretary?"

 

"Yes.  I'm Proud Of Being Their Leader, And Of The Duty I've

Discharged."

 

Beamish Turned To His Customers.

 

"You'll Remember What She Has Told Me, Boys!"

 

Grant Drew George Away.