"It's miles to that point — where you can't see the trail any more," she said. "How many miles? I have forgotten."
"Twelve." His face hardened, for the trail ran through Beaudry Rand's ranch, the Three Bar.
"Oh, yes!" Her eyes glowed. "I always loved that trail! That big wide stretch there"—indicating a broad, black expanse of timberland that seemed to swallow the trail near the point about which they had been talking— "is the wood you always warned me against, isn't it? Where you said the timber wolves prowled? Are there really wolves in there, or did you just tell me that to keep me from going there — when you wanted me to stay at home?"
"There's wolves in there all right," he said. "There always was. I've lost a good many calves there." His eyes became savage, his face reddened with passion. "There's worse than wolves around there now," he said gruffly; "there's Beau Rand!"
"'Beau' Rand?" she said, looking sharply at him, and noting the passion in his eyes. "Is that the name of a man or — or a monster?"
"He claims to be a man, I reckon." Seddon's glance toward the timber was baleful. "He owns the Three Bar now — Halsey sold out to him four years ago. Just after your mother died — an' just before you left to go to school at Denver."
"Beau Rand!" The girl repeated the name, her brows furrowing thoughtfully. "Yes, it must have been — but I don't seem to remember. But what an odd name! Beau!" A twinkle of amusement was in her eyes as she looked at her father; and her lips curved with mockery.
"Beau!" she repeated. "Why, that name suggests a man who is popular with women, doesn't it? A fop; a fashion-plate male; a Beau Brummel who wears spats and a high hat, displays enormous expanses of linen; wears lace cuffs and a wig, and is saturated with perfume. A beau, Father! Oh, it can't be that the Three Bar has descended to that!"
"The Three Bar has descended — if that's the way to say it," declared Seddon, with a malignant grin. It pleased him to discover that Eleanor was already prejudiced against Rand — her attitude would make the task of poisoning her against the man much easier.
"Eleanor," he continued, "the Three Bar ain't what it used to be. Not since this man, Rand, bought it. An' the country ain't what it used to be — so far as that goes. There never was no trouble — you know that. Me an' Halsey an' Link Compton always got along. But lately things is different. The river's taken to goin' dry in the middle of the season. For the last three years there's never been water enough. Last year she was plumb dry durin' the whole summer. The Two Link—that's Link Compton's ranch — an' the Bar S suffered a heap. There wasn't any water except in that big natural basin in the river just opposite the Three Bar ranchhouse. There's always plenty there, for that's a deep basin, an' it gets the last trickle of water that runs down the upper gorge."
"And this Beau—this Rand — wouldn't permit you and Compton to water your stock there?" The girl's eyes flashed with indignation.
"As for that," admitted Seddon, grudgingly, "Rand let us water our stock there. But he was mighty sullen about it." He told the lie so glibly that the girl, watching him closely, had no doubt of the truth of the statement.
"But that ain't neither here nor there," went on Seddon. "Rand don't raise near the number of cattle we raise; an' me an' Compton offered to buy him out at a figure that would have paid him. He grinned like a hyena an' told us he'd sell out when he got damn good an' ready. Them's his very words."
"Well," said the girl hesitatingly, "I don't know that you could blame him for not selling. But he shouldn't have been so stingy about the water. He must be a grouch!"
"He's worse," said Seddon eagerly. He saw that he had not made a strong case against Rand. "He's worse. Rand hadn't been at the Three Bar very long when someone took to robbin' the stage. An' about that time cattle thieves began to rustle stock around there. Cattle an' horses. There's been hell to pay! The worst of it is nobody can get a line on who's doin' it. Compton an' some more of the ranchers has organized a vigilance committee, which is nosin' around quite considerable. But that ain't helped none — the stealin' of cattle an' horses, an' the robbin' of the stage is still goin' on."
"Compton suspects Rand?" asked the girl.
"Who else is there to suspect!" demanded Seddon. "Stealin' didn't start until Rand bought the Three Bar an' brought a lot of low-down guys there to work for him. They're a hell-raisin' bunch, Eleanor; an' if I was you I'd steer clear of Rand — an' I'd stay away from that timber. For there's worse than wolves prowlin' around there!"
Seddon had aroused the girl's interest; and he could plainly see that she believed him, for her eyes were glowing with indignation and resentment—and there was a flush on her cheeks and a glint in her eyes which told Seddon that the spirit of resistance to Rand's supposed outlawry was strong within her.
"If they can prove that he is doing those things they should run him out of the country!" she said.
Seddon grinned coldly. "There'll be worse happen to him when they prove up on him!" he declared.
The girl relaxed, and a little shiver ran over her. Tales of violence in which rustlers and other thieves had suf~ fered had not failed to reach her ears.
But Seddon's recital had aroused in her a certain interest in Rand; while his warning about there being "worse than wolves" in the timber near the Three Bar had not affected her in the least. She would go to the timber whenever she took a notion to go — fear of Rand and his men would not deter her.
She spoke a thought that was uppermost in her mind:
"I should like to see that man, Rand. Don't you think that a man who gives so much attention to his personal appearance would hesitate to do the things he is suspected of doing? Beau! Why, Father; it doesn't seem possible!"
"I reckon it ain't his clothes so much," said Seddon. "There ain't nothin' remarkable about them. It's the way he wears them, most likely; an' his name. His real name's Beaudry Rand. Beaudry's too heavy a name to go carryin' around in this country, an' so the boys begun shortenin' it to Beau.
"An' he don't like it none, at that. Call him Beau to his face an' you can see his eyes sort of chill. He'll stand for it all right, but there'll be a grin on his face that'll make you think of a tiger that's got you into a corner. He's a mean, ornery cuss, an' no mistake!"
She laughed, entirely unimpressed by her father's deprecatory words. Never in her life had she formed an opinion of another upon the basis of a verbal description. And despite Seddon's excellent counterfeit of sincerity, she had detected in his manner a bitter vindictiveness that did not seem to be warranted by the declaration that Rand was merely suspected of being a thief.
She knew her father as a man of strong character, of strong passions that boiled, unrestrained, in him; that he was ruled by his prejudices; and that in this case Rand had undoubtedly aroused his enmity because of his attitude over the question of the precious water.
"What is the man — Rand — like, Father?" she asked.
He saw the gleam of mischief in her eyes — the tolerant, half-incredulous smile on her lips. These signs told him though he had made the case against Rand as strong as he could, she was still in doubt. More — he could see that she had not been at all impressed with Rand's vicious-ness — or that if she was impressed, she did not intend to permit her impressions to rule her. She neither believed nor disbelieved her father; she had formed no opinion — Seddon's recital had made no impression upon her, except to arouse her curiosity.
Seddon
