"If you'll wait a minute till I get these things off, I'll walk up to the cabin with you, Mr. Lee," he said.
"I reckon you got my daughter's letter," said Lee abruptly as he strode up the mountainside with his host.
"Yes, I got it an hour ago."
"I be'n and studied it out, Mr. Morse. I couldn't let it go at that, and so I reckoned I'd jog along up hyer and tell you the whole story."
"That's as you please, Mr. Lee. I'm quite satisfied as it is."
The rancher went on as if he had not heard. "'Course I be'n holding a grudge at you evah since you took up this hyer claim. I expect that rankles with me most of the time, and when I take to drinking seems to me that mine still belongs to me. Well, I heerd tell of that shipment you was making, and I sets out to git it, for it ce'tainly did seem to belong to me. Understand, I wasn't drunk, but had be'n settin' pretty steady to the bottle for several days. Melissy finds it out, no matter how, and undertakes to keep me out of trouble. She's that full of sand, she nevah once thought of the danger or the consequences. Anyhow, she meant to git the bullion back to you afteh the thing had blown over."
"I haven't doubted that a moment since I knew she did it," said Bellamy quietly.
"Glad to hear it. I be'n misjudgin' you, seh, but you're a white man afteh all. Well, you know the rest of the story: how she held up the stage, how Jack drapped in befo' our tracks were covered, how smart he worked the whole thing out, and how my little gyurl confessed to him to save me."
"Yes, I know all that."
"What kind of a figure do I make in this? First off, I act like a durn fool, and she has to step in to save me. Then I let her tote the worry of it around while I ride off to Mesa. When Jack runs me down, she takes the blame again. To finish up with, she writes you a letter of thanks, jes' as if the whole fault was hers."
The old soldier selected a smooth rock and splashed it with tobacco juice before he continued with rising indignation against himself.
"I'm a fine father for a gyurl like that, ain't I? Up to date I always had an idee I was some sort of a man, but dad gum it! I cayn't see it hyer. To think of me lettin' my little gyurl stand the consequences of my meanness. No, Mr. Morse, that's one too much for Champ Lee. He's nevah going to touch another drop of whisky long as he lives."
"Glad to hear it. That's a square amend to make, one she will appreciate."
"So I took a _pasear_ up hyer to explain this, and to thank you for yore kindness. Fac' is, Mr. Morse, it would have jest about killed me if anything had happened to my little 'Lissie. I want to say that if you had a-be'n her brother you couldn't 'a' be'n more decent."
"There was nothing else to do. It happens that I am in her debt. She saved my life once. Besides, I understood the motives for her action when she broke the law, and I honored them with all my heart. Flatray felt just as I did about it. So would any right-thinking man."
"Well, you cayn't keep me from sayin' again that you're a white man, seh," the other said with a laugh behind which the emotion of tears lay near.
"That offer of a compromise is still open, Mr. Lee."
The Southerner shook his grizzled head. "No, I reckon not, Mr. Morse. Understand, I got nothin' against you. The feud is wiped out, and I'll make you no mo' trouble. But it's yore mine, and I don't feel like taking charity. I got enough anyhow."
"It wouldn't be charity. I've always felt as if you had a moral claim on an interest in the 'Monte Cristo.' If you won't take this yourself, why not let me make out the papers to Miss Lee? You would feel then that she was comfortably fixed, no matter what happened to you."
"Well, I'll lay it befo' her. Anyhow, we're much obliged to you, Mr. Morse. I'll tell you what, seh," he added as an after-thought. "You come down and talk it over with 'Lissie. If you can make her see it that way, good enough."
When Champ Lee turned his bronco's head homeward he was more at peace with the world than he had been for a long time. He felt that he would be able to look his little girl in the face again. For the first time in a week he felt at one with creation. He rode into the ranch plaza humming "Dixie."
On the day following that of Lee's call, the mine-owner saddled his mare and took the trail to the half-way house. It was not until after the stage had come and gone that he found the chance for a word with Melissy alone.
"Your father submitted my proposition, did he?" Bellamy said by way of introducing the subject.
"Let's take a walk on it. I haven't been out of the house to-day," she answered with the boyish downrightness sometimes uppermost in her.
Calling Jim, she left him in charge of the store, caught up a Mexican sombrero, and led the way up the trail to a grove of live-oaks perched on a bluff above. Below them stretched the plain, fold on fold to the blue horizon edge. Close at hand clumps of cactus, thickets of mesquit, together with the huddled adobe buildings of the ranch, made up the details of a scene possible only in the sunburnt territory. The palpitating heat quivered above the hot brown sand. No life stirred in the valley except a circling buzzard high in the sky, and the tiny moving speck with its wake of dust each knew to be the stage that had left the station an hour before.
Melissy, unconscious of the charming picture she made, stood upon a rock and looked down on it all.
"I suppose," she said at last slowly, "that most people would think this pretty desolate. But it's a part of me. It's all I know." She broke off and smiled at him. "I had a chance to be civilized. Dad wanted to send me East to school, but I couldn't leave him."
"Where were you thinking of going?"
"To Denver."
Her conception of the East amused him. It was about as accurate as a New Yorker's of the West.
"I'm glad you didn't. It would have spoiled you and sent you back just like every other young lady the schools grind out."
She turned curiously toward him. "Am I not like other girls?"
It was on his tongue tip to tell her that she was gloriously different from most girls he had known, but discretion sealed his lips. Instead, he told her of life in the city and what it means to society women, its emptiness and unsatisfaction.
His condemnation was not proof positive to her. "I'd like to go there for myself some time and see. And anyhow it must be nice to have all the money you want with which to travel," she said.
This gave him his opening. "It makes one independent. I think that's the best thing wealth can give--a sort of spaciousness." He waited perceptibly before he added: "I hope you have decided to be my partner in the mine."
"I've decided not to."
"I'm sorry. But why?"
"It's your mine. It isn't ours."
"That's nonsense. I always in my heart, recognized a moral claim you have. Besides, the case isn't finished yet. Perhaps your father may win his contest. I'm all for settling out of court."
"You know we won't win."
"I don't."
She gave him applause from her dark eyes. "That's very fair of you, but Dad and I can't do it."
"Then you still have a grudge at me," he smiled.
"Not the least little bit of a one."
"I shan't take no for an answer, then. I'll order the papers made out whether you want me to or not." Without giving her a chance to speak, he passed to another topic: "I've decided to go out of the sheep business."
"I'm so glad!" she cried.
"Those aren't my feelings," he answered ruefully. "I hate to quit under fire."
"Of course you do, but your friends will know why you do