Ben Blair

But Scotty was now fairly under headway. He stripped his reserve and confidence bare.

"You see now why I'm glad to consider your proposition. Whatever I believe myself must be of secondary importance. I've others to think about--Florence and her mother. Flossie is only a child, but Mollie is a woman, and has lived her life in sight of the brazen calf. She doesn't realize, she never can realize, that it is of brass and not of gold. Personally, I believe, as I believe in my own existence, that Flossie would be immeasurably happier if she never saw the other side of life,--the artificial side,--but lived right here, knowing what we taught her and developing like a healthy animal; perhaps, when the time came, marrying a rancher, having her own home, her own family interests, and living close to nature. But it can't be. I've got to develop her, cultivate her, fit her for any society." The voice paused, and the speaker turned his face away.

"God knows,--and He knows also that I love her dearly,--that looking into the future I wish sometimes she were the daughter of another man."

The minutes passed. The ponies shifted restlessly and then were still. In the lull, the soft night-breeze crooned its minor song, while near or far away--no human ear could measure the distance--a prairie owl gave its weird cry. Then silence fell as before.

Once more Scotty turned, facing his companion.

"I've a question to ask you, Rankin; may I ask it without offence?"

The big man nodded. By the starlight Baker caught the motion.

"You told me once that you were a college man, and that you had a Master's degree. From the very first you started cattle-raising on a big scale. You must have had money. Still, such being the case, you left culture and civilization far behind and came here to choose a life absolutely different. I have told you why I wish to educate my daughter. But why, feeling as you must have felt and must still feel, since you're here, why do you wish to educate this waif boy you've picked up? By all the standards of convention, he is at the very bottom of the social scale. Why do you want to do this?"

It was a psychological moment. Even in the semi-darkness, Rankin felt the other's eyes fixed piercingly upon him. He passed his hand over his face; he seemed about to speak. But the habit of reticence was too strong upon him. Even the inspiration of the Englishman's confidence was not sufficient to break the seal of his own reserve. He arose slowly and shook the clinging wisps of hay from his clothes.