The Forfeit | Page 5

there living on hard pan, while I'm here steadily
traipsing on with you to a big pile. Remember he's my other--half. Do
you know how I feel? No, you can't. Say, he's as merry as I am--dour.
He's as fond of life, and play, and the good things of the world as I'm
indifferent to 'em. He's reckless--he's weak." Suddenly Jeff's eyes lit. A
great passion seemed to surge through his whole body. "Bud, I want
him here. I want to be always around to help him when he gets
bumping into potholes. It's that weakness that sets me crazy when I

think. He ain't made for the dreary grind of the life we live. That's why
he cut it out when I came here. Well there's no grind for him now, and I
want to have him come along and share in with me. That's why I'm
talking now. From this moment on we're a great proposition in the
ranching world, and I want Ronny to share in with me."
Bud nodded.
"I get it," he said. Then he added: "You're a great feller."
"Great! Cut it out, Bud," Jeff cried sharply. "It's my love for that other
half of me that's talking. That merry bit of a--twin."
"An' you're sendin' for him?"
Jeff shrugged, and depression seemed suddenly to descend upon him.
"If I could fix it that way I don't guess I'd have opened my face to hand
you all this. But I can't. He's in the Cathills, away a hundred and more
miles northwest of us. That's all he says. He don't give a mail address.
No, Bud, I'm going to hunt him out. I'm going to find him, and bring
him back. I'll find him sure. We're just one mind an' one body, an'," he
added thoughtfully, "I don't guess I'll need a detective bureau to locate
him. If he was chasin' around the other end of the world I'd find
him--sure. You see, he's the other half of me."
Bud nodded in sympathy, but made no verbal reply.
"See, Bud," Jeff went on, a moment later. "The spring round-up's
through. We're going to fix this deed right away. When the attorneys
have robbed us all they need, and Nat's handed over, there'll be a good
month to haying. That month I'm going to spend in the Cathills. I'll be
back for the hay."
The other eased himself in his rocker. Then for some moments no
sound broke the silence of the room.
"It's been a heavy spring," Bud said at last.

Jeff nodded. His thoughts were away in the Cathills.
"Seems to me," Bud went on. "Work kind o' worries me some these
times." He smiled. "Guess the wheels need the dope of leisure. Mebbe I
ain't as young as you."
"No."
Jeff's attention was still wandering.
"Guess the Cathills is an a'mighty big piece o' country gropin' around
in," Bud went on.
"Sure. A hell of a piece. But--it don't signify."
"No-o," Bud meditated. Then he added: "I was kind o' thinkin'."
"How?"
"Why, mebbe two folks chasin' up a pin in a bunch o' grass is li'ble to
halve most o' the chances agin either of 'em jabbin' their hands on the
business end of it."
"Two? You mean you're goin' to come along an' help find--Ronny?"
Jeff's eyes were expressing the thanks his lips withheld.
Bud excused himself.
"Them Cathills is plumb full of fur an' things. Say, I ain't handled a gun
in weeks."
"Bud, you're----"
The door of the room was abruptly flung open and Jeff's words
remained unspoken.
"Supper, folks!"

Nan's smiling eyes glanced from one to the other. She stood in the
doorway compelling them. Besides, the memory of Jeff's letter was still
with her, and she was anxious to observe its later effect. That which she
now beheld was obviously satisfactory, and her smile deepened
contentedly.
CHAPTER II
CONFLICTING CURRENTS
They were busy days in Orrville. But business rarely yielded outward
display in its citizens. Men talked more. They perhaps moved about
more--in their customary leisurely fashion. But any approach to bustle
was as foreign to the rule of the township as it would be to a colony of
aged snails in a cyclone.
It was the custom of Orrville to rise early and go to bed late. But this by
no means implies any excessive activity. On the contrary. These spells
of activity lasted just as long as their accomplishment required. In the
interim its citizens returned to a slumber little less profound than that
which supervened at night after the last roysterer had been ejected, by
force, or persuasion, from the salubrious precincts of Ju Penrose's
saloon.
Orrville was a ranching township in the northwestern corner of
Montana lying roughly some twenty miles west of the foothills