Chapter XXVIII: The First of the Vultures

Christmas Day was a farce in which Jake, Maude and Bunny each played their appointed parts with somewhat dreary zest. The brother and sister had drawn much closer to each other during the past fortnight in which they had been thrown together. The old quick understanding, the old comradeship, had revived between them, and on Bunny's part there was added to it a certain protectiveness that created a new and even more intimate element in their intercourse. In a fashion their positions were reversed. Maud leaned upon him as he once had leaned upon her, and his sturdy support comforted her sick heart.

As for Jake, he went his way among his animals, spending his time almost exclusively with them during that day and the days that followed. He was very quiet, invariably kind, but there was about him a suggestion of strain behind his composure, a hint of something terrible, as of a man hiding a mortal wound. He never talked about the animals now, and he did not welcome even Bunny in the stables.

"He's fretting his heart out over them," the boy said, and Maud knew that he spoke the truth. The thought of the coming parting with them hurt him to the soul.

Sam Vickers knew this also, and watched him in mute sympathy. He would have given all he had to avert this bitter blow from the boss, but he could only stand and look on.

It was on the last day in the year, a biting, sunless day, that he sought him late in the afternoon with a visiting card in his hand.

Jake was leaning on the half-door of the loose-box in which was lodged the black colt of his dreams--The Hundredth Chance. The animal's head was nuzzled against his shoulder. There seemed to be a perfect understanding between them.

But at sight of Sam the colt started back. He was suspicious of all the world but Jake.

Jake looked round, his face grey in the failing light. "Hullo! What is it?"

Sam came forward and gave him the card. "Mrs. Bolton was out, sir, and he asked for you; said he'd wait in the yard, sir."

Jake bent his brows over the card. It bore a name that seemed vaguely familiar to him though in what connection he could not for the moment recall:--Monterey W. Rafford. Jake looked up. "He's no friend of mine. Do you know what he wants?"

"Said he was a friend of Dr. Capper, sir," said Sam.

"Oh, that American chap! I remember now. All right, Sam. I'll see him." Jake gently pushed back the colt's enquiring nose, closed the upper half of the door, and strode off down the stone passage that led to the yard.

The visitor was standing under a lamp, a slim young man with a dark, keen face that broke into a smile at Jake's approach. He moved to meet him, speaking in a voice that betrayed his nationality at the first word.

"I am very pleased to meet you again, sir, though no doubt you have forgotten me."

They shook hands. Jake was looking at him with steady eyes. "No," he said, in his slow way, "I think you are the sort of man that doesn't get forgotten very easily."

Rafford laughed. He had an easy, well-bred laugh. "Capper doesn't believe in me," he said. "He declares I'll never get there. P'raps he's right. It doesn't concern me very much either way. Anyway, I've given up sending sick people to sleep for the present. I'm out on my own this journey. How is your young brother-in-law? Cure complete?"

"Absolutely." Jake was still looking at him hard. "If it's not a rude question," he said deliberately, "is that what brought you?"

The American met his look with a flicker of the eyes that betrayed a hint of wariness. "It's not a rude question, Mr. Bolton," he said. "And it is not what brought me. I'm after art treasures at the present moment. To be particular, I'm after Saltash's wonder in marble, _The Fallen Woman_. We did a deal over that marble, he and I, in New York the other day. He was showing me a card-trick, and--I--spotted--the knave."

Rafford suddenly drawled, and Jake's eyes grew brighter.

"Come inside!" he said.

But Rafford shook his head. "No, not right away if you don't mind. There's a little light left. Will you show me the animals?"

Jake's right hand clenched on his whip. "Have you done a deal over them too?" he said, sinking his voice very low.

"No. But I've got an idea," Rafford said. "I'll tell you what it is presently. You've got some valuable stock here, I'm told. Say, Mr. Bolton, you don't object to showing me round?"

His smile was disarming. Jake swung round on his heel without another word.

They went from stable to stable, inspecting one after another of Jake's treasures, Jake himself reciting the record of each. He began the tour almost in silence, speaking only words of bare necessity, but in some magnetic fashion Rafford broke through his reserve. His quiet enthusiasm reached and fired Jake. Gradually the glow kindled, the bitterness passed from him, he became himself in his own element, he opened his heart to the stranger because it seemed that he understood.

It was a long inspection, and darkness was upon them before it ended. They came last of all to the home of The Hundredth Chance, and here with his favourite's nose tucked confidingly into his arm Jake told his hopes, his dreams.

Rafford listened with a sympathy that was scarcely perceptible in his speech yet of which Jake was very strongly aware, or he had not so expanded. Later he marvelled himself at his own candour, but at the time it seemed wholly natural, even inevitable. By that mysterious force which makes men know each other as comrades even from afar, he recognized in Rafford the one quality that his soul demanded. Circumstance had flung them together for an hour, circumstance would part them again, but for that hour the bond of sympathy between them was complete.

In the end he remembered again the coming loss, the crushing failure of all his plans, and the bitterness came down upon him afresh, an overwhelming burden forcing him down. He fondled the colt, and with a gentle hand closed the door upon him. "Yes," he said heavily, "given fair treatment he'll turn out a winner, but I shan't be here to see it."

"What's come to Saltash?" Rafford questioned. "He seems ready to throw up everything."

"Yes, that's him," Jake said. "But then he hasn't had the working up of the Stud as I have. It's nothing to him to part with the animals. They were no more than a pastime."

"And not always a creditable pastime at that?" suggested Rafford. "I guess you're too straight for him, Mr. Bolton. He's a crooked devil--but a curiously likable one." He smiled as if at some reminiscence. "Well, what's your opinion? Do you think he could be persuaded to sell this show privately if he got a good offer?"

Jake's reserve came down upon him like a mask. "I can't say. You'd better go to his agent, Bishop."

Rafford was still faintly smiling. "I've just come from him. He practically sent me to you. I've just paid him Saltash's price for the statue. She will be on her way to America with me in a fortnight. But I'd like to bring off this deal before we go."

"It doesn't rest with me," Jake said, doggedness in every line.

"No, I know. But I'd like to feel that I've got you behind me. My patron would like to know that."

"Who is your patron?" Jake asked.

"His name is Ruse. You mayn't have heard of him, but he's quite well known in a good many circles--specially on our side. He has taken a fancy for horse-racing and he will probably drop a lot of money over it before he's done; that is, unless he's lucky enough to retain you for his trainer."

A hot gleam suddenly kindled in Jake's eyes, and as suddenly died. "I reckon that won't be possible," he said, "Lord Saltash will see to that."

"Saltash may not be able to prevent it," Rafford observed quietly. "Ruse will want a trainer, and when I tell him how your heart's in the job, it wouldn't surprise me if he persuaded you to keep it on. You wouldn't be very hard to persuade, I take it?"

Jake hesitated momentarily, then passed the question by. "Is your friend in England?" he asked.

"He will be in England very soon after the deal is completed--if it is completed," Rafford answered.

"Won't he want to see the Stud first?" Jake's voice was quietly business-like. He seemed to have put all personal considerations away.

"I doubt it." Rafford said. "The value of the Stud is well-known, and--to let you into a secret--he is mad keen on securing it. You won't tell Saltash that of course, or Bishop, who, I understand, is empowered to act on his behalf. But I think Saltash will get his price without much haggling. My patron is particularly anxious to prevent the Stud coming on the market. He is prepared to offer something better than a market price to make sure of it."

"He must be a very remarkable man," observed Jake.

"He is, sir; a very remarkable man, a man who never misses his opportunities. And in consequence he is on the whole very seldom a loser. It would be a great mistake to let him slip through your fingers--a very great mistake."

Rafford spoke with earnestness. His dark face was alight with eagerness.

Jake looked at him, faintly smiling. "You have an interest at stake?" he suggested.

"Only the interest that makes me want to push a thing to success. I have full powers though." Rafford's face reflected his smile. "When my patron got news of this thing, shall I tell you what he said to me? Just 'Clinch!' I shall go to Bishop to-morrow, and carry oat those instructions, if I can, to the letter."

"You won't do it in a day," Jake said. "Maybe you'd like to put up at my place pending negotiations."

Rafford's hand came out to him with impulsive friendliness. "No, sir. You're more than kind, but I won't do that. I've seen the animate and I've seen you. That's enough. You and I mustn't get too intimate over this deal. You know what Saltash is. When we've pulled it off, I'll be delighted--if there's still time." He gripped Jake's hand hard, looking him straight in the face. "You've given me a real happy hour, Mr. Bolton," he said. "And I shan't forget it. It was mighty generous of you, considering you regarded me as the first of the vultures. Well, I hope I shall be the last. So long!"

"So long!" Jake said. "I hope you will."

He accompanied the young man to the gate, and watched him go.

Then squarely he came back again, walked straight up the middle of the yard, looking neither to right nor left, went into his own house, and shut the door.

Late that night when Maud rose to go upstairs, he came out of what had apparently been a heavy doze before the fire and spoke for the first time of his own affairs.

"Bunny told you some time ago that the Stud was to be sold, I believe?" he said.

Maud stood still on the hearth, looking down at him. The question evidently startled her, for her breath came suddenly faster. "Yes, he told me," she said.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew?" said Jake. And then he saw that his abruptness had agitated her and leaned forward to take her hand.

She suffered him to take it, but she was trembling from head to foot. "I didn't think--you wished me to know," she said.

He bent his head slightly so that only the shining copper of his hair met her look. "It wasn't--that," he said slowly. "At least not at first. Just at first I didn't want to bother you. Afterwards,--well, I guess I'm an independent sort of cuss and I was afraid you'd want to finance me when you knew I was to be kicked out."

"I did want to, Jake," she said quickly.

He nodded. "I know. I was mighty ungracious over it. I've been sorry since."

"Jake!" She stooped a little, a quick dawning of hope in her pale face; but he kept his head bent.

"No," he said. "The answer is still No. I don't want to hurt your feelings any, but I can't live on any one's charity. If there's anything under the sun that I can do to serve you, I'll do it. But I can't do the pet-dog business. For one thing I'm not ornamental enough. And for another, it ain't my nature."

He paused a moment, but Maud made no attempt to speak. Only the hope had all died out of her face, and she looked unutterably tired.

Jake went on. "Just when your uncle died, you were feeling extra lonely, and--" his voice sank a little--"you turned to me for comfort. But I didn't flatter myself that I had become permanently necessary to you. I knew you never intended me to think that. I saw it directly we met again. You fancied yourself under an obligation to me. You were willing--because of that--to give me anything I wanted. But it's come to this. What I really want is not in your power to give, and I can't accept less. For that reason, I've got to live in my own house, not in yours. I don't want you to feel bound to live with me, I know my setting never was good enough for you either. You can come to me just sometimes, and I shall be honoured to receive you. But I'd like you to know that you are absolutely free to come or go. I'm not insisting on my rights, just because I've learnt that it doesn't make for happiness on either side."

Again he paused, but still she did not speak.

Quietly he resumed. "That brings me to what I set out to tell you about the Stud. There is a chance--I think it's a good one--that it may be kept together after all. There is also a chance--a less promising one--that I may be retained as trainer. If I am offered the post, I shall accept it. If I am not offered the post, well, I shall have to start again at the beginning. I shall have to rough it. So if that happens, you will have to go your way and I mine."

He ceased to speak, and his hand relinquished hers.

Maud stood up. She was no longer trembling, but she was very pale.

"I hope you will get the post," she said, after a moment. "You--I think you would feel it if you had to part with the horses. They mean--so much to you."

"I belong to 'em," Jake said simply.

She smiled a little with lips that quivered. "Then I hope you will have them always," she said. "Good night--and thank you for being so--explicit." She looked at his bent head, stretched a hand above it almost as if she would touch it, then drew it swiftly back and turned to go.

A few seconds later she was ascending the stairs, still piteously smiling, with the tears running down her face.