“Lord of Lonely Valley”

Manawatu Times, Volume 62, Issue 168, 17 July 1937, Page 7

“Lord of Lonely Valley”

»♦♦♦♦♦•»♦♦♦+♦»»+!>♦# Synopsis of preceding instalment: Janet Corliss Has inherited from her grandfather various plots of land in California—one quarter section in particular which for some mysterious reason was coveted by another. For the past 20 years Mr Magruder, her grandfather’s lawyer, had been receiving offers for it, which increased unti. now they represented wuat must be many times the value of the property. Her grandfather never would sell it, although ho admitted that only an ancient grudge against Felix Lanier, who owned Lonely Valley adjoining it, made him keep it. Now Janet, as his heiress, and on her first real vacation from her chosen profession of nursing, had decided to havo a look at the country and see just how things stood. INSTALMENT 2 The wild hay that was to bo fed to his cattle during the winter had been cut, raked and stacked by September 1, and now Raynor Lanier was busy irrigating the grass stubble before the frost of early fall should come to chill the soaked earth and retard the growth of winter pasturage. He must have a new growth of grass not less than six inches high to supplement the hay if he was to winter his cattle successfully, and, since ho was irrigating with Modoc Indian labour, whose loyalty and industry he could trust, but not their efficiency, he had been out all day superintending the work himself. He had been out since dawn, and he had ridden far that day, starting at the concrete dam in Lonely Valley Creek, where the water was diverted and high-headed for ten miles through a ditch along the upper portion of Lonely Valley, in order that it might have a good angle of fall through the flood-gates along its length. That canal, 32 feet wide and 6 feet deep and running bank full, was a sight that never fai.ed to thrili Kaynor Lanier with the joy of possession. To him it was Nature’s promise that all would be well with his little world for another year. And this water that spread out over seven thousand acres of meadow was all his, because every acre in Lonely Valley was his; and where there exist no adverse claimants to water, quarrels and litigations also are non-existent. There had been enough and to spare of that sort of thing in the history of the Lanier family, young Raynor reflected, as his horse carried him at a fast running walk across the fat acres. Tne spring of the sodden turf under his horse’s feet added to the young man’s feeling of contentment, for he loved this land of his with the fierce love of one whose very life lay rooted in it. He loved the aroma of it, the sunshine dappling the areas where already a tinge of green showed, and shining like heliographs on the water that accumulated in little depressions. In the fenced fields on the high ground beyond the hay meadows ho heard the plaintive cries of little white-faced calves born out of due season and, with their mothers, kept in Lonely Valley while the calves born in March and April were, with their mothers, far up on the summer range in the Modoc National Forest. Over all the land a faint bluish haze spread, obscuring it in places; over the haze the high, dark timbered hills that surrounded the valley rose like sentinels. “And this is my heritage,” Kaynor Lanier thought, as he drank in its beauty. It seemed to him that he could never bear to leave it, since to him, as to his father and grandfather, it had always been a land of promise. When the sun was au hour high, he rode home through the soft haze, pausing from time to time to gaze down over his empire to where the waters of Lonely Valley Lake lapped its western fringe. He marked numbers of white pelicans hovering over its surface and from time to time dropping with the swiftness of tiny meteors into it, to rise presently with a fish. “The unending warfare of all ho soliloquised. ** Whether

(Peter B. Kyne) Instalment 2.

men or pelicans, all created things prey on each other, and the survival of the fittest is the supremo law.” When he came within sight of his headquarters, located on high ground well toward the northern end of the ranch, he was sensible again—as indeed he always was—of the pride of possession. His grandfather had been the author of the building plan—great log barns erected in orderly progression and so spaced that should one catch fire the others would be in no danger of destruction. Below the barns a large, circular corral where his men broke colts in the fall; beyond that the horse pasture where the riding Btock and the draft horses grazed; above the barns the .mnk-house and the foreman’s log cottage; on a high knoll beyond the bunkuouse and cottage the 50,000 gallon conrcte tank fed from a giant spring and burnishing drinking water for man and beast, as well as fire protection. And, some 400 yards from the main ranch * ouildings, on a sparsely-timbered knoll 1 and surrounded by a terraced lawn now »• faintly green after the desolation of winter, the imposing home his father t had built in order that the third genera--5 tion of Laniers might dwell in the midst f of modern comforts and entertain his r friends as a gentleman wishes to enter--5 tain. > As Lanier rode up a broad to&cV * topped with fine trap-rock to this house 1 i..e mood of introspection came upon ! him again. “It lacks a mistress,” he f said to himself. * ‘ What of the fourth ' generation?” He did not know. In front of the house he dismounted, turned his horse, gave the tired animal a slap on the rump, and sent him back down the road to the barn. Lanier removed his rubber boots, and an old Chinaman, in white apron and cook’s ; cap, came out with a pair of slippers, into which Lanier stepped and walked t stiffly up tho broad steps to the verandah. From the verandah a man spoke. ! “Good evening, Ray. I’ve been > settin’ here admirin’ your view.” 1 “Good evening, Landrum.” There • was a noticeable chill in the young ’ man’s tones, and the absence of the » polite prefix of Mister—a usage which ’ most cattlemen cling to long after time ; and intimacy should indicate its » abandonment—accentuated the lack of • warmth in his greeting. “Yes, it’s a - nice view. I never grow weary of it.” > He stood a moment, gazing at his f visitor. Ho knew that his Chinaman ■ had purposely refrained from inviting the man into the house, and for a - moment he was inclined to do the same. ; But the laws of hospitality may not be ■ ightly evaded, so he added: ” There’s a faint touch of winter in the air at sunset. Come in, Landrum!” His visitor rose and followed him into tho huge living room, where logs blazed invitingly in a six-foot stone fireplace. Landrum gazed about him, noting the thick Spanish rug, the heavy, comfortable chairs, the divan before the firei place, the expensive combination radio and phonograph in one corner and the i baby grand piano in the other. “You have a mighty fancy headi quarters here, Ray,” said Landrum, > and took the chair Lanier indicated. : “I heard they was pretty swell.” t “ You are in Lonely Valley,” the host : replied. “We have tried to offset some : of the loneliness by doing ourselves - well. It makes the place inviting to our friends. We generally have guests ■ all summer, and quite a few come up j for the hunting in tho fall. Drink!” “What have you!” “Bourbon. My grandfather came > from Kentucky and knew how to make l it. He taught my father, and father cooked up a big mess of it just before ) the Eighteenth Amendment was passed. ■ It’s been in charred oak barrels ever l since, and it’s prime. Straight or high- : ball?” i “Highball,” said Landrum. ! Lanier sought to be moro neighbour- [ Iv. “We have our own soda spring on > the ranch. Good as any sharp-charged ! water you can buy. Man was up here ast summer wanting to trade us out or ; a concession to bottle it. “ ■ [ (To be Continued.) ’ , , ' j l