CORDUROY RUTH COMFORT MITCHELL Books by RUTH COMFORT MITCHELL CORDUROY NARRATIVES IN VERSE JANE JOURNEYS ON PLAY THE GAME D. APPLETON AND COMPANY New York London [Illustration: THE NEXT MORNING SHE WAS EARLY ON HER HORSE AND SHE WORE HER WORN AND MELLOW CORDUROYS [Page 31]] CORDUROY BY RUTH COMFORT MITCHELL AUTHOR OF “PLAY THE GAME,” “JANE JOURNEYS ON,” ETC. [Illustration] D. APPLETON AND COMPANY NEW YORK : : LONDON : : 1923 COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY Copyright, 1922, by The Crowell Publishing Company PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA TO W. S. Y. WHO HAS PUT ON CORDUROY AND WEARS IT WELL CORDUROY CHAPTER I FOR the first time in her life--she had been alive twenty-two vivid and zestful years--Virginia Valdés McVeagh, nicknamed, descriptively, “Ginger,” felt something like reverence for a male creature of her own species. Her father, that stolid Scot, had died while she was a hearty and unimaginative child; Aleck, her only brother, killed on the last day of fighting in the Great War, had been her pal and play-fellow, as were, in lesser and varying degrees, the young ranchers of the miles-wide neighborhood, while the _vaqueros_ and old Estrada, _mayordomo_ of her cattle ranch, were her henchmen, loyal, admiring, unquestioning. Always she had been able to divide the men of her world unhesitatingly into two classes--her equals, her inferiors. Dean Wolcott was different. He was framed in mystery and hallowed by grief, coming to her--almost like a visitant from another world--in the dawn of a Christmas Day she had vowed not to keep, bringing her the word of her dead brother for which she had thirsted, and a stained and crumpled letter in Aleck’s own hand. It was the first shred of information she had had since the official communication, nearly four months after the armistice. That had come on a delicate day of early California spring; the rains had been late and the hills were only faintly brushed with green, but the wild flowers were out, brilliant, arresting, and the oaks were vocal with linnets and orioles; meadow larks sank liltingly on the low ground; the narrow little creek was lively and vehement, and the air was honey and wine. Everything was awake and alive except Aleck, and Aleck was dead. The grave official statement regretted to inform her that Lieutenant Alexander McVeagh was dead. _Dead_; not alive any more; never coming back to Dos Pozos; never to ride with her over the range again.