A pounding at his door woke Loudon in the morning.
"'Lo," he called, sleepily.
"Time for yore dinner!" shouted Mrs. Burr through the panels. "It's noon."
"I'll get right up."
"Yuh will not. Yuh'll stay right where yuh are. I'm comin' in."
She entered, bearing a basin and towels.
"There," she said, setting the basin on the chair at the bedside. "There, yuh can wash yore own face. Hungry?"
"Some," he sputtered through streaming water.
"That's good. I got a nice steak an' 'taters an' gravy an' hot bread, an' there's a friend wants to see yuh."
"Who?"
"Swing Tunstall. He just rode in from the Flyin' M. I'm goin' out there this afternoon. Dunno how long I'll be gone. But yuh'll be all right. I done asked Lil Mace to come over here an' live while I'm away. Lil an' Kate an' Dorothy'll look after yuh. An' mind yuh, do what they tell yuh, or I'll make it hot for yuh when I come back."
"What's the matter? Anythin' happened at the ranch?"
"Oh, nothin' much—over a hundred head o' hosses run off, an' Scotty's got two bullets in him."
"What!"
"Yep. That's why I'm goin' out. Got to look after Scotty. Swing says he ain't hurt bad, an' Scotty is tougher'n back-leather, but still there'd ought to be a woman there, so I'm elected. No, I can't give yuh no details. Ain't got time. Swing will tell yuh all he knows. Good-bye, an' don't forget what I said 'bout mindin' them three girls, Tom."
She picked up the basin and hastened from the room, leaving the door open. Through the doorway Loudon could see a section of the kitchen and Kate and Dorothy busy at the stove. But the objects in view did not register any impressions on his shocked brain. Scotty shot! A hundred horses stolen! Here was a grim matter indeed, one requiring instant action, and he was laid up with a sprained ankle! Very arbitrary ladies, the three Fates. Heartily, but under his breath, for Dorothy was coming, Loudon cursed his luck.
"Well, invalid," smiled Dorothy, "here's your dinner. Shall I feed you, or perhaps you'd prefer Mrs. Mace or Kate? How about it?"
"I only sprained my ankle," said Loudon, red to the ears.
He was wearing one of the Captain's nightgowns. The middle-aged scrutiny of the mother had not quickened him to the fact that the garment was much too small for him, but under the eyes of the daughter he became burningly self-conscious. The knowledge that Scotty had advised Dorothy to fall in love with him did not lessen the agony of the moment.
"I'll put it on this chair," said tactful Dorothy, partly fathoming the cause of Loudon's distress. "Would you like to see Mr. Tunstall?"
"Shore I would. I didn't know he was here at the house."
"He's camping on the doorstep. I'll send him in. Isn't it awful about Scotty Mackenzie? And all those horses, too. Nothing as bad as this ever happened in Sunset County before."
"It won't happen again. Not right away, yuh can bet on that."
Dorothy withdrew, and Swing Tunstall entered. The bristle-haired young man shut the door, grinned toothfully at Loudon, and sat down cross-legged on the floor.
"Howdy, Swing," said Loudon, "why ain't yuh chasin' the hoss thieves?"
"'Cause," replied Tunstall, "Doubleday sent me in to tell the sheriff an' get a doc for Scotty. The doc's on his way, an' the sheriff's due in to-day from Rocket. All the outfit, 'cept Doubleday an' Giant Morton, are cavortin' over the hills an' far away a-sniffin' to pick up the trail."
"When did it happen?"
"Well, as near as we could make out, after siftin' out Scotty's cuss-words an' gettin' down to hard-rock, Scotty was shot 'bout eight or nine o'clock in the evenin'."
"How?"
"Says he heard a racket in the stallion corral. No more'n he slips out of the office when he's plugged twice—once in the left leg, an' a deep graze on his head. The head shot is what knocked him out. He said he didn't come to till after midnight. He drug himself into the office an' tied himself up the best he could an' lived offen airtights till we pulled in. He didn't even know any hosses had been run off till after we got back."
"I s'pose he was shot the evenin' of the dance?"
"Shore. Oh, ain't it lovely? While we're chasin' imaginary feather-dusters, the Flyin' M hosses are vanishin'. It shore was a slick trick. The gent that thought up that plan for getting' every two-legged man in the country out of the way is a wizard. I'd admire to see him, I would. I'll bet he's all head."
"He ain't exactly a fool," admitted Loudon, thinking of Sam Blakely.
Certainly the manner in which the horse-stealing had been carried out bore the ear-marks of 88 methods.
"They had two days' start," observed Swing Tunstall. "Time to ride to Old Mexico almost."
"Telescope's a good tracker," said Loudon, and began to eat his dinner.
"None better. But even Telescope can't do wonders. By the trail the hoss-band headed east. Them hosses was over a hundred, maybe a hundred an' fifty, miles away by the time our outfit got started. In a hundred an' fifty miles o' country yuh'll find lots o' hard ground an' maybe a rainstorm."
"Rain ain't none likely at this time o' year."
"It ain't likely, but hoss thieves with a two-day start are in luck at the go-off. An' luck comes in bunches. If they's any rain wanderin' 'round foot-free an' fancy-loose these gents will get it. An' then where's Telescope an' his trackin'?"
When Tunstall had departed in search of diversion and to buy cartridges, Loudon locked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. In his mind he turned over the events of the past few days. He was sure that Sam Blakely and the 88 outfit were the prime movers in the shooting of Scotty and the stealing of Scotty's horses.
Yet, save that the exceeding cleverness of procedure smacked of Blakely, there were no grounds for suspecting the 88 men. Blakely and his gang were not the only cunning horse thieves in the territory. There were dozens of others free and unhung. Nevertheless, Loudon's instinct fastened the guilt on the 88.
"I'm shore," he muttered, "certain shore. But there ain't nothin' to go by. Not a thing. An' yuh can't prove nothin' lyin' on yore back with a bumped ankle."
Half an hour later the entrance of Kate Saltoun interrupted his gloomy reflections.
"Feeling worse, Tom?" she inquired, her expression anxious.
"Me? Oh, not a little bit. I feel just like a flock o' birds with yaller wings."
"You needn't be snippy. I know how your ankle must pain you, but——"
"It ain't the ankle, Kate. That feels fine, only I know I can't stand on it. It's what I'm thinkin' about. I was wonderin' 'bout Scotty an' all."
"If I sit with you, would—would you like to talk?" said she with a hesitant smile, the slow red mounting to her cheeks.
"If it wouldn't bother yuh too much."
"I'll be right back."
Kate took away the dishes, and Loudon, who had pulled the blankets up to his chin at her entry, snuggled deeper into the bed and wished himself elsewhere.
"What else could I say?" he asked himself, dismally, "Lord A'mighty, I wish she'd keep away from me."
Kate returned quickly, carried the chair to the foot of the bed, and sat down. She crossed one leg over the other and clasped her hands in her lap. Silence ensued for a brief space of time.
"Well," said Kate, leadingly.
"I was just a-wonderin' about this hoss deal," began Loudon. "I think——"
"I know what you intended saying," Kate observed, calmly. "You see in it the fine Italian hand of Blakely."
"You always could talk high, wide, and handsome," said Loudon, admiringly. "How djuh guess it?"
"I know Sam Blakely. That's enough. He'd hesitate at nothing, no matter how vile or wicked it might be. Oh, don't look so eager. I can't prove it. It's my instinct, that's all. I hate him—hate him—hate him!"
Kate covered her face with her hands.
"They'll hear yuh in the kitchen," cautioned Loudon in a whisper.
Kate lowered her hands and looked at him wearily. When she spoke her voice was perfectly composed.
"No, they won't. Dorothy's over at Lil's. Don't worry, though. I sha'n't lose control of myself. Something came over me then. I won't do it again."
"Well, you think like I do, but I can't prove nothin', neither. Never have been able to prove nothin' against the 88. Say, does yore dad still believe like he used to about them cows?"
"The Crossed——"
"No,hiscows. Them cows that disappeared now an' then."
"I believe he does. He never talks much, you know, and it's sometimes hard for me to tell what he thinks. But I don't believe he suspects the 88. He was very angry when I broke the engagement. I wouldn't give him my reason, and he stormed and stamped around, and quarrelled with me all the time. That's partly why I came up here to visit Lil Mace."
"If we could only wake up Fort Creek County—but them fellahs, most of 'em, are for the 88, an' them that ain't have to take it out in thinkin' a lot. Now if we could cinch this hoss-stealin' on the 88 it would help a lot down in Fort Creek County. The honest folks down there would have somethin' to go on, an' they'd paint for war immediate, an' with the boys from up here it would be a cinch. We'd go over the 88 outfit like a landslide. An' here I am throwed an' hog-tied. Say——" Loudon's mouth opened wide. His eyes shone. In his excitement he raised himself on his elbow—"I got it! I got it!"
"What?" Kate leaned toward him, lips parted.
"It ain't possible that dance was just luck," said Loudon, rapidly. "It couldn't just 'a' happened all hunky-dory so that fellah from Hatchet Creek would find all the boys in town. Not by a jugful it couldn't! It was set for that night a-purpose. Now who started the ball a-rollin' for that dance?"
He gazed triumphantly at Kate. Her eyes sparkled.
"I'll try and find out for you," she said.
"Howdy, folks?"
It was Pete O'Leary who spoke, and he was standing beside the kitchen table looking in on them. Loudon's mouth tightened. How much of their conversation had O'Leary heard?
"Good afternoon, Mr. O'Leary," said Kate, rising and advancing to the doorway. "Looking for Dorothy, aren't you? Oh, I know you are. You'll find her down at Mrs. Mace's.... Yes, it's a beautiful day, beautiful. Good afternoon, Mr. O'Leary, good afternoon."
In the face of this Pete O'Leary departed. Kate went into the kitchen. In a few minutes she returned, laughing.
"He didn't go into Lil's," she said. "He went on toward Main Street. I watched him. He's a nervy individual. Dorothy doesn't like him, and I don't, either."
"I wonder if he did come to see Dorothy, or——"
"He came to see me."
"You!" Loudon's surprise was patent.
"Yes, isn't it charming? Turned him out in quick fashion, didn't I? The pest! Dorothy said he clung to her like glue till I came. He's deserted her for me ever since the dance. She baked me a cake. Said it was a reward. She'd never been able to get rid of him. But I'm afraid Dorothy's too tender-hearted. I don't mind being rude. Why, what's the matter?"
"I was just a-wonderin' how much that fellah heard?"
"Oh, nothing," said Kate, carelessly. "We weren't talking loudly, were we? Does it make any difference?"
"It shore does. O'Leary's in with the 88, or I'm a Dutchman."
"He is!"
"Shore," Loudon nodded. "I got proof o' that, anyhow."
"Heavens! If he heard what we were saying he'll warn Blakely and the rest. And we can't stop him! We can't stop him!"
"Not yet we can't. I can't, special."
Kate stared steadily at Loudon.
"Tom," said she, after a silence, "if Pete O'Leary is Blakely's friend then Pete O'Leary got up that dance."
"Oh, I'm bright!" groaned Loudon. "I must be losin' my mind. There it was, plain as the brand on a hoss, an' I never seen it. O' course it was him."
"I'll soon find out," Kate exclaimed, briskly. "I'll ask Lil and Dorothy and Mrs. Ragsdale and Mrs. Dan Smith. They'll know. Do you mind being left alone for a while?"
"Not a bit—I mean——"
"Now never mind. I know perfectly well what you mean. Here, I'll put your gun where you can reach it. If you want anything, shoot."
She plumped his pillow, patted and pulled the blankets to smoothness, and was off.
"Ain't it amazin'?" marvelled Loudon. "Now if anybody had told me that I could talk friendly again with Kate Saltoun, I'd 'a' called him a liar. I shore would."
Ten minutes later plump Mrs. Mace entered and interrupted a flow of very bitter reflections on Pete O'Leary.
"Well, Mister Man, how's the ankle?" inquired Mrs. Mace, brightly. "Now don't look so glum. Kate'll be back before a great while."
"I wasn't thinkin' o' her," was Loudon's ungallant retort.
"Yuh'd ought to. I guess yuh was, too. Yuh needn't be bashful with me. I'm Kate's best friend. An' I want to tell you right now I'm awful glad the pair of yuh got over yore mad. It don't pay to quarrel. I never do, not even when Jim Mace comes in all mud without wipin' his feet. Lord, what trials you men are! I don't really know how we poor women get along sometimes, I don't indeed. Want a drink o' water? Yuh can't have nothin' else. Mis' Burr said yuh couldn't."
"Then I guess that goes as it lays. But I ain't thirsty, an' I don't need nothin'. Honest."
"Yes, yuh do," contradicted Mrs. Mace, gazing critically at him. "Yuh need yore hair brushed. It's all mussed, an' invalids should look neat. Don't start in to sputter. I sha'n't brush yore hair, but I'll tell Kate she's no great shakes for a nurse. Now I think of it, Kate's hair was mussed up some, too. H'm-m-m. What yuh gettin' red about? No call to blush that I can see. Oh, you men!"
With a significant wink Mrs. Mace whisked kittenishly into the kitchen. Loudon could hear her lifting stove-lids. He perspired freely. The lady's weighty bantering had raised his temperature.
What a world! Scotty urged him to make love to Dorothy. Mrs. Burr advised him to set matters right with Kate. While Mrs. Mace had everything settled. Between the three of them and his other troubles he believed he would go mad.
At six o'clock Kate returned.
"It took me longer than I expected," she whispered, Dorothy and Mrs. Mace being in the kitchen. "It's just as we thought. Our friend, Mr. O'Leary, was back of the dance. He suggested it to Mrs. Ragsdale, and she got it up.
"I don't believe O'Leary heard any of our conversation. He met me down street and smirked and grinned and tried to invite himself up to see me to-night. But I settled him. I said I'd be busy for the next two weeks. Look here, Tom, don't look so worried. If he heard what we said, don't you suppose he'd leave town immediately? Of course he would. He wouldn't dare stay."
"I ain't so shore about that. He's no fool, Pete O'Leary ain't. He knows there ain't no real evidence against him. We only got suspicions, that's all. Enough for us, all right, but nothin' like enough to land him. No, he wouldn't vamoose right now. That'd give him away. He'll stay an' bluff it through as long as he can. Then, again, if he pulls out he ain't no good to the 88 no more. He's needed up here to let 'em know how things are pannin' out. Say, yuh didn't let them ladies suspicion what yuh was after, did yuh?"
"Of course not. I have a little sense. I made my inquiries quite casually in the course of conversation. Don't fret, they won't have a thing to gossip about."
"That's good. I might 'a' knowed yuh'd be careful."
With a start he realized that he was commending her, actually commending the girl who had once informed him in withering accents that she would never marry an ignorant puncher. Here she was pathetically anxious to execute his every wish. Apparently she had stopped flirting, too.
As she flitted between his room and the kitchen he looked at her out of amazed eyes. Measuring her by her one-time frivolous and coquettish actions, the new Kate was rather astonishing. Man-like, Loudon began to suspect some trap. The lady was too good to be true.
"Bet she's tollin' me on," he told himself. "I'll ask her again, an' then pop'll go the weasel. No, sirree, I know when I'm well off. As a friend, so long as she acts thisaway, she's ace-high, but I'll bet after marriage she'd develop tempers an' things like that Sue Shimmers girl Scotty told me about. Shore she would. Not a doubt of it. Yessir, single cussedness for Tom Loudon from now on henceforward. I'll gamble an' go the limit, it's got double blessedness backed clean off the table."
Lying in bed was not doing Tom Loudon a bit of good. He was fast becoming priggishly cynical. Which attitude of mind may have been natural, but was certainly abominably ungallant.
Long after the others in the house were asleep Loudon lay awake. His brain was busy fashioning plans for the undoing of the 88 outfit. It suddenly struck him that the guileful O'Leary undoubtedly wrote letters. A knowledge of the addresses on those letters was of paramount importance. It would wonderfully simplify matters.
The storekeeper, Ragsdale, was the Bend postmaster. Loudon knew that Ragsdale was not given to idle chatter. He resolved to take Ragsdale into his confidence.
In the morning after breakfast, Kate, first making sure that Mrs. Mace and Dorothy were out of earshot, stooped over the bed.
"Tom," she said, "don't you think I'd better find out whether O'Leary writes any letters and, if he does, to whom he writes them?"
Loudon stared at her in astonishment.
"Huh—how did yuh think o' that?" he blurted out.
"I don't know. It came to me last night. It's a good idea, don't you think?"
"Shore, it's a good idea. I was thinkin' the same thing myself. But don't yuh bother. I'll find out soon's I'm able to get around."
"Don't be silly. You'll be on your back ten days at the least. O'Leary may write several in the meantime, and the sooner we know about it the better. Now I can find out very easily. Mrs. Ragsdale, the prying soul, reads the addresses on every letter coming in or going out. None ever escapes her eagle eye. And she's a great gossip. I've only seen her half-a-dozen times, but nevertheless she's managed to give me detailed histories of the private lives of most of the inhabitants. She enjoys talking to me because I never interrupt, so you see how simple it will be."
"But I don't like to use you thisaway," objected Loudon. "Yuh've done enough, too much, as it is."
"Nonsense! It will be great fun turning Mrs. Ragsdale's tattlings into useful information. Tattle! Why, she even told me how much you approved of me at the dance. According to her story you came and shouted your opinion into her ear. Did you?"
"I knowed it!" groaned Loudon. "I knowed she'd tell! I only said——"
"Never mind getting red. I didn't mind a bit. I hoped you did like me. I wanted you to."
Here was thin ice. Loudon, pink about the ears, squirmed inwardly.
"I—I," he stuttered, then, with a rush, "yo're doin' too much, I tell yuh. I'll see about these letters when I get up."
"No, you won't. I want to, and I'm going to. It's settled and you needn't argue. I'll go to the postoffice right away. After dinner I'll tell you all about it."
"Wait a minute!" cried Loudon, but Kate was gone.
Loudon had little time to reflect on feminine wilfulness, for Mrs. Mace insisted on spending the morning with him. Dorothy helped her spend it. The buzz of their chatter was lulling. Loudon dozed off and slept till Mrs. Mace awakened him at noon.
"Nice way to treat two ladies," sniffed Mrs. Mace. "Nice way, I must say. Here we come in to entertain yuh while Kate's away and yuh fall asleep, so yuh do. Bet yuh wouldn't have fell asleep if Kate had been here. No, I guess not. You'd have been chipper enough—grinnin' and smilin' all over yore face. But yuh can't even be polite to Dorothy and me."
"Why, ma'am, I——"
"Oh, never mind makin' excuses. We understand. It's all right. Say"—Mrs. Mace stooped down and guarded one side of her mouth with her hand—"say, when's the weddin' comin' off?"
"Weddin'? What weddin'?"
"Oh, yes, I wonder what weddin'. I do, indeed. Well, of course yuh don't have to tell if yuh don't want to. I'll ask Kate. Dorothy"—she straightened and called over her shoulder—"you can bring in Mr. Loudon's dinner. He's decided to stay awake long enough to eat it."
He ate his dinner alone, but he did not enjoy it. For, in the kitchen, Dorothy and Mrs. Mace with painful thoroughness discussed all the weddings they had ever seen and made divers thinly veiled remarks concerning a certain marriage that would probably take place in the fall.
"Say," called Loudon, when he could endure their chatter no longer, "say, would yuh mind closin' that door? I got a headache."
Silence in the kitchen for a brief space of time. Then, in a small demure voice, Mrs. Mace said:
"What was that? I didn't quite catch it."
With elaborate politeness Loudon repeated his request.
"Oh, no," said Mrs. Mace, "the door must be left open. Mis' Burr said so. A sick-room needs lots of fresh air. I wouldn't dare close the door. Mis' Burr wouldn't like it."
"She'd scalp us if we closed it during the day," observed Dorothy.
The wretched Loudon could almost see the wink which accompanied this statement.
"But he's got a headache," said Mrs. Mace. "We'd ought to do somethin' for that. Can't allow him to have a headache, Dorothy. You get the towels an' I'll get some cold water. We'll bathe his head for him. That'll fix him up."
"It ain't as bad as all that," denied Loudon. "It's goin' away already. An' I don't want my head bathed nohow. An' I ain't goin' to have it bathed, an' that's flat!"
At this juncture Kate entered the kitchen, announcing that she was starved. Dorothy and Mrs. Mace, both talking at once, asserted that Loudon had a violent headache and would not allow them to alleviate his suffering; that he had been a most troublesome patient and had kept them busy attending to his manifold desires.
"Don't you believe 'em!" cried Loudon. "I ain't done a thing. They been pesterin' me all mornin'. Won't let me sleep or nothin'."
"There! Listen to him!" exclaimed Mrs. Mace. "We did our level best to please, an' that's all the thanks we get. C'mon, Dorothy, let's go over to my house. We ain't wanted now. Yore dinner's in the oven, Kate. He's had his. Hope you'll have better luck managin' him than we did. I'd sooner wrangle forty hosses than one sick man."
The slam of the kitchen door put a period to her remarks. Kate entered Loudon's room, a pucker of concern between her eyebrows.
"Have you really a headache?" she inquired.
"Of course I haven't. But they was botherin' me—oh, I dunno, makin' fool remarks an' all like that. Say, did yuh find out anythin'?"
"Not much of any value, I'm afraid. But you're the better judge of that. Pete O'Leary writes to only one person—William Archer of Marysville. O'Leary writes to him once a week usually, but for the last month he's written twice a week, and this week he mailed four letters to Marysville."
"Archer—Archer," mused Loudon. "I can't think just now of anybody o' that name in Marysville. But that town ain't such a great way from the 88 ranch house—not more'n thirty mile at the most. Archer, whoever he is, could easy keep in touch with—with——"
"Don't boggle so over that man's name. You don't hurt my feelings in the least by mentioning Sam Blakely. Yes, he could keep in touch with Blakely very easily. I learned, too, that O'Leary receives letters about as frequently as he mails them. They are all in the same handwriting, and they are all postmarked Marysville. One came for him this morning. Mrs. Ragsdale let me see it, but the handwriting was strange to me. If it had been Blakely's I'd have recognized it. I'll keep in with Mrs. Ragsdale. I'll visit her every time a mail arrives."
"No, it ain't necessary. It's enough to know he writes to Marysville. First thing to do is see Archer, an' find out some of his habits. He's the link between Pete O'Leary an' the 88, that's a cinch."
"Then I really did learn something of value. I am glad. I was afraid it wouldn't be worth a very great deal, and I do so want to help you."
"Well, yuh shore have, Kate. Nobody could 'a' helped me any better. But don't do no more. There ain't no reason why you should. It ain't a woman's job anyhow."
"Oh, you've said that before. I intend to help you all I can. I'm as interested as you are in the ultimate crushing of the 88 outfit."
"Yes, but——"
"We won't discuss it, please. How does the ankle feel?"
"It's comin' along fine. I want to get up right now."
"Day after to-morrow you can get dressed if you like and sit out in the kitchen for a while. Oh, I know how hard it is to lie in bed, but one can't hurry a sprain. You have a lot of hard work ahead, and you must be in shape to go through with it. Listen, how would it be if I wrote to Mr. Richie of the Cross-in-a-box and asked him to find out about this Archer man?"
"No, I'd rather manage that myself. I'll go to Marysville."
"You can't! Why, the judge who issued that warrant for you lives there! You insist on going to Farewell, and that's madness. But visiting Marysville would be worse."
"Oh, no, it wouldn't. Nobody knows me there. I was never in the place in my life. It'll be a lot safer than Farewell."
"B-but I'm afraid! I know something will happen to you! I know it! I know it!"
"Nothin'll happen," said Loudon, acutely conscious that the situation was getting out of hand.
Presently his worst fears were realized. Kate, genuine misery in her dark eyes, stared at him silently. Her hands were gripped together so that the knuckles showed white. Suddenly she turned side wise, flung an elbow over the back of the chair and buried her face in her hands. She began to cry softly.
"Oh!" she wailed, her shoulders shaking. "Oh, I love you so! I love you so! And you don't care—you don't care a bit!"
Sobs racked her whole body. She completely lost control of herself and burst into a storm of passionate weeping. To Loudon it seemed that this state of affairs endured for an age, but not more than five minutes elapsed before Kate swayed to her feet and stumbled from the room. She did not close the door, and Loudon could hear her muffled gasps as she strove with her distress.
At that moment it seemed to him that the girl who had called him an ignorant puncher was a wraith of the dim and misty past. Certainly the present Kate Saltoun was a different person. She no longer flirted, she was plainly sorry for what she had done, and apparently she loved him utterly.
No man can remain unmoved while a beautiful woman weeps for love of him. Loudon was moved. He was impelled to call to her, to tell her to come to him. But he hesitated. He was not at all sure that his feeling was any emotion other than pity. He had spent miserable weeks schooling himself to forget his love and her. Now he did not know his own mind, and he could not decide what to do. While he lay hesitating he heard the scraping of a chair being pushed back, the sound of her feet crossing the floor, and the slam of the kitchen door.
Half an hour later Mrs. Mace came in like a whirlwind. She halted in the doorway and surveyed Loudon with unfriendly eyes. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it without uttering a word, flounced back into the kitchen and shut his door. Almost immediately she opened it.
"Want anythin'?" she inquired, ungraciously.
"No, thank yuh just the same," replied the mystified Loudon.
Mrs. Mace closed the door without comment. It was not opened again till Dorothy brought in his supper. She inquired politely after his health, but he could see that she was displeased with him.
"What's the matter with everybody?" he asked. "What makes Mis' Mace look at me like I was poison, an' what makes you look as if yuh had a pain?"
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Dorothy, severely, and marched out, her back stiff as a rifle-barrel.
"I've done somethin' desperate, whatever it is," he said, addressing the closed door. "I shore have. I might 'a' come to like that Dorothy girl real well—sometime maybe. But I never will now, an' that's no merry jest."
Gloomily he ate his supper. When Dorothy entered to take away the dishes he demanded to know why he should be ashamed of himself.
"Because you should!" she snapped. "I'm not going to bandy words with you! Just wait till mother comes home—just you wait!"
After which ominous utterance she departed. Loudon scratched his head and thought long and deeply.
"Now I'd like to know what I've done," he mused. "Mis' Mace don't like me a little bit, an' that Dorothy girl talks an' acts like I'd poisoned a well or scalped a dozen babies. It's one too many for me. But I'll know about it when Mis' Burr gets home, will I? That's fine, that is. I'll bet she'll explain till the cows come home. Why didn't I go to that hotel? I will as soon's I'm able. This house ain't no place for a peace-lovin' man."
He was rather relieved that Kate no longer came near him. It saved trouble. He did not quite know what he would say to Kate at their next meeting. What could he say? What, indeed? He pondered the question till he fell asleep, having arrived at no conclusion.
Next morning Jim Mace came to see him. Loudon besought Jim to help him move to the hotel.
"What's the matter?" said the surprised Jim. "Don't my wife an' Dorothy treat yuh right?"
"Shore they do, but I don't want to bother 'em no more. I'll be better off where I can cuss when I feel like it."
"Mis' Burr won't like it none, yore goin' off thisaway."
"I can't help that—I want to go."
"An' my wife won't like it, neither. Lordy, Tom, yuh don't know my wife. She'd hit the ceilin' if I was to tote yuh down to the hotel."
"Say," exclaimed Loudon, "can't a married man do nothin' without askin' his wife?"
"Not if he knows what's healthy," replied Jim Mace, warmly. "I tell yuh, Tom, yuh'll jump through a hoop if yore wife says so. Oh, yuh can laugh all yo're a mind to. Wait till yo're married, an' yuh'll see what I mean."
"I'll wait, yuh can gamble on that. Will yuh help me or do I have to walk there on my hands?"
"I won't help yuh a step. Yuh don't know what yo're askin', Tom. Honest, I'm sorry, but I wouldn't dare help yuh without Lil said I could. Fix it up with her an' I will."
When Jim had gone Loudon swore soulfully, and thought with amazement of the manner in which Jim was under his wife's thumb. If that was the effect of marriage upon a man he wanted none of it. He had no desire to be tied to any one's apron-strings. He wished to be able to call his soul his own. Marriage—bah!
"I want my clothes," he announced to Mrs. Mace at noon.
"Oh, yuh do, do yuh?" cried the lady. "Well, yuh can just want, so yuh can! Yuh won't get 'em, an' that's flat! An' Jim Mace nor nobody else ain't goin' to help yuh down to that hotel. Yo're a-goin' to stick right here. Jim told me yuh wanted to go, an' what I told him was a-plenty. Here yuh stay till yuh go back to the ranch."
"But I want to get up. I'm gettin' plumb weary o' stayin' in bed."
"It won't hurt yuh a bit. You'll have lots o' time to think over yore sins."
"I'll get up anyhow."
"You just try it! I'd shore admire to see yuh try it! You ain't goin' to play any fool tricks with that ankle if I have to get Jim an' a few o' the boys to hogtie yuh. Tell yuh what I will do. To-morrow, if you'll give me yore word not to leave the house till Mis' Burr or I say you can, I'll give yuh yore clothes an' you can sit in the kitchen."
"I suppose I'll have to," grumbled Loudon.
"You shore will if yuh want to get up," stated the uncompromising lady.
"All right. I give yuh my word. Lemme get up now. The ankle feels fine."
"To-morrow, to-morrow—not one second sooner."
Loudon, sitting comfortably in a big chair, his lame ankle supported on an upturned cracker-box, gazed at the world without through the frame of the kitchen doorway. Leaving his bed had raised his spirits appreciably. He rolled and smoked cigarettes and practised the road-agent's spin in pleasant anticipation of the day when he would ride away on his occasions.
He wondered what luck Telescope and the boys were having. Since Swing Tunstall's visit no news had come from the Flying M. Humanly, if selfishly, he hoped that the trailing would meet with no success till he was able to take a hand. His altruism was not proof against his exceedingly lively desire to share in the downfall of the 88 outfit.
He essayed to draw Mrs. Mace and Dorothy into conversation, but both ladies were grumpy, and he gave it up in disgust. He found himself listening for Kate's footstep. Awkward as their meeting undoubtedly would be, his dread of it was wearing off.
But Kate Saltoun did not appear. Loudon was too stubborn to make inquiries, and Mrs. Mace and Dorothy vouchsafed no information. In fact, save to squabble with him, they rarely opened their mouths in his presence.
A week later Loudon, a home-made crutch under his armpit, was able to hobble about a little. Within two weeks he discarded the crutch and, having obtained permission from Mrs. Mace, limped to the corral and overhauled his saddle. That afternoon Mrs. Burr returned. Loudon saw her first and crab-footed to the other side of the corral. The precise nature of his sin was not clear to him, but Dorothy's words had been disquieting. And now "mother" was home.
Like a disobedient small boy Loudon wished to put off the interview as long as possible. But there was no escape for him. Mrs. Burr marched out to the corral and cornered him.
"How's Scotty?" inquired Loudon, affecting an ease of manner he was far from feeling.
"Scotty's doin' very well," said Mrs. Burr, eying him grimly. "He don't need me no more. That's why I'm here. Young man, I ain't pleased with yuh. I ain't a bit pleased with yuh."
"Why, ma'am, I dunno what yuh mean."
"Yuh will before I'm through. Gimme that saddle-blanket to set on. There! Now, Mister Man, I'm goin' to talk to yuh like I was yore mother, an' I expect yuh to take it that way."
"Shore, ma'am, fly at it. I'm a-listenin'."
"Do yuh remember a certain evenin' down at the Bar S when yuh'd just rid in from Farewell with the mail an' some ribbon for Kate Saltoun?"
Loudon nodded.
"Well, Kate asked yuh to come out on the porch, an' yuh didn't come. Yes, Sam Blakely was there. Yore not comin' at her invite riled Kate. She allowed yuh didn't give a hoot for her, an' when Blakely proposed she took him. She was hoppin' mad with you, an' she was bound to teach yuh a lesson.
"No, don't interrupt. Wait till I'm through, an' yuh can talk all yo're a mind to. Before that evenin' it'd been nip an' tuck between you an' Sam Blakely. An' you was slow. My fathers! you was slow about speakin' yore little piece! Tom, a girl don't like for a man to keep his mouth shut. If he loves her, let him say so. An' you didn't say so.
"Then again, Kate was flattered by Blakely's attention. What girl wouldn't be? Tom, yuh've got to remember a girl's mind ain't built like a man's. She don't reason the same way. She can't. Then, again, every girl is a coquette. Take the homeliest slabsided critter in creation, an' at heart she's just as much of a coquette as a she-angel with a pretty figger. They can't help it. It's born in 'em like their teeth are.
"An' you men don't take that into account. You think the girl you admire ain't got no right to look at nobody but you, an' that she's got to be all ready to fall into yore arms when you say the word. An' if she don't do these things yuh rise up in the air like a mean pony an' go cavortin' off sayin', 'Drat the women!' I know yuh. Yo're all alike."
"But, ma'am, I——"
"No time for 'I's' now. Like I says before, yuh can talk later. Well, here's Kate Saltoun—pretty as all git-out, an' assayin' twelve ounces o' real woman to the pound, troy. Naturally, like I says, she's a coquette an' don't know her own mind about the boys. None of 'em don't. I didn't. Well, times Kate knows she loves you, an' times she thinks she loves Blakely."
"How did she know I loved her? I hadn't said a word about it."
"My fathers! don't yuh s'pose a woman knows when a man loves her? He doesn't have to tell her. She knows. Well, as I was sayin', she's a-waverin' this way an' that, an' then along comes that evenin' you don't go out on the porch, an' she kind o' guesses she loves Blakely an' she takes that party. Mind yuh, she thought she loves him. Kate's honest. She couldn't lie to herself."
"She did when she said I drawed first," said Loudon in a low voice. "I can't get over that, somehow."
"Tom, at the time you an' Blakely was cuttin' down on each other Kate was excited. She couldn't 'a' seen things straight. She told me she thought yuh drawed first. I believe her—why can't you?"
"But I didn't draw first."
"I know yuh didn't, but I believe Kate when she says she thought you did draw first. That's what I mean. Under the circumstances, yuh'd ought to believe her, too. But never mind about that now. You cut stick an' come here to the Bend. An' Kate begun to find out there was somethin' missin'. Somehow, the Bar S without you didn't seem like the Bar S. Before yuh lit out she'd gotten used to havin' yuh around.
"Yuh don't miss a saddle, Tom, till yuh have to ride bareback. Same way with Kate. She missed yuh, an' as every day went by she missed yuh more an' more. Then it come to her. She knowed the man she loved, an' that feller was you, yuh big, thick-skulled lummox! Oh, if you was fifteen years younger I'd lay yuh over my knee an' wear out a quirt on yuh for bein' a fool! I never could abide a fool. But yuh'll know somethin' before I get through."
"Don't mind me, ma'am."
"I don't—not a bit! I like you, an' I just love that Kate girl, or I wouldn't be a-settin' here now. Well, when Kate knowed her own mind at last, she gave Blakely back his ring, an' that settled him. She wanted you back, an' the only way she could think of to get yuh back was to go after yuh. So she done it. An' you had to fight with her an' drive her away! She just couldn't wait for the stage. She done hired a buckboard an' drove back to the Bar S. She made Dorothy an' Lil promise not to tell yuh she'd gone. They told me. She wouldn't tell 'em what had happened between you two. But she was cryin' when she left, so don't tell me yuh didn't fight with her.
"Lil an' Dorothy guessed it right away, an' they're mad at yuh, you bet. Yuh've busted Kate's heart, that's what yuh've done. Now ain't yuh ashamed o' yoreself? Don't yuh think yuh didn't act just right? Don't yuh think yuh might 'a' been just a little bit forgivin' when you could see the girl loved yuh with all her heart?"
"She said she'd never marry a ignorant puncher."
"I know. She told me about that time in the Bar S kitchen. Don't yuh understand—can't yuh get it through yore head that happenedbeforeshe woke up to the fact that you was the only feller on earth?"
"Did she tell yuh all this?"
"She did. Poor little girl, she come to me one evenin', an' she was all wrought up. I seen somethin' was the matter, an' I knowed it would do her a heap o' good to get it off her chest, an' I got it out of her little by little. She was sobbin' like a young one before she was through, an' I was a-holdin' her in my arms, an' I was cryin' some myself. She made me promise not to let on to you, but I ain't a-goin' to set by an' see her hurt when a word or two from me can set things straight. It's the first time I ever broke my word, but I don't care. I aim to help her all I can."
"Say, did she tell yuh what Blakely done?"
"No. What did he do?"
"I dunno. She hates him worse'n poison now. He's done somethin', but she wouldn't tell me what."
"He's been botherin' her likely, the skunk! You'd ought to crawl his hump first chance yuh get."
"Maybe I will."
"Looky here. I ain't quite through. What did you'n her fight about?"
"Nothin', ma'am. Honest. I'm there in bed, an' all of a sudden she busts out cryin' an' says she loves me, an' then she goes into the kitchen an' pretty soon she goes out—an' she never does come back. Then in comes Mis' Mace an' she acts mighty unpleasant, an' Dorothy acts the same, an' I believe I'd ruther been at the hotel, considerin'."
"I s'pose yuh just lay there like a bump on a log after Kate told yuh she loved yuh."
"Well, ma'am, I—I—what could I do, ma'am? I couldn't get up."
"Yuh might 'a' spoken."
"I couldn't think o' nothin' to say, ma'am," pleaded Loudon.
"Well, yuh poor tongue-tied galoot! Yuh don't deserve no luck, yuh don't! Well, I've said my say. I've done all I could. Yuh got to do the rest yore own self. But if yuh don't go an' do it like a man, then I'm disappointed in yuh."
"Did Kate tell Mis' Mace an' yore daughter what she told you?"
"No, she didn't. She only told me."
"Then they took an awful lot for granted. They acted like Kate an' me was in love with each other."
"Well, my land! They could see Kate cared for yuh. Anybody with half an eye could see that. Naturally they didn't s'pose yuh was actin' like a complete idjit. What yuh goin' to do?"
"I dunno."
"Yuh dunno! Yuh dunno! An' Kate all but goes on her knees to tell yuh how sorry she is for what she done! Not only that, but she says she loves yuh besides! An' all yuh can say is yuh dunno. My land! I can't say what I think o' yuh."
"But I dunno, I tell yuh, Mis' Burr. I wish I'd stayed in Fort Creek County. This here town o' Paradise Bend is shore a hot-house o' matchmakers. First Scotty—then you—then Mis' Mace. Fine lot o' Cupids, you are. Can't let a fellah alone. Any one would think I couldn't manage my own affairs."
"Yuh can't. In a case like this yuh need help."
"I'm gettin' it."
"Which I hope it does yuh some good. Now I ain't a-goin' to say another word. I've told yuh just exactly what yuh needed to be told. Do what yuh think best. How's the ankle gettin' along?"
"Can't bear my full weight on it yet."
"No, nor yuh won't for a few days. In a week yuh can go out to the ranch if yuh like. Scotty wants to see yuh but he said special yuh wasn't to think o' comin' till yuh was all right. Oh, shore, yuh'd like to lope right off an' have the ankle go back on yuh an' be no good at all while the rest o' the boys are out in the hills. Don't worry, I'll tend to yore interests—an' Scotty's. I'll see that yuh don't go."
"I wasn't thinkin' o' goin', ma'am," hastily disclaimed Loudon. "Are Telescope an' the outfit havin' any luck?"
"Not a smidgen. The boys got in just before I left. They trailed the hoss-band over a hundred miles an' then lost the trail near Miner Mountain. A rainstorm did that trick, an' they couldn't pick up the trail again nohow."
"Swing Tunstall was right. He said if there was a rainstorm round, them rustlers would locate it."
"They did."
"The outfit ain't quit, has it?"
"They're a-goin' out again. Scotty says he won't quit till he finds his hosses."