“Upon man and beast the sand-storm beat bitterly”“Upon man and beast the sand-storm beat bitterly”
As the air grew thicker there shone from the sky, instead of the vivid white sunshine of a few hours before, only a dim, diffused,lurid light. Even to Curtis, sitting quartering in the saddle with his back twisted toward the wind, Brown Betty’s ears were barely visible. For a while he allowed the mare to follow the road herself, until he found that her sense of duty must be supplemented by authority. For, under the discomfort of the belaboring wind and stinging sand, she began to yield to her instinct to turn tail and drift before the storm. Then he knew that he must keep a firm hand on the bridle, and his attention at the highest pitch, or they would soon be wandering helplessly over the plain. He walked long distances beside the mare, with his body shielding her head and with speech and caress keeping up her courage. Their progress was slow, for the force of the storm was so great that, though it beat against them from the side, they could struggle through it only at a walk.
Hour after hour went by, and the only sign of its passage was that a dim, yellowish centre of illumination, that had once been the sun, crept slowly across the sky. As the day grew older Conrad’s pain from his injury became more acute. Most of the time he felt it only as an insistent background to the keen outward discomfort of stinging sand andpounding wind. But when an occasional sharper twinge brought it more vividly to his consciousness he swore a little between his teeth, and thought of the letter he was going to write to Dellmey Baxter. The particles of sand filled his hair and encrusted his face and neck until they were of a uniform brick-red. Constant effort and encouragement were necessary to keep Brown Betty in the road, and finally he was compelled to walk at her head most of the time and with a guiding hand on her bridle counteract the unflagging urge of her instinct to drift before the blast.
Thus they battled their way through the hot, beating wind and suffocating sand, while that vague core of light moved athwart the dirty heavens, dropped slowly down the western sky, and was swallowed up in the denser banks of dusk above the horizon. It had been too dark before for the discernment of objects, but a yellowish glare had filtered through the sand-laden air, lending a lurid, semi-translucence to the atmosphere. Now even that was gone, leaving a desert enveloped in pitchy darkness, while the wind roared about the ears of the travellers and pounded their bodies as with cudgels and the sand pelted their skins.
Most of the time Curtis depended upon the feel of the road under his feet to maintain his direction, but now and then it was necessary for him to get down on his hands and knees in order to recover the track from which they had begun to stray. Once his fingers came in contact with a small feathered body. The bird tried to start up under his hand. He knew it must be disabled and placed it inside his shirt. Thus they plodded on through the night and the storm, the pain in his shoulder growing keener and the torture of the wind and sand ever more nerve-racking.
At last the mare raised her head and gave a long whinny. Conrad felt sure that she was announcing their near approach to the food and shelter within the adobe houses. “What is it, Betty? Do you know where we are?” he asked, and she rubbed her nose against his face, nickered, and pulled at the bridle with the evident desire to turn from the direction they were pursuing. Curtis knew they were in a little hollow, and thought it might be that into which the road dipped after leaving the houses.
“All right, Betty,” he said. “I’ll follow your lead a little way, but be cautious, old girl, and don’t tie up to any lying hunches.”He slackened his hold on the bridle, and the mare started off eagerly. They climbed a hill, and presently Conrad was aware of a black mass before him. Putting out his hand he felt an adobe wall. The mare crowded close against it, and stopped. She had left the road, which took the hill at a long sloping angle from the foot of the rise, and had climbed straight up the steep incline. He felt his way around the corner, unfastened the door, and entered. An emphatic “Whew!” gave vent to his feeling of relief. The mare, close at his heels, snorted in response, and Curtis, smiling in the dark, threw his arm across her neck in fellowship and said, “Feels good, doesn’t it, Betty B., to get out of that hurricane from hell?”
By the light of a lantern he led the mare to the spring, stabling her afterward in one of the houses. “In the best society, Betty Brown,” he explained, “it’s not considered good form for horses to sleep in men’s houses. But you deserve the best I can give you to-night, blest if you don’t, old girl, and you shall have it, too.” He gathered together, for her food and her bed, the alfalfa hay from several of the bunks, and found for her also a small measure of oats. Then, havingattended to her wants, he looked about for something to stay his own hunger.
It was his custom to keep some canned provisions in the place, as the station was much used by his men. On a little smouldering fire in one corner of the room, he made some tea in a tin can. A frying-pan hung against the wall, and in it, awkwardly fumbling with his one useful hand, he contrived to warm a stew of tinnedchile con carneand pilot bread. Fine sand drifted in and settled in a red dust over the food as he ate, and he could feel its grit between his teeth.
The bird he had carried in his bosom he found to be a Southwestern tanager. Its pinkish-red plumage shone with a silvery radiance in the lamplight. One of its legs was broken, and one wing had been injured. “I’ll take it to Miss Bancroft,” he said aloud, “and she’ll care for it till it can shift for itself again, poor little devil!”
With intense satisfaction Conrad at last sat down to the letter in which he had all day been longing to express his feelings. “I wonder,” he thought, “if Dellmey Baxter did it because he don’t like the things I say about him. Well, he’ll have to get used to it, then,for I’m not going to quit.” There was a grim smile on his face as he wrote:
“I consider it the square thing to tell you that I am onto the game of your man, José Gonzalez. We had our first set-to this morning, in which he winged me, but I got the best of him. I could have killed him if I had wanted to, but he is such a good cowboy I hated to do him up. I am going to keep him in my employ, but I want you to understand, distinctly, that if he makes another crack at me I shall go to Santa Fe as quick as I can get there and make a Christmas gift of you to the devil before you know what’s happening.“Yours truly,“Curtis Conrad.“P. S. I am still shouting for Johnny Martinez for Congress. C. C.”
“I consider it the square thing to tell you that I am onto the game of your man, José Gonzalez. We had our first set-to this morning, in which he winged me, but I got the best of him. I could have killed him if I had wanted to, but he is such a good cowboy I hated to do him up. I am going to keep him in my employ, but I want you to understand, distinctly, that if he makes another crack at me I shall go to Santa Fe as quick as I can get there and make a Christmas gift of you to the devil before you know what’s happening.
“Yours truly,“Curtis Conrad.
“P. S. I am still shouting for Johnny Martinez for Congress. C. C.”
“There!” he exclaimed, as he sealed the envelope and threw it down contemptuously; “I sure reckon he won’t be so anxious for me to turn up my toes with my boots on after he reads that.”
The pain in Conrad’s arm and shoulder had become so keen that he could not sleep. He lay in his bunk listening to the rattling of the door and the rage of the wind against the house, seeking to keep his mind from the stabbing pain long enough to sink intounconsciousness. But no sooner did his eyelids begin to close down heavily than a fresh throb made him start up again wide awake. This irritated him more than did the other suffering, and finally he jumped up angrily, found a copy of Lecky’s “History of European Morals,” and, with the muttered comment, “This is about what I need to-night,” settled himself on an empty cracker box and read the night away. Toward morning he became aware that the wind was abating, and a little later that less sand was drifting into his retreat.
Breakfast was eaten and Brown Betty cared for by lamplight and with the first dim rays of morning he set out once more upon the road. The bird was again in his bosom, and the cactus, wrapped in old newspapers, rested at the back of his saddle. The storm had passed, but the air was still full of dust particles through which the sun shone, red and smoky. Curtis knew that these would settle gradually with the passing hours and the sky become as clear as usual. Already he could see the road for several rods in front of him, and that was all he needed to keep it flying under Brown Betty’s feet.
At the ranch house Mrs. Peters told himthat a man had been there looking for work and described his appearance. “Yes; he overtook us at Rock Springs, and I hired him,” Conrad said. Then, remembering the account Andy Miller had given of his previous situation, he asked her if the man had said where he came from.
“No,” she replied; “he didn’t say where he’d been working; but he came from toward Golden.”
The superintendent thought the discrepancy rather curious, but decided it was nothing more than a not unusual cowboy eccentricity of statement. He resumed his journey with no misgivings, and mid-afternoon found him arguing with the physician at Golden that he might just as well start back to the round-up that same night.
Alexander Bancroft sat in his private room with Curtis Conrad’s return checks before him. They were not many: one in favor of his brother at the University of Michigan, one for a mail order house in Chicago, a small one to a New York publishing concern,—and his eyes fell upon the name of Rutherford Jenkins and the amount,—five hundred dollars. He stared at the slip of paper for a moment, conviction rushing to his mind that his pursuer knew the truth; then he took his revolver from his pocket and examined its chambers. “I may have to do him up myself!” he thought, his lips tightening. But sudden hesitation gripped his heart. Until within a few weeks he had considered Curtis one of his best friends, had liked the young cattleman whole-heartedly, admiring and enjoying his impulsiveness, his geniality, his ardent loyalty to his friends, and his equally ardent hostility to those he disliked.Now the good-fellowship he had been accustomed to feel stopped his hand. “Can it be possible,” he asked himself for the hundredth time, “that this eager-hearted, companionable fellow will really carry out his deadly purpose?” He recalled the intensity with which Conrad had spoken of his long quest for revenge, his vehemence toward his enemies, his impetuosity. Again conviction grew strong upon him that, when the man knew, the end would come. The frontier code by which he had lived so long nerved his heart, and he muttered, “He shan’t smash things—now! I’ll smash him before I’ll let him do that!”
He swung the revolver into position and took sight. As his eye glanced down the barrel he saw that it was pointing at Lucy’s pictured face, smiling down from the top of his desk; his hand shook as he laid down the weapon. There was a knock at the door, and he made sudden pretence of close attention to the papers before him. The door partly opened and he heard Conrad’s voice outside. Surety of imminent peril seized Bancroft’s mind. The instinct of self-defence sent his hand to his revolver, and he sprang up, pulling the trigger. Curtis rushed in at the report, calling out, “What’s the matter, Aleck?”The banker had just time to stay his finger at sight of the friendly face and solicitous manner.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I, Curt?” he asked anxiously, sinking back in his chair and looking at Conrad’s arm, helpless in a sling. The bullet, they found, had nicked the top of the door and buried itself in the ceiling. “I was looking my revolver over when you knocked,” Bancroft explained, “and had just been aiming at that spot on the wall. My finger must have pulled the trigger unconsciously. The thing’s set to a hair, anyway. I must have it fixed. What’s the matter with your arm, Curt?”
In the revulsion of feeling that swept over him as he realized that the cattleman was as friendly as ever and that therefore his secret was still safe, he felt genuinely thankful that his bullet had gone wild.
Conrad told of his fight with José Gonzalez. “You’re getting the truth about it, Aleck,” he went on; “but to everybody else I’m saying that I got horned by a steer, knocked over, and my collar bone cracked. I’m convinced it’s some of Dell Baxter’s work. I reckon I’ve been saying out loud just what he is too often to please him. But the letter I’ve senthim will buffalo him quick enough. José’s a good cowboy, and I’m going to keep him. But I don’t want the boys to know anything about our little scrap. So I’m saying it was a steer on the prod that did it.”
Bancroft’s thoughts were active as he lighted his cigar. That check—it must have been Castleton money, to be handled for Johnny Martinez. Perhaps security might still be compassed without bloodshed. In thankfulness that he had not killed the man who was still his friend he revolted against the purpose of the Mexican, to which he knew in his soul he had given tacit consent. He did not want this cordial, confiding, good fellow struck down—if his own safety could be otherwise secured.
“You’d better give the Mexican his time, Curt. He’s locoed probably; when you get back you may find he’s killed half your men.”
“Well, if he tries running a-muck in that gang,” the superintendent responded cheerfully, “he’ll never do anybody else any harm. Anyway, I’ve settled him for the present; I busted his knife and threw the pieces into the pond. No; he’s in Dell’s pay; that’s all there is to it; and when Dell reads my letterhe’ll hike to call his man off. I don’t expect any more trouble from José.”
Bancroft made no reply and Conrad went on: “By the way, Aleck, for a full minute yesterday I thought Baxter must be my man—the man I’m after, you know—Delafield. I’ve found out that he’s somebody rich and respectable here in New Mexico, and when I felt that Baxter must be responsible for this attack on me, I lit on him for my meat. But it was too good to be true; as soon as I thought it over I saw that Baxter couldn’t be Delafield. But they’re two of a kind all right. Both of ’em have got their freight loaded ready to pull out for hell at the drop of a hat. Baxter will have to pull his in less than three jumps of a bucking horse if he doesn’t call off his man. And Delafield will be pulling his mighty soon anyway.”
Bancroft made a gesture of annoyance. “Curt, you talk too easily about killing. You’d make a stranger think you’re a bad man of the border, instead of the decent citizen you are. For Heaven’s sake, man, why don’t you come to your senses, and see what an ass you’ll be making of yourself if you try to carry out this fool scheme of revenge that’s got hold of you? Why don’t you accept hisoffer to pay back the money as fast as he can? Let him make restitution, and keep a whole skin; perhaps you’ll save your own scalp in the bargain.”
The seeker after vengeance laughed blithely.
“Aleck, you’ve no idea what this thing means to me. Why, man, you talk as if giving up that plan would be no more than changing my coat! You don’t know, Aleck—why, to get the drop on Delafield and hold him while I tell him what he is in language that will scald him from head to foot, and then deal out to him the death he deserves—that’s the one thing I’ve lived for all these fifteen years! I’m obliged to you for your advice, Aleck; but I know what I’m about.”
Bancroft shrank away a little as Curtis talked. His lips tightened as he picked up the revolver and sighted it at a calendar on the wall. After a moment’s silence he looked the other full in the eye and said, impressively:
“You forget one thing, Curt. If this man Delafield knows what you are doing—and you seem to feel sure he does—he’ll be prepared for your attack, and you’re not likely to have things your own way. Unless he’s a fool or a coward he’ll defend himself, evenif he has to kill you doing it. And if he has anysabeat all he’ll be loaded for you when you get there, and have the drop on you before you can say a word.”
“Chances of war,” Conrad replied serenely. “He’s welcome to all he can get. But I’m betting my last dollar, and my scalp in the bargain, that he can’t draw as quick as I can, nor shoot as straight. You bet your life, Aleck, when that circus comes off I’ll be the star performer.”
“Well,” said Bancroft slowly, “if you won’t listen to reason I suppose you’ll have to go on, hell-bent, in the gait you’ve struck—and take the consequences. But you’re a fool to do it, and I hate to see you making such a blind ass of yourself.”
Curtis laughed, undisturbed. “That’s all right, Aleck. I don’t expect you to get the joy out of this business that I shall.”
He went over to Bancroft’s desk and picked up the revolver, examining its sights. “They’re not right, Aleck,” he said. “When I get the use of my arm again I’ll fix them for you. And you don’t use your gun right when you want to take quick aim: you don’t swing it up quickly and steadily, as if you were used to it. You ought to practise, Aleck.Out here a man never knows when he may have to defend himself. I’ve got to stay here several days, the doctor says; and while I’m here I’ll show you a few tricks.”
“All right, if you like,” Bancroft replied, adding, as he pocketed his revolver, “I’m not a very good shot and, as you say, out here a man never knows when he may have to defend himself.”
Conrad, turning to go, lingered awkwardly. “By the way, Aleck,” he blurted out, “it has occurred to me that perhaps you are getting tied up with Dell Baxter too tight for comfort. I don’t want to seem curious about your affairs, you know, and I haven’t got any big pile—you know what my balance is; but whatever I have got you’re welcome to, any time, if you want to cut loose from Baxter and it will help any.”
Bancroft hid a grim smile behind the hand at his moustache as he thought of sundry checks of his own making their way toward Conrad’s balance. “Thank you, Curt; it’s very kind and thoughtful of you to make the offer, and I appreciate it. But I don’t need anything. Baxter and I are in partnership in a number of enterprises, but it’s all straight sailing.”
“That’s good, and I’m glad to hear it. I was afraid he’d got you under his thumb. But remember, Aleck, that my small pile is at your disposal any time it will be of use to you.”
As the young man left the bank he saw Lucy Bancroft turn the corner toward the Mexican quarter and was quickly at her side, relieving her of the little bundle she carried. She was going to Señora Melgares, she explained, who could wash laces and embroideries and all kinds of dainty things beautifully withamoleroot. She was taking her some of Miss Dent’s and her own fineries, and hoped to get her a great deal of work from others. “The poor thing!” said Lucy earnestly, her eyes wide and soft with sympathy. “She is so heartbroken over the affair! You’ve heard? Mr. Gaines died the other day, and Melgares has been indicted for murder. My father says he’ll surely be found guilty and will probably be hanged. The poor señora!”
When they reached the little adobe house Lucy asked Curtis to go in with her, saying, “I’m not very sure of my Spanish, and I’d be glad to have you come in and help me out.” They found Señora Melgares sittingwith her head buried in her arms, her hair dishevelled, and her face, when she raised it, eloquent of grief and despair. But she greeted them with grave and gracious courtesy. Lucy impulsively took her hand and held it in both her own while she presented Señor Conrad. At the name the woman drew her slight figure together with a convulsive movement, her dark face lighting with interest.
“Don Curtis? Señor Don Curtis Conrad?” she asked eagerly.
“The same, señora,” he answered in Spanish, bowing gravely.
“The same whose mare—?” she began, her expressive countenance finishing the query. Conrad bowed again. The woman sank down in her chair, her face in her hands, swaying back and forth as she moaned and sobbed. Lucy knelt by her side to comfort her, while Curtis bent over the girlish figure and spoke in a low, changed tone that the girl barely recognized, so different was it from his usual brisk utterance. It set her nerves vibrating in quick, half-conscious conviction of a depth and quality of feeling in harmony with her own.
“I am afraid I made a mistake by coming in, Miss Bancroft,” he said. “It did not occurto me that she would connect me with her husband’s trouble. Won’t you please tell her, when she is quieter, that I am very sorry about the whole affair, that I have no feeling against him, and that I’ll gladly do for him whatever I can. I think I’d better go now, but I’ll wait outside for you, and if I can be of any use you must call me.”
When Lucy joined him a little later her face showed signs of tears, and as they walked back she was preoccupied and perturbed. She wished to see her father, so Curtis left her at the door of the bank.
“Daddy!” Lucy exclaimed as she rushed to his side, her eyes shining and her face aglow. “Oh, daddy, Señora Melgares has just told me the strangest thing! Mr. Conrad was with me, but he went out because she cried so, and he didn’t hear what she said. I tried to quiet and comfort her, and finally she told me that her husband had been persuaded and paid to steal Mr. Conrad’s horse by a man who said he wanted to get even with him for something. She told me his name—you and Mr. Tillinghurst and Judge Banks were talking about him the other day—Mr. Jenkins—Don Rutherford Jenkins, she called him.”
Anticipation warmed Bancroft’s heart as she spoke. If the story was true it might give him just the hold on Jenkins that he wanted. He made her repeat the details of her conversation with the Mexican woman. “Did you say anything about it to Conrad?” he asked in conclusion.
“No, daddy; I thought I ought to tell you about it first.”
“Quite right, Lucy. You were very prudent. And don’t mention it now, to him or to anybody.”
“No, of course not. But, daddy, won’t that make it better for poor José Maria? Mr. Jenkins is the one that ought to be punished—he and Mr. Baxter; and poor ignorant Melgares ought to be let off very easily. Don’t you think so, daddy?”
One of her hands rested on his shoulder. He took the other in both of his as he smiled at her indulgently. Her news had so heartened him that he hardly noticed her connection of Baxter with the affair. “I don’t know about that, daughter. It isn’t likely to have any effect, because his indictment is for murder—you know he killed Gaines while resisting arrest—and his motive in stealing the horse has no connection with that crime.I’m glad you told me about it, dear. I’ll talk with Melgares myself, and see what can be done. I suppose his wife must be having a hard time. You might give her some money. And ask her,” he said as he handed Lucy some bills, “not to speak about this Jenkins matter to any one else. Be sure you impress that upon her. It’s a pretty bad case, but you can tell his wife that everything possible will be done for him. Dell Baxter is coming down to undertake his defence; he does it for nothing. So you mustn’t think so badly of him hereafter, when you see how willing he is to make what amends he can to the poor fellow.”
Lucy threw her arms about his neck and kissed his forehead. “Daddy, you’re awfully good and kind—the best man in the world! About Mr. Baxter, though—” she paused to toss her head, and a little sparkle shone in her eyes—“well, I’m glad he has the decency to do it, but it’s no more than he ought; and before I think much better of him I’ll wait to see if he drives any more of the poor Mexicans out of their homes.”
Bancroft began to plan hopefully. He would see Melgares and get the exact facts. If this story was true it would be just thesword he needed to hang over Jenkins. Evidently he had told Conrad nothing; therefore that check must have been campaign money from Ned Castleton to be used for the benefit of Martinez. Jenkins would not be likely to talk: it would ruin his chance of making money out of it himself. As for Curtis—perhaps, after all, he would not be unreasonable about the offer to make restitution. Another check would reach him soon, with assurance of more to follow speedily. Surely the man was too sensible to cast aside such a start in life as this money would give him, just to carry out a crazy notion that would end in his own ruin.
“But if he will go on, he’ll have nobody but himself to blame for whatever happens,” he thought. “I’ve given him fair warning.”
The encouragement he felt turned his thoughts toward Louise Dent. In the intimacy of their daily life since she had been Lucy’s visitor he had found her ever more lovable. He began to think, as he looked into her eyes and felt the restrained sweetness of her manner, that when he should be free to speak she would welcome his feeling, and have for it an intoxicating return. But he could saynothing until the settlement of this affair left no further danger of discovery and disgrace.
“She must not know—neither she nor Lucy shall know—never—never a word or hint,” he thought desperately. True, Louise was not so unsparing in her moral judgments as Lucy; she was older, and, with more knowledge of the world, had more tolerance for the conditions under which men lived and worked. But if all that past, the past that he had believed buried beyond resurrection, should suddenly confront him, she and Lucy would be horrified. They would despise him. The respect, honor, and love for which he hungered would die; if they stayed beside him it would only be for compassion’s sake. In the fierce mood that possessed him as he thought of going down again into dishonor he was ready to strike out at anybody’s pity. This thing must not be. He had won his way back to position, power, affluence; he held the love and honor of his daughter and of the woman he hoped to make his wife; what he had won he would keep. His lips whitened as he struck the desk with his clenched fist.
“The past is dead, and it’s got to stay dead,” he muttered. “I’ll win out yet, by God!”
Four days later the physician gave Conrad dubious permission to return to the round-up. “Well, I may as well say you can go,” he surrendered, “since you are determined to go anyway. But don’t blame me if your wounds get worse.”
Most of this time the cattleman spent at the Bancrofts’, where Lucy and Miss Dent tried to make an invalid of him, and all three enjoyed the comradeship that straightway sprang up among them. Between Lucy and Curtis there was much bantering gayety, but when alone their talk was sure to flow into serious channels. They had many long conversations, wherein each was deeply interested in everything the other said. They had much music also, Miss Dent playing and the others singing duets. Lucy was very happy. She beamed and sparkled, with glowing eyes and dimpling smiles, and her manner, the whole being of her, expanded into maturerwomanliness. Between Miss Dent and Conrad there was from the first a mutual liking, which quickly developed into confidential friendship. On his last day in town, while helping Lucy water the plants in her conservatory, he spoke to her admiringly of Miss Dent.
“I’m so glad you like my Dearie!” she responded warmly, looking up at him with a glow of pleasure. “She’s the dearest, sweetest woman! And you always feel you can depend on her. If you put your hand out you always know just where you can find Louise Dent, and you know she’ll be as firm as a rock. She’s been so good to me! And she’s always so restful and calm—she has so much poise. But, do you know—” she hesitated as she stopped in front of the cage that held the tanager Curtis had brought for her care. His physician had splinted its broken leg and bound its injured wing, and together they were anxiously watching its recovery. “It’s been eating, Mr. Conrad!” she broke off joyously. “Let’s give it more seeds and fresh water!” As they ministered to the bird’s needs Curtis went on about Miss Dent.
“Yes; she seems to have a calm sort ofnature, but when I look at her I find myself wondering if that is because she has never been moved very deeply, or because she keeps things hidden deep down. Her eyes are set rather close together, which generally means, you know, an ability to get on the prod if necessary; and sometimes there is a look in them that makes you feel as if she might break out into something unexpected.”
Lucy was looking up at him with the keenest interest in her face. The southwestern sun had kissed her skin into rich browns and reds, and she carried gracefully her slender girlish figure. Her head, with its covering of short brown curls, always held alertly, gave to her aspect a savor of piquant charm. Curtis looked down into her upturned face and eager eyes with admiration in his own. Under her absorption in the subject of their talk she felt herself thrill with sweet, vague happiness.
“Do you know, I’ve been feeling that very same thing about Dearie,” she said in confidential tones. “She seems more restless lately, although I know she’s perfectly happy here with us. She has just the same quiet, gentle manner, but it seems as if there might be a volcano under it—not really, you know, but as if there might be if—if—I don’tquite know how to say it—if things just got ready for it to be a volcano!”
“Do you think anybody would know it,” asked Conrad, “even if it was really there?”
“I know what you mean—yes, she has wonderful self-control—I never saw anybody who could hide her feelings as she can, and always does. I’ve been thinking lately that if Dearie were in love—” Lucy hesitated a moment while a deeper glow stained her cheek—“she’s just the sort of woman to do anything, anything at all, for the sake of it.”
“Yes; and not get excited over it, either,” added Curtis.
When Lucy went to attend to some household duties, Conrad sauntered out to the veranda, where he found Miss Dent with her sewing. He happened to refer to his boyhood; and she asked some questions that led him to speak of his youthful struggles. She was interested, and wanted to know the cause of his father’s financial ruin. He hesitated before replying, the matter touched so nearly the secret core of his life and thought. Few, even among his intimates, knew anything about the vengeful purpose that had motived half his life, and he disliked ordinarily tosay anything about the cause of his early misfortunes. But the habit of close and friendly speech into which he and Louise had fallen, coupled perhaps with a softening of feeling toward her sex that had been going on within him, moved him to openness. “It won’t matter,” he thought. “She’s such a level-headed woman; and I’ve told Aleck already.”
“I don’t often speak about it,” he said, “but I don’t mind telling you, for you are such a good friend of the Bancrofts, and Aleck knows the story. Of course, you’ll understand that I don’t care to have it discussed generally. My father’s disasters all came from his getting caught in a specious financial scheme engineered by one Sumner L. Delafield of Boston.”
An indrawn breath, sharp and sudden, made him look quickly at his companion. “Have you hurt yourself?” he asked solicitously.
“Oh, I jabbed my needle under my thumb nail. Such an awkward thing to do! It gave me a little shock, that’s all. Go on, please. What sort of a scheme was it?”
He told her briefly the story of his father’s ruin and death, and outlined the transactions that led to Delafield’s failure. As he spoke his heart waxed hot against the man who hadcaused the tragedy, as it always did when he thought long upon the subject, and he went on impulsively to tell her of his long-cherished purpose of revenge. She listened with drooped eyelids, and when she spoke, at his first pause, there was a slight quaver in her voice.
“You don’t mean that you really intend to kill the man?”
“I do, that very thing. What’s more, it’s my notion that killing is too gentle for his deserts. For, of course, my case is only one out of many. And any man who would deliberately bring ruin and death into so many households—don’t you think yourself he’s worse than any murderer?”
She forced herself to raise her eyes and, once she had met his gaze, her own was cool and steady. But if Curtis had not been so absorbed in their discussion he might have seen that her face was paler than usual and her manner nervous, as she replied earnestly:
“But you forget, Mr. Conrad, that the man had no intention of doing these things, and that probably he involved himself in as much financial disaster as he did others. I’ve heard of the case before; I knew some people once who—were concerned in it—who lost moneyby it—and I’ve always understood that the failure was due more to Delafield’s sanguine temperament and over-confidence in his plans than to any deliberate wrongdoing. Don’t you think, Mr. Conrad, that killing is a rather severe punishment for mistakes of judgment?”
He answered with the rapid speech and quick gestures he was wont to use when under the stress of strong feeling. “I can’t take that lenient view of the case, Miss Dent. My conviction is that he got some money out of the affair, though not as much as he is generally supposed to have taken, and ran away with it. I’ve studied the case pretty thoroughly, and I’ve trailed him along from one place to another for years. I’m hot on his tracks now; and he knows it. I’ve followed him into New Mexico, and I know he’s somebody in this Territory, prosperous and respectable. He can’t escape me much longer.”
She had been thinking intently as she studied the expression of his face. “It’s not worth while to try argument or persuasion with him; opposition would only make him obstinate,” was her conclusion. Her manner was as composed as usual, and only her eyes showed a trace of anxiety as she spoke,slowly and thoughtfully, her gaze searching his countenance:
“Well, if you say you are going to take revenge upon him in this savage way I suppose you will do it—if that chin of yours means anything. You haven’t asked my opinion, but I’m going to tell you anyway that it seems to me unwise and unjust and most unworthy of you to allow such an idea to become the obsession that this one has. But I want to know how you managed to keep your family together. That was a wonderful thing for a boy of fifteen to do.”
“Oh, I don’t deserve so much credit for it. Of course, I couldn’t have done it without help. Our guardian wanted to distribute us children around among the relatives; but I wouldn’t have it that way, and begged so hard that at last he gave in. Two of my father’s cousins lent money enough to pay off the mortgage on our home, on our guardian’s representation that he should be able to save enough out of the wreck to pay it back in time. He did so; and we children kept a roof over our heads.
“A cousin of my mother’s, a widow without children, offered to live with us and keep house. We rented part of the place and livedin close quarters in what was left. I worked like a Turk at anything and everything that brought in a penny; and so, all together, we had enough to eat and wear, and I was able to keep the girls and Homer in school. I went to night school and sat up reading anything I could get my hands on when I ought to have been in bed. It was hard sledding sometimes, but we pulled through. And I had good friends who saw that I was never out of a job of some sort.
“After a while our cousin married again and left us; but by that time my sisters were old enough to take charge of the housekeeping, and we got on very well. Ten years ago they both married, and I said to Homer: ‘Let’s sell the house and give the money to the girls; you and I can shift for ourselves, and we don’t want them to go to their husbands with nothing at all.’ The kid was game, and so we sold the place and divided the money between Helen and Jeannette. Then I put Homer in school and struck out for myself. I’ve sent him to college, and he’ll be graduated next year. But he’s worked right along, and helped himself a heap. There’s sure good stuff in the lad.
“This Summer I’m not going to let himwork; the rest of the way is clear enough now, and I want him to come down here with me, and learn to rope a steer and bust a bronco and go camping, and have a good out-doors time of it for his last college vacation.”
As she listened with her eyes fixed upon his face, Miss Dent’s attention had been half upon his story and half upon the man behind it, searching out his character through his words. The conviction settled in her mind that his vengeful intention was rooted deep, and that the more he talked of it the more set would he become in his purpose.
“I like your story,” she said. “It is one of those tales of human effort that make one have more faith in human nature. But the climax you intend to put upon it is—horrible!” He noticed the slight movement of repulsion with which she spoke the word. “But that’s your affair,” she went on. “Did I understand you—did you say—” In spite of her self-control she was stumbling over the question. She masked her momentary confusion with an absorbed interest in getting her sewing together. “Did you say that Mr. Bancroft knows—that you have told him this story?”
“Yes; I told him the outlines of it a little while ago, apropos of a check I had from Delafield. The rascal thinks he can buy me off that way. That shows he’s buffaloed. But he’ll find out I’m not that sort.”
“No; I shouldn’t think you were. But Lucy—does she know anything about it?”
He looked up in surprise. “Why, no; of course not.”
Bancroft was coming through the gate, bringing Judge Banks with him; and Lucy joined them a moment later. The talk turned on the coming trial of José Maria Melgares, the narrow escape of Pendleton from Melgares’ bullet, and the death of Gaines as the result of his own foolhardy horse-play. They spoke of Little Jack Wilder’s skill with the revolver, and Conrad reminded Bancroft of their agreement to do some target practice together.
“Let’s all go out in the back yard now,” Lucy exclaimed, “and Miss Dent and I will shoot too! Wouldn’t you like it, Dearie? Come on! it will be such fun!”
While they were setting up the target Sheriff Tillinghurst came to speak to Judge Banks upon an official matter; and Lucy asked him to stay and help her shoot.
“You-all use my gun, Miss Lucy, and then you’ll be sure to have good luck,” he replied, drawing his revolver from his pocket. It was a small pearl-handled six-shooter, which the ladies admired, and the men jibed at for its daintiness.
“That’s all right,” he answered good-naturedly. “This gun don’t stack up much beside a cannon for size, but I can pervade and pester with it a right smart heap if I want to. It’s a peach of a shooter, and it don’t show in my clothes. I never have anything on me but that, and I’ve never seen the gun play yet where I got the worst of it. You-all try it, Miss Lucy.”
Lucy took the revolver, telling him that now she would be his deputy, and, with plentiful instruction from Curtis, placed herself in position and fired. She hit the bull’s-eye and won much applause, until she explained that she had fired with both eyes shut and that, if she had made a good shot, it was because she couldn’t help it with such a splendid gun as Mr. Tillinghurst’s. Miss Dent took careful aim and, without lowering her arm, emptied the remaining chambers, making an excellent score. She, too, won a round of applause, to which she replied calmly, “Oh,I’ve known how to shoot for years, and when I am in practice I do fairly well.”
“You two fellows shoot a match,” said Tillinghurst to Bancroft and Conrad. “The judge’ll be umpire, and each fellow use his own gun at thirty paces.”
Louise and Lucy stood at one side, where the Sheriff and Judge Banks joined them, leaving Bancroft and Conrad to begin their match. Beneath her calm exterior Miss Dent’s thoughts were in a tumult, and fierce resentment against the cattleman was rising in her heart. Had not Aleck suffered enough already? Why should he be hunted down like this when he was willing to make restitution, even after all these years? Oh, cruel! to beat him down again, when he had won success and respect once more! This man was a savage in his implacable desire for revenge.
Curtis raised his revolver. With both eyes open and without pausing to take aim, he sent a bullet through the bull’s-eye. “Delafield won’t have much chance against a man who can do that!” he exclaimed in a triumphant undertone to Bancroft.
As the test of skill went on, it developed that the banker excelled if he took time toaim accurately, while he of Socorro Springs was the superior at quick shooting.
“It’s my specialty in the shooting line,” said Curtis. “You’d better practise it, Aleck. It’s the thing that counts most if you get into a scrimmage.”
He handed his hat, a wide-brimmed, gray felt, to Judge Banks, asking him to throw it up, adding, “I’d do it myself if my left arm wasn’t in dry dock.” He raised his revolver as the hat left the judge’s hand; there were three quick reports, and he sprang forward and caught the descending sombrero on the muzzle of his pistol. The three perforations in the crown of the hat were so close together that a silver dollar covered them.
“Bravo!” exclaimed the judge. “I don’t know but two other men who can do that. Little Jack Wilder never misses the trick, and Emerson Mead, over at Las Plumas, does it as if he were a machine and couldn’t miss. If you ever get a grudge against me, Mr. Conrad, I’ll engage the undertaker and order my tombstone at once!”
Bancroft turned away quickly. He swung his arm upward, fired, and found that his bullet had hardly nicked the outer rim of the target.
“Don’t pay any attention to your gun,” Curtis admonished him. “Keep both eyes open, look at the bull’s-eye, and unconsciously you’ll aim right at it. If you get into a gun play, where it’s a choice between giving up the ghost yourself or getting the other fellow’s, you want to fasten your eyes on his most accessible part, point your gun that way, and shoot on the wink. Between the eyes is a good place, for then you can hold him with your own. That’s the way I shall fix Delafield,” he added, dropping his voice.
Cold anger seized upon Bancroft as the picture of that gun muzzle close to his own forehead came vividly into his imagination. Until now Conrad had not mentioned the subject of Delafield to him since the day of his return to town, and the banker’s friendly feelings had renewed themselves with the growth of his own confidence and with his desire to compass what he wished without violence. But Curtis had only to speak of his purpose in this cold-blooded manner for the banker to know that he, too, was rapidly becoming as implacable as his pursuer.
Judge Banks was talking to Miss Dent about the view and the New Mexican climate, and quoting Wordsworth on “the witchery ofthe soft blue sky.” She was compelling an expression of smiling interest, while her thoughts were with Bancroft and his danger. The desire possessed her to stand near him, to hover about him, as if her mere presence would protect him from peril. The friendly revolver practice between the two men made her sick at heart, and she was waiting with inward impatience for the moment when she could propose returning to the veranda.
Lucy and Sheriff Tillinghurst were laughing and talking together in a running game of playful coquetry on her part and admiring badinage on his. “Now, Miss Lucy,” he was saying, “if you-all are going to be my deputy, you’ll have to learn to shoot with at least one eye open. I can’t have my deputy shootin’ around promiscuous with both eyes shut. It might be used against me in the campaign.”
“Oh, I’ll keep both eyes open, just as Mr. Conrad says,” she exclaimed, taking the Sheriff’s revolver from his hand. “Just like this,” she went on gayly, pointing the pistol straight at Curtis’s face as he came toward them, saying, “Now you must have another chance, Miss Bancroft.”
Tillinghurst sprang forward as he saw herlevel the revolver and struck it up with his hand. Her pressure on the trigger had been light, but the contraction of her finger as the Sheriff knocked it upward discharged the weapon. The bullet sang through the air; and she paled and staggered backward, looking wildly from one to the other as she exclaimed:
“Oh, I was sure it wasn’t loaded!”
“A gentleman’s gun is always loaded, Miss Lucy,” said the Sheriff, mild reproof in his tone.
Lucy leaned, trembling, against Miss Dent’s supporting arm. “I—I was sure we shot out all the bullets,” she stammered, looking wistfully at Conrad. “I’ll never, never touch a gun again.”
“Don’t feel so worried, Miss Bancroft,” urged Curtis, gently. “You weren’t pressing the trigger, and I’d have ducked if you had, for I was watching your hand. I wasn’t in the least danger, and you mustn’t think about it again. It’ll be your turn next, Miss Dent,” he added jocosely. “Aleck had his the other day, and sent a bullet into the wall just above my head.”
“And you still have confidence in us, you reckless man!” Louise exclaimed witha little effort at gayety, but with eyes on the ground.
“Perhaps he thinks he’ll be in less danger if he teaches you-all how to handle your guns,” the Sheriff commented, as Miss Dent led the way back to the house.
“
Hello, Curt! When are you going back to the ranch?”
Pendleton, the invalid from the East, accosted Conrad as he emerged from the physician’s office, where he had gone for a last dressing of his wounds before returning to the round-up.
“Right now, Mr. Pendleton. Anything I can do for you?”
“Say, Curt, I’ve been wondering if I couldn’t flirt gravel along with your bunch for a while. I want to take in everything that’s going while I’m here. I’ve never been on a ranch, or seen a round-up, or a steer on the prod; and I’d like to see how things are done. Would a tenderfoot be in your way?”
“Not a bit of it! Come right along, Pendy, if you think you can stand it. You’ll have to rough it, you know; sleep on the ground with your saddle for a pillow, ride hard, and eat what comes.”
“Oh, I can stand whatever the rest of you do. I don’t fork a horse as well as a cowboy or a circus rider, but I can stick on, and I can get there ’most as soon as anybody—I mighty near got there too soon when we went after Melgares, didn’t I?”
“All right, Pendleton! If you think you can stand it, come right along with me this morning. I’m going to ride the rest of the day and most of the night; but if that’s too much for you you can stop over at the ranch to-night, and catch up with us to-morrow.”
“I reckon I’ll take it all in along with you, and I’ll meet you in half an hour in front of the court-house,” and Pendleton bustled off. Conrad went after his mare, dropping into Bancroft’s office for a last word.
The president of the First National Bank was reading his morning’s mail. He frowned over a note from Rutherford Jenkins reminding him that the first of the month was approaching, and warning him not to forget the remittance due on that day. He looked at the calendar. No; he could not take time before the first to go to Las Vegas and crack the whip he was preparing over Jenkins’s head; he would have to make this payment. Next he opened a letter from Dellmey Baxter: