CHAPTER XLIV
BOB HOLDS HIS RED HAID HIGH
At the corner of the street Bob came upon Tom Reeves and an old Leadvilleminer in argument. Tom made the high sign to Dillon.
"What's all the rumpus about?" he wanted to know.
"Jake Houck was seen crossin' the park. He got into the sage."
"Sho! I'll bet the hole of a doughnut he ain't been seen. If you was toask me I'd say he was twenty-five miles from here right now, an' notlettin' no grass grow under his feet neither. I been talkin' to oldwooden head here about the railroad comin' in." Tom's eyes twinkled. Hisfriend guessed that he was trying to get a rise out of the old-timer."He's sure some mossback. I been tellin' him the railroad's comin'through here an' Meeker right soon, but he can't see it. I reckon thetoot of an engine would scare him 'most to death."
"Don't get excited about that railroad, son," drawled the formerhard-rock driller, chewing his cud equably. "I rode a horse to deathfifteen years ago to beat the choo-choo train in here, an' I notice itain't arriv yet."
Bob left them to their argument. He was not just now in a mood forbadinage. He moved up the street past the scattered suburbs of the littlefrontier town. Under the cool stars he wanted to think out what had justtaken place.
Had he fainted from sheer fright when the gun blazed at him? Or wasBlister's explanation a genuine one? He had read of men being thrown downand knocked senseless by the atmospheric shock of shells exploding nearthem in battle. But this would not come in that class. He had beenactually struck. The belt buckle had been driven against his flesh. Hadthis hit him with force enough actually to drive the breath out of him?Or had he thought himself wounded and collapsed because of the thought?
It made a great deal of difference to him which of these was true, morethan it did to the little world in which he moved. Some of the boys mightguy him good-naturedly, but nobody was likely to take the matterseriously except himself. Bob had begun to learn that a man ought to behis own most severe critic. He had set out to cure himself of cowardice.He would not be easy in mind so long as he still suspected himself ofshowing the white feather.
He leaned on a fence and looked across the silvery sage to a grove ofquaking asp beyond. How long he stood there, letting thoughts driftthrough his mind, he did not know. A sound startled him, the faint swishof something stirring. He turned.
Out of the night shadows a nymph seemed to be floating toward him. For amoment he had a sense of unreality, that the flow and rhythm of hermovement were born of the imagination. But almost at once he knew thatthis was June in the flesh.
The moonlight haloed the girl, lent her the touch of magic thattransformed her from a creature not too good for human nature's dailyfood into an ethereal daughter of romance. Her eyes were dark pools ofloveliness in a white face.
"June!" he cried, excitement drumming in his blood.
Why had she come to find him? What impulse or purpose had brought her outinto the night in his wake? Desire of her, tender, poignant, absorbing,pricked through him like an ache. He wanted her. Soul and body reachedout to her, though both found expression only in that first cry.
Her mouth quivered. "Oh, Bob, you silly boy! As if--as if it matters whyyou were stunned. You were. That's enough. I'm so glad--so glad you'renot hurt. It's 'most a miracle. He might have killed you."
She did not tell him that he would have done it if she had not flung herweight on his arm and dragged the weapon down, nor how in that dreadfulmoment her wits had worked to save him from the homicidal mania of thekiller.
Bob's heart thumped against his ribs like a caged bird. Her dear concernwas for him. It was so she construed friendship--to give herselfgenerously without any mock modesty or prudery. She had come withoutthought of herself because her heart had sent her.
"What matters is that when I called you came," she went on. "You weren'tafraid then, were you?"
"Hadn't time. That's why. I just jumped."
"Yes." The expression in her soft eyes was veiled, like autumn fires inthe hills blazing through mists. "You just jumped to help me. You forgothe carried two forty-fives and would use them, didn't you?"
"Yes," he admitted. "I reckon if I'd thought of that--"
Even as the laughter rippled from her throat she gave a gesture ofimpatience. There were times when self-depreciation ceased to be avirtue. She remembered a confidence Blister had once made to her.
"T-Texas man," she squeaked, stuttering a little in mimicry, "throw upthat red haid an' stick out yore chin."
Up jerked the head. Bob began to grin in spite of himself.
"Whose image are you m-made in?" she demanded.
"You know," he answered.
"What have you got over all the world?"
"Dominion, ma'am, but not over all of it, I reckon."
"All of it," she insisted, standing clean of line and straight as a boysoldier.
"Right smart of it," he compromised.
"Every teeny bit of it," she flung back.
"Have yore own way. I know you will anyhow," he conceded.
"An' what are you a little lower than?"
"I'm a heap lower than one angel I know."
She stamped her foot. "You're no such thing. You're as good as anyone--and better."
"I wouldn't say better," he murmured ironically. None the less he wasfeeling quite cheerful again. He enjoyed being put through his catechismby her.
"Trouble with you is you're so meek," she stormed. "You let anybody runit over you till they go too far. What's the use of crying your own goodsdown? Tell the world you're Bob Dillon and for it to watch your dust."
"You want me to brag an' strut like Jake Houck?"
"No-o, not like that. But Blister's right. You've got to know your worth.When you're sure of it you don't have to tell other people about it. Theyknow."
He considered this. "Tha's correct," he said.
"Well, then."
Bob had an inspiration. It was born out of moonshine, her urging, and thehunger of his heart. His spurs trailed across the grass.
"Is my red haid high enough now?" he asked, smiling.
Panic touched her pulse. "Yes, Bob."
"What have I got over all the world?" he quizzed.
"Dominion," she said obediently in a small voice.
"Over all of it?"
"I--don't--know."
His brown hands fastened on her shoulders. He waited till at last hereyes came up to meet his. "Every teeny bit of it."
"Have your own way," she replied, trying feebly to escape an emotionalclimax by repeating the words he had used. "I know you will anyhow."
He felt himself floating on a wave of audacious self-confidence. "Say it,then. Every teeny bit of it."
"Every teeny bit of it," she whispered.
"That means June Tolliver too." The look in his eyes flooded her withlove.
"June Dillon," the girl corrected in a voice so soft and low he scarcelymade out the words.
He caught her in his arms. "You precious lamb!"
They forgot the rest of the catechism. She nestled against his shoulderwhile they told each other in voiceless ways what has been in the heartsof lovers ever since the first ones walked in Eden.