XIII.
There was no mistaking then--no need to contrast her feeling of anxietyof a few moments ago lest some other woman had preceded her in hisaffections, with her indifference on former occasions when her admirershad proved faithless, to make the Girl realise that she was experiencinglove and was dominated by a passion for this man.
So that, with no reason whatever in her mind to question the sincerityof Johnson's love for her, it would seem as if nothing were wanting tomake the Girl perfectly happy; that there could be no room in her heartfor any feeling other than elation. And yet, curiously enough, the Girlcould not doze off to sleep. Some mysterious force--a vague forebodingof something about to happen--impelled her to open her eyes again andagain.
It was an odd and wholly new sensation, this conjuring up of distressingspectres, for no girl was given less to that sort of thing; all thesame, it was with difficulty that she checked an impulse to cry out toher lover--whom she believed to be asleep--and make him dissipate, byrenewed assurances, the mysterious barrier which she felt was hemmingher in.
As for Johnson, the moment that his head had touched the pillows, hefell to thinking of the awkward situation in which he was placed, themany complications in which his heart had involved him and, finally, hefound himself wondering whether the woman whom he loved so dearly wasalso lying sleepless in her rug on the floor.
And so it was not surprising that he should spring up the moment that heheard cries from outside.
"Who's that knockin', I wonder?"
Although her voice showed no signs of distress or annoyance, thequestion coming from her in a calm tone, the Girl was upon her feetalmost before she knew it. In a trice she removed all evidences that shehad been lying upon the floor, flinging the pillows and silk coverlet tothe wardrobe top.
In that same moment Johnson was standing in the parting of the curtains,his hand raised warningly. In another moment he was over to the doorwhere, after taking his pistols from his overcoat pockets, he stood in acool, determined attitude, fingering his weapons.
"But some one's ben callin'," the Girl was saying, at the very momentwhen above the loud roaring of the wind another knock was heard on thecabin door. "Who can it be?" she asked as if to herself, and calmly wentover to the table, where she took up the candle and lit it.
Springing to her side, Johnson whispered tensely:
"Don't answer--you can't let anyone in--they wouldn't understand."
The Girl eyed him quizzically.
"Understand what?" And before he had time to explain, much less to checkher, she was standing at the window, candle in hand, peering out intothe night.
"Why, it's the posse!" she cried, wheeling round suddenly. "How did theyever risk it in this storm?"
At these words a crushed expression appeared on Johnson's countenance;an uncanny sense of insecurity seized him. Once more the loud, insistentpounding was repeated, and as before, the outlaw, his hands on his guns,commanded her not to answer.
"But what on earth do the boys want?" inquired the Girl, seeminglyoblivious to what he was saying. Indeed, so much so that as the voice ofNick rose high above the other sounds of the night, calling,"Min-Minnie-Girl, let us in!" she hurriedly brushed past him and yelledthrough the door:
"What do you want?"
Again Johnson's hand went up imperatively.
"Don't let him come in!" he whispered.
But even then she heard not his warning, but silently, tremulouslylistened to Sonora, who shouted through the door: "Say, Girl, you allright?" And not until her answering voice had called back her assurancethat she was safe did she turn to the man at her side and whisper in avoice that showed plainly her agitation and fear:
"Jack Rance is there! If he was to see you here--he's that jealous I'dbe afraid--" She checked her words and quickly put her ear close to thedoor, the voices outside having become louder and more distinct.Presently she spun round on her heel and announced excitedly: "Ashby'sthere, too!" And again she put her ear to the door.
"Ashby!" The exclamation fell from Johnson's lips before he was aware ofit. It was impossible to deceive himself any longer--the posse hadtracked him!
"We want to come in, Girl!" suddenly rang out from the well-known voiceof Nick.
"But you can't come in!" shouted back the Girl above the noise of thestorm; then, taking advantage of a particularly loud howl of the blast,she turned to Johnson and inquired: "What will I say? What reason will Igive?"
Serious as was Johnson's predicament, he could not suppress a smile. Ina surprisedly calm voice he told her to say that she had gone to bed.
The Girl's eyes flooded with admiration.
"Why, o' course--that's it," she said, and turned back to the door andcalled through it: "I've gone to bed, Nick! I'm in bed now!"
The barkeeper's answer was lost in another loud howl of the blast. Soonafterwards, however, the Girl made out that Nick was endeavouring toconvey to her a warning of some kind.
"You say you've come to warn me?" she cried.
"Yes, Ramerrez . . .!"
"What? Say that again?"
"Ramerrez is on the trail--"
"Ramerrez's on the trail!" repeated the Girl in tones of alarm; and notwaiting to hear further she motioned to Johnson to conceal himselfbehind the curtains of the bed, muttering the while:
"I got to let 'em in--I can't keep 'em out there on such a night . . ."He had barely reached his place of concealment when the Girl slid backthe bolts and bade the boys to come in.
Headed by Rance, the men quickly filed in and deposited their lanternson the floor. It was evident that they had found the storm most severe,for their boots were soaked through and their heavy buffalo overcoats,caps and ear-muffs were covered with snow, which all, save Rance,proceeded to remove by shaking their shoulders and stamping their feet.The latter, however, calmly took off his gloves, pulled out abeautifully-creased handkerchief from his pocket, and began slowly toflick off the snow from his elegant mink overcoat before hanging itcarefully upon a peg on the wall. After that he went over to the tableand warmed his hands over the lighted candle there. Meanwhile, Sonora,his nose, as well as his hands which with difficulty he removed from hisheavy fur mittens, showing red and swollen from the effects of thebiting cold, had gone over to the fire, where he ejaculated:
"Ouf, I'm cold! Glad you're safe, Girl!"
"Yes, Girl, The Polka's had a narrow squeak," observed Nick, stampinghis feet which, as well as his legs, were wrapped with pieces ofblankets for added warmth.
Unconsciously, at his words, the Girl's eyes travelled to the bed; then,drawing her robe snugly about her, and seating herself, she asked withsuppressed excitement:
"Why, Nick, what's the matter? What's--"
Rance took it upon himself to do the answering. Sauntering over to theGirl, he drawled out:
"It takes you a long time to get up, seems to me. You haven't so muchon, either," he went on, piercing her with his eyes.
Smilingly and not in the least disconcerted by the Sheriff's remark, theGirl picked up a rug from the floor and wound it about her knees.
"Well?" she interrogated.
"Well, we was sure that you was in trouble," put in Sonora. "My breathjest stopped."
"Me? Me in trouble, Sonora?" A little laugh that was half-gay,half-derisive, accompanied her words.
"See here, that man Ramerrez--" followed up Rance with a grim look.
"--feller you was dancin' with," interposed Sonora, but checked himselfinstantly lest he wound the Girl's feelings.
Whereupon, Rance, with no such compunctions, became the spokesman, agrimace of pleasure spreading over his countenance as he thought of theunpleasant surprise he was about to impart. Stretching out his stiffenedfingers over the blaze, he said in his most brutal tones:
"Your polkying friend is none other than Ramerrez."
The Girl's eyes opened wide, but they did not look at the Sheriff. Theylooked straight before her.
"I warned you, girl," spoke up Ashby,
"that you should bank with usoftener."
The Girl gave no sign of having heard him. Her slender figure seemed tohave shrunken perceptibly as she stared stupidly, uncomprehendingly,into space.
"We say that Johnson was--" repeated Rance, impatiently.
"--what?" fell from the Girl's lips, her face pale and set.
"Are you deaf?" demanded Rance; and then, emphasising every word, herasped out: "The fellow you've been polkying with is the man that hasbeen asking people to hold up their hands."
"Oh, go on--you can't hand me out that!" Nevertheless the Girl lookedwildly about the room.
Angrily Rance strode over to her and sneered bitingly:
"You don't believe it yet, eh?"
"No, I don't believe it yet!" rapped out the Girl, laying great stressupon the last word. "I know he isn't."
"Well, he _is_ Ramerrez, and he _did_ come to The Polka to rob it,"retorted the Sheriff.
All at once the note of resentment in the Girl's voice became positive;she flared back at him, though she flushed in spite of herself.
"But he didn't rob it!"
"That's what gits me," fretted Sonora. "He didn't."
"I should think it would git you," snapped back the Girl, both in herlook and voice rebuking him for his words.
It was left to Ashby to spring another surprise.
"We've got his horse," he said pointedly.
"An' I never knowed one o' these men to separate from his horse,"commented Sonora, still smarting under the Girl's reprimand.
"Right you are! And now that we've got his horse and this storm is on,we've got him," said Rance, triumphantly. "But the last seen ofJohnson," he went on with a hasty movement towards the Girl and eyeingher critically, "he was heading this way. You seen anything of him?"
The Girl struggled hard to appear composed.
"Heading this way?" she inquired, reddening.
"So Nick said," declared Sonora, looking towards that individual forproof of his words.
But Nick had caught the Girl's lightning glance imposing silence uponhim; in some embarrassment he stammered out:
"That is, he was--Sid said he saw 'im take the trail, too."
"But the trail ends here," pointed out Rance, at the same time lookinghard at the Girl. "And if she hasn't seen him, where was he going?"
At this juncture Nick espied a cigar butt on the floor; unseen by theothers, he hurriedly picked it up and threw it in the fire.
"One o' our dollar Havanas! Good Lord, he's here!" he muttered tohimself.
"Rance is right. Where was he goin'?" was the question with which he wasconfronted by Sonora when about to return to the others.
"Well, I tho't I seen him," evaded Nick with considerable uneasiness. "Icouldn't swear to it. You see it was dark, an'--Moses but the SidneyDuck's a liar!"
At length, Ashby decided that the man had in all probability been snowedunder, ending confidently with:
"Something scared him off and he lit out without his horse." Whichremark brought temporary relief to the Girl, for Nick, watching her, sawthe colour return to her face.
Unconsciously, during this discussion, the Girl had risen to her feet,but only to fall back in her chair again almost as suddenly, a sign ofnervousness which did not escape the sharp eye of the Sheriff.
"How do you know the man's a road agent?" A shade almost of contempt wasin the Girl's question.
Sonora breathed on his badly nipped fingers before answering:
"Well, two greasers jest now were pretty positive before they quit."
Instantly the Girl's head went up in the air.
"Greasers!" she ejaculated scornfully, while her eyes unfalteringly metRance's steady gaze.
"But the woman knew him," was the Sheriff's vindictive thrust.
The Girl started; her face went white.
"The woman--the woman d'you say?"
"Why, yes, it was a woman that first tol' them that Ramerrez was in thecamp to rob The Polka," Sonora informed her, though his tone showedplainly his surprise at being compelled to repeat a thing which, hewrongly believed, she already knew.
"We saw her at The Palmetto," leered Rance.
"And we missed the reward," frowned Ashby; at which Rance quickly turnedupon the speaker with:
"But Ramerrez is trapped."
There was a moment's startled pause in which the Girl struggled with herpassions; at last, she ventured:
"Who's this woman?"
The Sheriff laughed discordantly.
"Why, the woman of the back trail," he sneered.
"Nina Micheltorena! Then she does know 'im--it's true--it goes throughme!" unwittingly burst from the Girl's lips.
The Sheriff, evidently, found the Situation amusing, for he laughedoutright.
"He's the sort of a man who polkas with you first and then cuts yourthroat," was his next stab.
The Girl turned upon him with eyes flashing and retorted:
"Well, it's my throat, ain't it?"
"Well I'll be!--" The Sheriff's sentence was left unfinished, for Nick,quickly pulling him to one side, whispered:
"Say, Rance, the Girl's cut up because she vouched for 'im. Don't rub itin."
Notwithstanding, Rance, to the Girl's query of "How did this NinaMicheltorena know it?" took a keen delight in telling her:
"She's his girl."
"His girl?" repeated the Girl, mechanically.
"Yes. She gave us his picture," went on Rance; and taking the photographout of his pocket, he added maliciously, "with love written on the backof it."
A glance at the photograph, which she fairly snatched out of his hands,convinced the Girl of the truthfulness of his assertion. With a movementof pain she threw it upon the floor, crying out bitterly:
"Nina Micheltorena! Nina Micheltorena!" Turning to Ashby with an abruptchange of manner she said contritely: "I'm sorry, Mr. Ashby, I vouchedfor 'im."
The Wells Fargo Agent softened at the note in the Girl's voice; he wasabout to utter some comforting words to her when suddenly she spokeagain.
"I s'pose they had one o' them little lovers' quarrels an' that made 'ertell you, eh?" She laughed a forced little laugh, though her heart wasbeating strangely as she kept on: "He's the kind o' man who sort o'polkas with every girl he meets." And at this she began to laugh almosthysterically.
Rance, who resented her apologising to anyone but himself, stoodscowling at her.
"What are you laughing at?" he questioned.
"Oh, nothin', Jack, nothin'," half-cried, half-laughed the Girl. "Onlyit's kind o' funny how things come out, ain't it? Took in! NinaMicheltorena! Nice company he keeps--one o' them Cachuca girls witheyelashes at half-mast!"
Once more, she broke out into a fit of laughter.
"Well, well," she resumed, "an' she sold 'im out for money! Ah, JackRance, you're a better guesser'n I am!" And with these words she sankdown at the table in an apathy of misery. Horror and hatred andhopelessness had possession of her. A fierce look was in her eyes when amoment later she raised her head and abruptly dismissed the boys,saying:
"Well, boys, it's gittin' late--good-night!"
Sonora was the first to make a movement towards the door.
"Come on, boys," he growled in his deep bass voice; "don't you intend tolet a lady go to bed?"
One by one the men filed through the door which Nick held open for them;but when all but himself had left, the devoted little barkeeper turnedto the Girl with a look full of meaning, and whispered:
"Do you want me to stay?"
"Me? Oh, no, Nick!" And with a "Good-night, all! Good-night, Sonora, an'thank you! Good-night, Nick!" the Girl closed the door upon them. Thelast that she heard from them was the muffled ejaculation:
"Oh, Lordy, we'll never git down to Cloudy to-night!"
Now the Girl slid the bolts and stood with her back against the door asif to take extra precautions to bar out any intrusion, and with eyesthat blazed she yelled out:
"Come out o' that, now! Step out there, Mr.
Johnson!"
Slowly the road agent parted the curtains and came forward in anattitude of dejection.
"You came here to rob me," at once began the Girl, but her anger made itimpossible for her to continue.
"I didn't," denied the road agent, quietly, his countenance reflectinghow deeply hurt he was by her words.
"You lie!" insisted the Girl, beside herself with rage.
"I don't--"
"You do!"
"I admit that every circumstance points to--"
"Stop! Don't you give me any more o' that Webster Unabridged. You git tocases. If you didn't come here to steal you came to The Polka to rob it,didn't you?"
Johnson, his eyes lowered, was forced to admit that such were hisintentions, adding swiftly:
"But when I knew about you--" He broke off and took a step towards her.
"Wait! Wait! Wait where you are! Don't you take a step further orI'll--" She made a significant gesture towards her bosom, and then,laughing harshly, went on denouncingly: "A road agent! A road agent!Well, ain't it my luck! Wouldn't anybody know to look at me that agentleman wouldn't fall my way! A road agent! A road agent!" And againshe laughed bitterly before going on: "But now you can git--git, youthief, you imposer on a decent woman! I ought to have tol' 'em all, butI wa'n't goin' to be the joke o' the world with you behind the curtainsan' me eatin' charlotte rusks an' lemming turnovers an' a-polkyin' witha road agent! But now you can git--git, do you hear me?"
Johnson heard her to the end with bowed head; and so scathing had beenher denunciations of his actions that the fact that pride alone kept herfrom breaking down completely escaped his notice. With his eyes stilldowncast be said in painful fragments:
"One word only--only a word and I'm not going to say anything in defenceof myself. For it's all true--everything is true except that I wouldhave stolen from you. I _am_ called Ramerrez; I _have_ robbed; I _am_ aroad agent--an outlaw by profession. Yes, I'm all that--and my fatherwas that before me. I was brought up, educated, thrived on thieves'money, I suppose, but until six months ago when my father died, I didnot know it. I lived much in Monterey--I lived there as a gentleman.When we met that day I wasn't the thing I am to-day. I only learned thetruth when my father died and left me with a rancho and a band ofthieves--nothing else--nothing for us all, and I--but what's the good ofgoing into it--the circumstances. You wouldn't understand if I did. Iwas my father's son; I have no excuse; I guess, perhaps, it was inme--in the blood. Anyhow, I took to the road, and I didn't mind it muchafter the first time. But I drew the line at killing--I wouldn't havethat. That's the man that I am, the blackguard that I am. But--" here heraised his eyes and said with a voice that was charged with feeling--"Iswear to you that from the moment I kissed you to-night I meant tochange, I meant to--"
"The devil you did!" broke from the Girl's lips, but with a sound thatwas not unlike a sob.
"I did, believe me, I did," insisted the man. "I meant to go straightand take you with me--but only honestly--when I could honestly. I meantto work for you. Why, every word you said to me to-night about being athief cut into me like a knife. Over and over again I have said tomyself, she must never know. And now--well, it's all over--I havefinished."
"An' that's all?" questioned the Girl with averted face.
"No--yes--what's the use . . .?"
The Girl's anger blazed forth again.
"But there's jest one thing you've overlooked explainin', Mr. Johnson.It shows exactly what you are. It wasn't so much your bein' a road agentI got against you. It's this:" And here she stamped her foot excitedly."You kissed me--you got my first kiss."
Johnson hung his head.
"You said," kept on the Girl, hotly, "you'd ben thinkin' o' me eversince you saw me at Monterey, an' all the time you walked straight offan' ben kissin' that other woman." She shrugged her shoulder and laughedgrimly. "You've got a girl," she continued, growing more and moreindignant. "It's that I've got against you. It's my first kiss I've gotagainst you. It's that Nina Micheltorena that I can't forgive. So nowyou can git--git!" And with these words she unbolted the door andconcluded tensely:
"If they kill you I don't care. Do you hear, I don't care . . ."
At those bitter words spoken by lips which failed so utterly to hidetheir misery, the Girl's face became colourless.
With the instinct of a brave man to sell his life as dearly as possible,Johnson took a couple of guns from his pocket; but the next moment, asif coming to the conclusion that death without the Girl would bepreferable, he put them back, saying:
"You're right, Girl."
The next instant he had passed out of the door which she held wide openfor him.
"That's the end o' that--that's the end o' that," she wound up, slammingthe door after him. But all the way from the threshold to the bureau shekept murmuring to herself: "I don't care, I don't care . . . I'll belike the rest o' the women I've seen. I'll give that Nina Micheltorenacards an' spades. There'll be another hussy around here. There'll be--"The threat was never finished. Instead, with eyes that fairly startedout of their sockets, she listened to the sound of a couple of shots,the last one exploding so loud and distinct that there was no mistakingits nearness to the cabin.
"They've got 'im!" she cried. "Well, I don't care--I don't--" But againshe did not finish what she intended to say. For at the sound of a heavybody falling against the cabin door she flew to it, opened it and,throwing her arms about the sorely-wounded man, dragged him into thecabin and placed him in a chair. Quick as lightning she was back at thedoor bolting it.
With his eyes Johnson followed her action.
"Don't lock that door--I'm going out again--out there. Don't bar thatdoor," he commanded feebly, struggling to his feet and attempting towalk towards it; but he lurched forward and would have fallen to thefloor had she not caught him. Vainly he strove to break away from her,all the time crying out: "Don't you see, don't you see, Girl--open thedoor." And then again with almost a sob: "Do you think me a man to hidebehind a woman?" He would have collapsed except for the strong arms thatheld him.
"I love you an' I'm goin' to save you," the Girl murmured whilestruggling with him. "You asked me to go away with you; I will when yougit out o' this. If you can't save your own soul--" She stopped andquickly went over to the mantel where she took down a bottle of whiskyand a glass; but in the act of pouring out a drink for him there came aloud rap on the window, and quickly looking round she saw Rance'spiercing eyes peering into the room. For an instant she paled, but thenthere flashed through her mind the comforting thought that the Sheriffcould not possibly see Johnson from his position. So, after giving thelatter his drink, she waited quietly until a rap at the door told herthat Rance had left the window when, her eye having lit on the ladderthat was held in place on the ceiling, she quickly ran over to it andlet it down, saying:
"Go up the ladder! Climb up there to the loft You're the man that's gotmy first kiss an' I'm goin' to save you . . ."
"Oh, no, not here," protested Johnson, stubbornly.
"Do you want them to see you in my cabin?" she cried reproachfully,trying to lift him to his feet.
"Oh, hurry, hurry . . .!"
With the utmost difficulty Johnson rose to his feet and catching therounds of the ladder he began to ascend. But after going up a few roundshe reeled and almost fell off, gasping:
"I can't make it--no, I can't . . ."
"Yes, you can," encouraged the Girl; and then, simultaneously withanother loud knock on the door: "You're the man I love an' youmust--you've got to show me the man that's in you. Oh, go on, go on,jest a step an' you'll git there."
"But I can't," came feebly from the voice above. Nevertheless, the nextinstant he fell full length on the boarded floor of the loft with thehand outstretched in which was the handkerchief he had been staunchingthe blood from the wound in his side.
With a whispered injunction that he was all right and was not to move onany account, the Girl put the ladder back in its place. But no soonerwas this done than
on looking up she caught sight of the stainedhandkerchief. She called softly up to him to take it away, explainingthat the cracks between the boards were wide and it could plainly beseen from below.
"That's it!" she exclaimed on observing that he had changed the positionof his hand. "Now, don't move!"
Finally, with the lighted candle in her hand, the Girl made a quicksurvey of the room to see that nothing was in sight that would betrayher lover's presence there, and then throwing open the door she took upsuch a position by it that it made it impossible for anyone to get pasther without using force.
"You can't come in here, Jack Rance," she said in a resolute voice. "Youcan tell me what you want from where you are."
Roughly, almost brutally, Rance shoved her to one side and entered.
"No more Jack Rance. It's the Sheriff coming after Mr. Johnson," hesaid, emphasizing each word.
The Girl eyed him defiantly.
"Yes, I said Mr. Johnson," reiterated the Sheriff, cocking the gun thathe held in his hand. "I saw him coming in here."
"It's more 'n I did," returned the Girl, evenly, and bolted the door."Do you think I'd want to shield a man who tried to rob me?" she asked,facing him.
Ignoring the question, Rance removed the glove of his weaponless handand strode to the curtains that enclosed the Girl's bed and parted them.When he turned back he was met by a scornful look and the words:
"So, you doubt me, do you? Well, go on--search the place. But this endsyour acquaintance with The Polka. Don't you ever speak to me again.We're through."
Suddenly there came a smothered groan from the man in the loft; Rancewheeled round quickly and brought up his gun, demanding:
"What's that? What's that?"
Leaning against the bureau the Girl laughed outright and declared thatthe Sheriff was becoming as nervous as an old woman. Her ridicule wasnot without its effect, and, presently, Rance uncocked his gun andreplaced it in its holster. Advancing now to the table where the Girlwas standing, he took off his cap and shook it before laying it down;then, pointing to the door, his eyes never leaving the Girl's face, hewent on accusingly:
"I saw someone standing out there against the snow. I fired. I couldhave sworn it was a man."
The Girl winced. But as she stood watching him calmly remove his coatand shake it with the air of one determined to make himself at home, shecried out tauntingly:
"Why do you stop? Why don't you go on--finish your search--only don'tever speak to me again."
At that, Rance became conciliatory.
"Say, Min, I don't want to quarrel with you."
Turning her back on him the Girl moved over to the bureau where shesnapped out over her shoulder:
"Go on with your search, then p'r'aps you'll leave a lady to herself togo to bed."
The Sheriff followed her up with the declaration:
"I'm plumb crazy about you, Min."
The Girl shrugged her shoulder.
"I could have sworn I saw--I--Oh, you know it's just you for me--justyou, and curse the man you like better. I--I--even yet I can't get overthe queer look in your face when I told you who that man really was." Hestopped and flung his overcoat down on the floor, and fixing her with alook he demanded: "You don't love him, do you?"
Again the Girl sent over her shoulder a forced little laugh.
"Who--me?"
The Sheriff's face brightened. Taking a few steps nearer to her, hehazarded:
"Say, Girl, was your answer final to-night about marrying me?"
Without turning round the Girl answered coyly:
"I might think it over, Jack."
Instantly the man's passion was aroused. He strode over to her, put hisarms around her and kissed her forcibly.
"I love you, I love you, Minnie!" he cried passionately.
In the struggle that followed, the Girl's eyes fell on the bottle on themantel. With a cry she seized it and raised it threateningly over herhead. Another second, however, she sank down upon a chair and began tosob, her face buried in her hands.
Rance regarded her coldly; at last he gave vent to a mirthless laugh,the nasty laugh of a man whose vanity is hurt.
"So, it's as bad as that," he sneered. "I didn't quite realise it. I'mmuch obliged to you. Good-night." He snatched up his coat, hesitated,then repeated a little less angrily than before: "Good-night!"
But the Girl, with her face still hidden, made no answer. For a momenthe watched the crouching form, the quivering shoulders, then asked, withsudden and unwonted gentleness:
"Can't you say good-night to me, Girl!"
Slowly the Girl rose to her feet and faced him, aversion and pitystruggling for mastery. Then, as she noted the spot where he was nowstanding, his great height bringing him so near to the low boards of theloft where her lover was lying that it seemed as though he must hear thewounded man's breathing, all other feelings were swept away byoverwhelming fear. With the one thought that she must get rid ofhim,--do anything, say anything, but get rid of him quickly, she forcedherself forward, with extended hand, and said in a voice that held outnew promise:
"Good-night. Jack Rance,--good-night!"
Rance seized the hand with an almost fierce gladness in both his own,his keen glance hungrily striving to read her face. Then, suddenly, hereleased her, drawing back his hand with a quick sharpness.
"Why, look at my hand! There's blood on it!" he said.
And even as he spoke, under the yellow flare of the lamp, the Girl saw asecond drop of blood fall at her feet. Like a flash, the terriblesignificance of it came upon her. Only by self-violence could she keepher glance from rising, tell-tale, to the boards above.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she heard herself saying contritely, all the timedesperately groping to invent a reason; at length, she added futilely:"I must have scratched you."
Rance looked puzzled, staring at the spatter of red as thoughhypnotised.
"No, there's no scratch there," he contended, wiping off the blood withhis handkerchief.
"Oh, yes, there is," insisted the Girl tremulously; "that is, there willbe in the mornin'. You'll see in the mornin' that there'll be--" Shestopped and stared in frozen terror at the sinister face of the Sheriff,who was coolly watching his handkerchief turn from white to red underthe slow rain of blood from the loft above.
"Oho!" he emitted sardonically, stepping back and pointing his guntowards the loft. "So, he's up there!"
The Girl's fingers clutched his arm, dragging desperately.
"No, he isn't, Jack--no, he isn't!" she iterated in blind, mechanicaldenial.
With an abrupt movement, Rance flung her violently from him, made a grabat the suspended ladder and lowered it into position; then, deaf to theGirl's pleadings, harshly ordered Johnson to come down, meanwhilecovering the source of the blood-drops with his gun.
"Oh, wait,--wait a minute!" begged the Girl helplessly. What wouldhappen if he couldn't obey the summons? He had spent himself in hisclimb to safety. Perhaps he was unconscious, slowly bleeding to death!But even as she tortured herself with fears, the boards above creaked asthough a heavy body was dragging itself slowly across them. Johnson wasevidently doing his best to reach the top of the ladder; but he did notmove quickly enough to suit the Sheriff.
"Come down, or I'll--"
"Oh, just a minute, Jack, just a minute!" broke in the Girl frantically."Don't shoot!--Don't you see he's tryin' to--?"
"Come down here, Mr. Johnson!" reiterated the Sheriff, with a faceinhuman as a fiend.
The Girl clenched her hands, heedless of the nails cutting into herpalms: "Won't you wait a moment,--please, wait, Jack!"
"Wait? What for?" the Sheriff flung at her brutally, his fingertwitching on the trigger.
The Girl's lips parted to answer, then closed again dumbly,--for it wasthen that she saw the boots, then the legs of the road agent slideuncertainly through the open trap, fumble clumsily for the rungs of theladder, then slip and stumble as the weight of the following body cameupon them while the weak fingers str
ained desperately for a hold. Thewhole heart and soul and mind of the Girl seemed to be reaching outimpotently to give her lover strength, to hurry him down fast enough toforestall a shot from the Sheriff. It seemed hours until the road agentreached the bottom of the ladder, then lurched with unseeing eyes to achair and, finally, fell forward limply, with his arms and head restingon the table. Still dumb with dread, the Girl watched Rance slowlycircle round the wounded man; it was not until the Sheriff returned hispistol to its holster that she breathed freely again.
"So, you dropped into The Polka to-night to play a little game of poker?Funny how things change about in an hour or two!" Rance chuckledmirthlessly; it seemed to suit his sardonic humour to taunt his helplessrival. "You think you can play poker,--that's your conviction, is it?Well, you can play freeze-out as to your chances, Mr. Johnson ofSacramento. Come, speak up,--it's shooting or the tree,--which shall itbe?"
Goaded beyond endurance by Rance's taunting of the unconscious man, theGirl, fumbling in her bosom for her pistol, turned upon him in a sudden,cold fury:
"You better stop that laughin', Jack Rance, or I'll send you to finishit in some place where things ain't so funny."
Something in the Girl's altered tone so struck the Sheriff that heobeyed her. He said nothing, but on his lips were the words, "By Heaven,the Girl means it!" and his eyes showed a smouldering admiration.
"He doesn't hear you,--he's out of it. But me--me--I hear you--I ain'tout of it," the Girl went on in compelling tones. "You're a gambler; hewas, too; well, so am I." She crossed deliberately to the bureau, andlaid her pistol away in the drawer, Rance meanwhile eyeing her withpuzzled interest. Returning, she went on, incisively as a whip lash:"I live on chance money, drink money, card money, saloon money. We'regamblers,--we're all gamblers!" She paused, an odd expression comingover her face,--an expression that baffled Rance's power to read.Presently she resumed: "Now, you asked me to-night if my answer wasfinal,--well, here's your chance. I'll play you the game,--straightpoker. It's two out o' three for me. Hatin' the sight o' you, it's thenearest chance you'll ever get for me."
"Do you mean--" began Rance, his hands resting on the table, hishawk-like glance burning into her very thoughts.
"Yes, with a wife in Noo Orleans all right," she interrupted himfeverishly. "If you're lucky,--you'll git 'im an' me. But if youlose,--this man settin' between us is mine--mine to do with as I please,an' you shut up an' lose like a gentleman."
"You must be crazy about him!" The words seemed wrung from the Sheriffagainst his will.
"That's my business!" came like a knife-cut from the Girl.
"Do you know you're talkin' to the Sheriff?"
"I'm talkin' to Jack Rance, the gambler," she amended evenly.
"You're right,--and he's just fool enough to take you up," returnedRance with sudden decision. He looked around him for a chair; there wasone near the table, and the Girl handed it to him. With one hand heswung it into place before the table, while with the other he jerked offthe table-cover, and flung it across the room. Johnson neither moved norgroaned, as the edge slid from beneath his nerveless arms.
"You and the cyards have got into my blood. I'll take you up," he said,seating himself.
"Your word," demanded the Girl, leaning over the table, but stillstanding.
"I can lose like a gentleman," returned Rance curtly; then, with a swiftseizure of her hand, he continued tensely, in tones that made the Girlshrink and whiten, "I'm hungry for you, Min, and if I win, I'll take itout on you as long as I have breath."
A moment later, the Girl had freed her hand from his clasp, and wassaying evenly, "Fix the lamp." And while the Sheriff was adjusting thewick that had begun to flare up smokily, she swiftly left the room,saying casually over her shoulder that she was going to fetch somethingfrom the closet.
"What you goin' to get?" he called after her suspiciously. The Girl madeno reply. Rance made no movement to follow her, but instead drew a packof cards from his pocket and began to shuffle them with practicedcarelessness. But when a minute had passed and the girl had notreturned, he called once more, with growing impatience, to know what waskeeping her.
"I'm jest gettin' the cards an' kind o' steadyin' my nerves," sheanswered somewhat queerly through the doorway. The next moment she hadreturned, quickly closing the closet door behind her, blew out hercandle, and laying a pack of cards upon the table, said significantly:
"We'll use a fresh deck. There's a good deal depends on this, Jack." Sheseated herself opposite the Sheriff and so close to the unconscious formof the man she loved that from time to time her left arm brushed hisshoulder.
Rance, without protest other than a shrug, took up his own deck ofcards, wrapped them in a handkerchief, and stowed them away in hispocket. It was the Girl who spoke first:
"Are you ready?"
"Ready? Yes. I'm ready. Cut for deal."
With unfaltering fingers, the Girl cut. Of the man beside her, dead ordying, she must not, dared not think. For the moment she had become oneincarnate purpose: to win, to win at any cost,--nothing else mattered.
Rance won the deal; and taking up the pack he asked, as he shuffled:
"A case of show-down?"
"Show-down."
"Cut!" once more peremptorily from Rance; and then, when she had cut,one question more: "Best two out of three?"
"Best two out of three." Swift, staccato sentences, like the rapidcrossing of swords, the first preliminary interchange of strokes beforethe true duel begins.
Rance dealt the cards. Before either looked at them, he glanced acrossat the Girl and asked scornfully, perhaps enviously:
"What do you see in him?"
"What do you see in me?" she flashed back instantly, as she picked upher cards; and then: "What have you got?"
"King high," declared the gambler.
"King high here," echoed the Girl.
"Jack next," and he showed his hand.
"Queen next," and the Girl showed hers.
"You've got it," conceded the gambler, easily. Then, in another tone,"but you're making a mistake--"
"If I am, it's my mistake! Cut!"
Rance cut the cards. The Girl dealt them steadily. Then,
"What have you got?" she asked.
"One pair,--aces. What have you?"
"Nothing," throwing her cards upon the table.
With just a flicker of a smile, the Sheriff once more gathered up thepack, saying smoothly:
"Even now,--we're even."
"It's the next hand that tells, Jack, ain't it?"
"Yes."
"It's the next hand that tells me,--I'm awfully sorry,--" the wordsseemed to come awkwardly; her glance was troubled, almost contrite, "atany rate, I want to say jest now that no matter how it comes out--"
"Cut!" interjected Rance mechanically.
"--that I'll always think of you the best I can," completed the Girlwith much feeling. "An' I want you to do the same for me."
Silently, inscrutably, the gambler dealt the ten cards, one by one. Butas the Girl started to draw hers toward her, his long, thin fingersreached across once more and closed not ungently upon hand and cards.
"The last hand, Girl!" he reminded her. "And I've a feeling that Iwin,--that in one minute I'll hold you in my arms." And still coveringher fingers with his own, he stole a glance at his cards.
"I win," he announced, briefly, his eyes alone betraying the inwardfever. He dropped the cards before her on the table. "Three kings,--andthe _last hand_!"
Suddenly, as though some inward cord had snapped under the strain, theGirl collapsed. Limply she slid downward in her chair, one groping handstraying aimlessly to her forehead, then dropping of its own weight."Quick, Jack,--I'm ill,--git me somethin'!" The voice trailed off tonothingness as the drooping eyelids closed.
In real consternation, the Sheriff sprang to his feet. In one sweepingglance his alert eye caught the whisky bottle upon the mantel. "Allright, Girl, I'll fix you in no time," he said cheeringly over hisshould
er. But where the deuce did she keep her tumblers? The next minutehe was groping for them in the dark of the adjoining closet and softlycursing himself for his own slowness.
Instantaneously, the Girl came to life. The unturned cards upon thetable vanished with one lightning movement; the Girl's hand disappearedbeneath her skirts, raised for the moment knee-high; then the same,swift reverse motion, and the cards were back in place, while the Girl'seyes trembled shut again, to hide the light of triumph in them. A smileflickered on her lips as the Sheriff returned with the glass and bottle.
"Never mind,--I'm better now," her lips shaped weakly.
The Sheriff set down the bottle, and put his arm around the Girl with arough tenderness.
"Oh, you only fainted because you lost," he told her.
Averting her gaze, the Girl quietly disengaged herself, rose to her feetand turned her five cards face upwards.
"No, Jack, it's because I've won,--three aces and a pair."
The Sheriff shot one glance at the girl, keen, searching. Then, withoutso much as the twitch of an eyelid, he accepted his defeat, took a cigarfrom his pocket and lit it, the flame of the match revealing noexpression other than the nonchalance for which he was noted; then,picking up his hat and coat he walked slowly to the door. Here he haltedand wished her a polite good-night--so ceremoniously polite that at anyother time it would have compelled her admiration.
Pale as death and almost on the point of collapse, the Girl staggeredback to the table where the wounded road agent was half-sitting,half-lying.
Thrusting her hand now into the stocking from which she had obtained thewinning, if incriminating, cards, she drew forth those that remained andscattered them in the air, crying out hysterically:
"Three aces an' a pair an' a stockin' full o' pictures--but his lifebelongs to me!"