The Long Chance

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Thanksgiving came and went, and with, the approach of Christmas came theknowledge to Donna that her tour of duty behind the cash-counter ofthe eating-house was rapidly drawing to a close--for the very sweetestreason in all this sad old world; a reason as yet apparent to no one inSan Pasqual but Donna herself; a very tiny reason against whose comingDonna had commenced to plan and sew in the lonely hours of her vigil atthe Hat Ranch, waiting for Bob to come back, that she might impart tohim the secret. Yes, indeed, a most valid reason. Donna hoped it wouldbe a man-baby, with wavy auburn hair like Bob's.

  On the first of February she gave notice of her intention to resign herposition on the first of the following month. Bob had left with her ahundred and fifty dollars, the balance of her little capital having beenexpended during their honeymoon trip and in outfitting Bob for histrip into the desert, and but for the fact that the thousand dollars sothoughtfully provided by Harley P. was still in the eating-house safe,Donna would have been placed in a most embarrassing position. With theknowledge that she had ample funds with which to maintain herself andher dependents at the Hat Ranch until the birth of her child, however,Donna decided to remove herself from the prying gaze of the SanPasqualians by resigning her position. The fact that her marriage to Bobwas not known in the little town was now an added embarrassment, and thenecessity of conveying to the world the news that she had been marriedsince October was imperative. She decided to go up to Bakersfield, visitthe city hall and request the clerk who had issued the license to Boband herself to give the news of its issuance to the papers. She wasaware that Bob knew this clerk and for that reason they had been enabledto keep the matter secret.

  But the news that Donna Corblay had resigned the best positionobtainable for a woman in San Pasqual--and that, without assigning anyreason for her extraordinary action--spread quickly, and Mrs. Pennycook,with envious eyes on the position for her eldest daughter, visited thehotel manager and tried her persuasive personality to that end.

  After that visit, there was no need for explanation. Mrs. Pennycook,with horrified mien and many repetitions of "But for heaven's sakedon't mention my name," furnished the explanation--and to a lady ofMrs. Pennycook's large experience in matters of maternity, there was noheretic in San Pasqual who doubted the authenticity of her verdict.

  Of the whisperings, the interchange of gossip and eager speculation asto the identity of the man in the case, the haughty stare of the womenand the covert smiles of the men. Donna was not long kept in ignorance.On the fifteenth of the month the manager came to her, announced thathe had already been fortunate enough to secure her successor, paid her afull month's salary, and with a few perfunctory remarks touching on hisregret at losing her services, indicated that she might forthwith retireto that seclusion which awaited her at the Hat Ranch. Donna, proud,scornful, unafraid in the knowledge that she was an honorable wife,deemed it beneath her dignity to reply. She removed her little capitalfrom the safe, balanced her cash and walked out of the eating-houseforever.

  She had come to the parting of the ways. Her condition demanded theimmediate presence of her husband, notwithstanding the fact that to callhim in from his wanderings now might mean the abandonment of his greatdreams of Donnaville. All her life she had needed a protector; morethan ever she needed one now, and she was torn between a desire for thecomfort of his presence and an equal desire to sacrifice that comfortto his great work, by refraining from sending Sam Singer into the desertwith a message to him. She knew she could send Sam over the Santa Fe toDanby, and in the miner's outfitting store there Sam would be directedto the country where Bob's claims lay. For two days she wrestled withthis problem, deciding finally to prove herself worthy of him and facethe issue alone.

  But the time had come when San Pasqual, representing Society, must beaccorded the right which Society very justly demands--the right to knowwhether its members are conforming to all of the law, moral and legal.Donna realized that her silence in the matter of her marriage had placedher in an unenviable light, and while she was striving to formulate aplan to make the announcement gracefully. Mrs. Pennycook, emboldened bythe absence of Harley P. Hennage, gathered about her a committee of fiveother ladies and swooped down on the Hat Ranch.

  Donna was standing at her front gate when this purity squad approached.She guessed their mission instantly, and welcomed it. Whether gracefullyor ungracefully, the matter would soon be over now, and it pleased hera little to note that all six ladies were leading matrons of the littletown. Each member of Mrs. Pennycook's committee reflected in her facemingled sadness, embarrassment and curiosity. For three of them Donnafelt a genuine regard; she realized that their visit was actuated bya desire to help her, if she required help, to lend her their moralsupport in the face of suspicion, whether just or otherwise. The otherthree, including Mrs. Pennycook, Donna knew for that detestable type ofwomankind best known and described as "catty." Some one of these threewho knew would fire the first gun in this most embarrassing campaign,and in order to nullify their fire as much as possible, Donna decidednot to wait for that opening broadside, but to sweep them off their feetby a wave of candor and frankness, leaving them stunned with surpriseand ashamed of their own suspicions.

  Upon its arrival, therefore, Donna greeted the delegation cordially,receiving an equally cordial return of the greeting from all except Mrs.Pennycook, who swept into the Hat Ranch in dignified silence, head upand nose in the air, after the manner of one who scents a moral stenchand is resolved to eradicate it at all hazard.

  "This _is_ an unexpected pleasure" Donna said hospitably. "Do come inout of this dreadful heat. I've just finished baking a lovely layer cakeand you're all just in time to sample my cooking. I'll have Soft Windmake some lemonade. We scarcely require ice here, the water from myartesian well is so remarkably cool."

  Graciously she herded them all into the shady patio, brought out chairsand ordered Soft Wind to prepare a huge pitcher of lemonade, whileshe herself carried out a small table, spread a tablecloth over it andcrowned it with a layer cake, seven plates, and the accessories.

  The delegation squirmed uneasily. The cordiality of this reception andDonna's apparent pleasure at the visit, together with her total lack ofembarrassment, placed the ladies at a decided disadvantage. Even Mrs.Pennycook found it a tax on her ingenuity to solve tactfully the problemof accepting Donna's layer cake and cool lemonade in one breath andquestioning her morals in the other--if this phraseology may be employedto designate the problem without casting opprobrium on Mrs. Pennycook'stable manners.

  There was a silence as Donna poured the lemonade and helped each visitorto a section of the layer cake. When she had finished, however, sheleaned her elbows on the little table, gazed calmly and a littleroguishly at each guest in turn, and stole their thunder with a singlequestion:

  "How did you all discover that I am married?"

  The silence was painful, until Mrs. Pennycook choked on a cake crumb.It was a question none of them could answer, and this very fact madethe silence more appalling! Even Mrs. Pennycook, who had organized theexpedition, blushed. Finally she stammered:

  "We--we--well, to tell the truth, we hadn't heard."

  Donna's eyes were wide with simulated amazement.

  "You hadn't heard!"

  "No" snapped Mrs. Pennycook, quick to see her opening, "but we were allhoping to hear--for your sake."

  "But you guessed something when I resigned my position at theeating-house?"

  Donna could scarce restrain a smile as she saw the eagerness with whichMrs. Pennycook showed in her true colors by walking blindly intothis verbal trap. A slight sardonic smile flickered across her sternfeatures.

  "We didn't suspect. Everybody in town _knew._ And, not to beat about thebush, Miss Corblay, we came here to-day to find out. We're old enough tobe your mother and we have daughters of our own, and in a certain sense,havin' known you from a baby, we felt sort o' responsible-like."

  "Ah, I see" Donna almost breathed. "You were suspi
cious-like."

  Two of the committee showed signs of inward disturbance, but, havingfixed bayonets, Mrs. Pennycook was now prepared to charge.

  "We came to find out if you're an honorable married woman, or--"

  "Quite right, Mrs. Pennycook. That is information which you, and infact every person in San Pasqual, is entitled to know. I am an honorablemarried woman. I was married in Bakersfield on the seventeenth day oflast October."

  "Well, then, where's your husband?"

  "That is a question which you are not privileged to ask, Mrs. Pennycook.However, I will answer it. My husband is about his lawful businesssomewhere in the Colorado desert."

  "Who is this man?"

  "My husband's name is Robert McGraw."

  Six separate and distinct gasps greeted this announcement extraordinary.A tear trembled on the eyelid of one of the ladies of whom Donna wasreally fond and whom she had reason to believe was fond of her.

  "Well, dearie" replied Mrs. Pennycook unctuously, "it's kind o'hard-like to tell whether, in your present--er--delicate condition,you're better off unmarried-like, or the wife of a man accused ofholdin' up a stage at Garlock."

  "It is embarrassing, isn't it?" Donna laughed. She was not in the leastangry with Mrs. Pennycook. In fact, the gossip amused her very much, andin the knowledge of the day of reckoning coming to Mrs. Pennycook shecould afford to laugh. "What does Dan think about it?"

  "Mr. Pennycook, _if_ you please" corrected his wife. "We will notmention his name in this matter."

  "Well, then, what do you think of it, Mrs. Pennycook?"

  "To be perfectly frank-like, an' not meanin' any offense, I think, MissCorblay, that you drove your pigs to a mighty poor market."

  "It does look that way" Donna acquiesced good-naturedly. "I'll admitthat appearances are against my husband. However, since I know that thecharge is ridiculous, I shall not dishonor him by making a defense wherenone is necessary. He will be in San Pasqual about the first ofApril, Mrs. Pennycook, and if at that time you desire to learn thecircumstances, he will be charmed, I know, to relate them to you."

  "I am not interested" retorted the gossip.

  "Judging by this unexpected visit and your pointed remarks, dear Mrs.Pennycook, I think I might be pardoned for presuming that you were."

  Mrs. Pennycook made no reply, for obvious reasons. The sortie forinformation had been too successful to please her, and in Donna'spresent mood the elder woman knew that she would fare but poorly in abattle of wits. Indeed, she already stood in a most unenviable positionin San Pasqual society, as the leader of an unwarranted attack againsta virtuous woman, and her busy brain was already at work, mending herfences. In the interview with Donna she had expected tears and anguish.Instead she had been met with smiles and good-natured raillery; and shehad an uncomfortable feeling that her fellow committeewomen were alreadyenraged at her and preparing to turn against her. She drank her lemonadehastily and explained that their visit had been for the purpose ofsetting at rest certain unpleasant rumors in San Pasqual, whereinDonna's reputation had suffered. If the rumors had proved to be withoutfoundation they would have felt it their business to nip the scandal inthe bud. If, on the contrary, the rumors were based on truth, they hadplanned to give her a Christian helping hand toward regeneration.

  "I am very glad you did me the honor to call" Donna told the committee."I had kept my marriage secret, for reason of my own, and I am glad nowthat my friends will brand these rumors as malicious and untrue."

  The committee left in almost as deep sorrow as it had come. Donna walkedwith them to the front gate, and at parting two of the women kissed her,whispering hurried words of faith in her, and from the bottom of theirtruly generous womanly souls they meant it. Donna knew they did, and wasdeeply grateful. In the case of Mrs. Pennycook, however, she had no suchillusion. She knew that disappointed vengeance had served to sharpenMrs. Pennycook's unaccountable and unnatural dislike for her, and itwas with secret relief that she watched the members of the committee onsocial purity return to their respective homes.

  The following morning Mrs. Pennycook departed on a journey toBakersfield, the county-seat. Here she invaded the marriage licensebureau and requested an inspection of the record of the marriage licenseissued to Robert McGraw and Donna Corblay on October seventeenth.

  To Mrs. Pennycook's profound satisfaction there was no record of sucha license available. Business in the marriage bureau was dull that day,and the license clerk turned over to Mrs. Pennycook the bound book ofaffidavit blanks, which constitutes the record of the county clerk'soffice and from which the deputy clerk fills in the marriage licensewhen he issues it. She searched through the records from August up tothat very day--searched painstakingly and thrice in succession, whilethe deputy looked on covertly from a nearby desk and smiled at heractivities. He might have informed Mrs. Pennycook that the record of theissuance of a license to his friend Bob McGraw and Donna Corblay couldbe found in the back of the book, where it would not be discoveredby the newspaper reporters who came each day to make notations of thelicenses issued. It is an old trick, this; to fill in the affidavitblank toward the back of the book, where the record will not be reachedin the regular course of business until a year or more shall haveelapsed. The deputy county clerk was a friend of Bob McGraw's and ashe had promised not to give him away, he would keep his word; so hesnickered to himself and wondered if this acidulous lady could, by anychance, be McGraw's mother-in-law. If so, he felt sorry for McGraw. Hesniffed a quick divorce.

  Mrs. Pennycook could not find the record she sought, and demandedfurther information. The clerk informed her gravely that, aside frompersonal experience, all the information on marriages in Kern countywas contained in the book before her; so Mrs. Pennycook returned to SanPasqual, vindicated in the eyes of the committee on individual morals.

  The following day Mrs. Pennycook called a meeting in her front parlor,and to the credit of San Pasqual's womanhood be it said that two of thecommittee failed to respond. However, Miss Molly Pickett volunteeredto enlist for the cause, and a quorum being present Mrs. Pennycookannounced that Donna Corblay's statement that she was a wife had notbeen substantiated by the records of the county clerk's office. Havingexamined the records personally, Mrs. Pennycook felt safe in assumingresponsibility for the statement that Donna Corblay was not married,despite her claims to the contrary.

  "Then," murmured Miss Pickett sadly, "she is not an honest woman!"

  "_Decidedly_ not."

  "I expected this--for years" Miss Pickett continued, and wiped awaya furtive tear. "Poor girl. After all, we shouldn't be surprised. I'mafraid she comes by it naturally. There was a mystery about her mother."

  "Well, there's no mystery about Donna" retorted Mrs. Pennycooktriumphantly. "She's a disgrace to the community."

  "What can be done about it?" one of the committee inquired.

  "I believe," another volunteered, "that in San Francisco and Los Angelesthey have homes for unfortunate girls. If we can induce her to go to oneof these institutions, it seems to me it is our duty to do so."

  "I wash my hands of the whole affair" protested Mrs. Pennycook. "Iwent down there, as you all know, an' did all the talking and actedsympathetic-like, an' got insulted for my pains. I'll not go again."

  "Perhaps you didn't approach the subject just right, Mrs. Pennycook--notmeanin' any offense--but you know Donna's one of the high an' mightykind, an' you an' her ain't been any too friendly. I think, maybe, if_I_ was to talk to her, now--"

  "I'm sure you're welcome, Miss Pickett. Somebody ought to reason withher like before the thing gets too public, an' I don't seem to have theright influence with the girl."

  "I'll go call on her, if one or two others will go with me" Miss Pickettvolunteered. She omitted to mention the fact that company or no company,she would not have missed the opportunity of taunting Donna for a farm.However, two other ladies decided to go with Miss Pickett, and forthwiththe three set out for the Hat Ranch.

  There was no layer cake an
d lemonade reception awaiting _them_ at theHat Ranch. Donna, upon being informed by Soft Wind that three ladiesdesired to interview her, met the delegation in her kitchen, which theyhad entered uninvited. She surveyed the nervous trio coldly.

  "Is this another investigating committee?" she demanded bluntly.

  "Well, in view o' the fact that there never was any marriage licenseissued to you an' that--that stage-robber--"

  "Miss Pickett--and you other two shining examples of Christiancharity! Please leave my home at once. Do you hear? At once! I have noexplanations or apologies to make, and if I had I would not make them toa soul in San Pasqual. Leave my home instantly."

  The three ladies stood up. Two of them scurried toward the door, butMiss Pickett lingered, showing a disposition to argue the question. Shehad "walled" her eyes and pulled her mouth down in the most approvedfacial expression of one who, proffering help to the unfortunate,realizes that ingratitude is to be her portion.

  Through the aboriginal brain of Soft Wind, however, some hint ofthe situation had by this time managed to sift. The presence of twodelegations of female visitors in one week was unprecedented; and inher slow dumb way she realized that the condition of her mistress wasprobably being questioned by these white women.

  Now, Soft Wind had been Donna's nurse, and since the squaw wasuntroubled by the finer question of morality in a lady (the mere trifleof a marriage license had been no bar to her own primitive alliancewith Sam Singer) it irked her to stand idly by while these white womenoffered insult to her adored one. She could not understand what wasbeing said (Donna always spoke to her in the language of her tribe, alanguage learned in her babyhood from Soft Wind herself) but she didknow by the pale face and flashing eyes that Donna was angry.

  "I came to tell--" began Miss Pickett.

  Donna pointed toward the door. "Go" she commanded.

  Still Miss Pickett lingered; so Soft Wind, whose forty years of life hadbeen spent in arduous toil that had made her muscles as hard and firm asthose of most men, picked Miss Pickett up in her arms, carried her outkicking and screaming and tossed the spinster incontinently over thegate. Sam Singer saw the exit and favored his squaw with the first gruntof approval in many years. Donna, after first ascertaining that MissPickett had lit in the sand and was uninjured, leaned over the gate andalmost laughed herself into hysterics.

  That was the last effort made to reform Donna Corblay. In a covert wayMiss Pickett and Mrs. Pennycook conspired to publicly disgrace her and,branded as a scarlet woman, drive her out of San Pasqual, if possible.Donna had declared war, and they were prepared to accept the challenge.

  Borax O'Rourke, with six months' wages coming to him from his chosenoccupation of skinning mules up Keeler way, had been sighing for thedelights of San Pasqual and an opportunity to spend his money after thefashion of the country. This was not possible in Keeler--at least noton the extravagant scale which obtained regularly in San Pasqual; hence,when he learned quite by chance that Harley P. Hennage was no longer inthat thriving hive of desert iniquity, Borax commenced to pine forsome society more ameliorating than that of twelve mules driven with ajerk-line. In a word, Mr. O'Rourke decided to quit his job, go down toSan Pasqual and enter upon a butterfly existence until his six months'pay should be dissipated.

  Accordingly Borax O'Rourke descended, via the stage line, on SanPasqual. He heralded his arrival and his intentions by inviting SanPasqual to drink with him, and after visiting each of its many saloonsand spending impartially the while, he decided, along toward dusk, thathe had partaken of sufficient squirrel whisky to give him an appetitefor his dinner, and forthwith shaped his somewhat faltering course forthe eating-house.

  Here he discovered that Donna Corblay was no longer employed at thecashier's counter--which disappointed him. He ate his dinner in silence,and upon his return to the Silver Dollar saloon he was informed, withmany a low jest and rude guffaw, the reason for his disappointment.Whereat he laughed himself.

  Now, Borax O'Rourke, while a low, vulgar, border ruffian, had what eventhe lowest of his kind generally appear to possess: a lingering sense ofrespect for a good woman. Until the night of the attack upon her by thehoboes in the railroad yard, he had never dared to presume to the extentof speaking to Donna Corblay, even when paying for his meals, althoughthe democracy of San Pasqual would not have construed speech at such atime as a breach of convention. For there were no angels in SanPasqual; the town was merely sunk in a moral lethargy, and the line ofdemarcation in matters of rectitude was drawn between those who stoleand had killed their man, and those who had not. All the lesser sinswere looked upon tolerantly as indigenous to the soil, and as BoraxO'Rourke had never been accused of theft and had never killed his man(he had been in two arguments, however, and had winged his man bothtimes, the winger and the wingee subsequently shaking hands anddeclaring a truce), he was not considered beyond the pale. Had he spokento Donna she readily would have comprehended that he merely desired tobe neighborly; she would have inquired the latest news from the boraxworks at Keeler and doubtless would have sold him a hat.

  Nevertheless, for a long time, Borax O'Rourke had nursed a secretpassion for the eating-house cashier, a passion, that never could havebeen dignified by the term "love" (Borax was not equal to that) butrather an animal-like desire for possession. There was considerable ofthe abysmal brute in Borax. He would have been voted quite a Lochinvarin the days when men procured their wives by right of discovery and theability to retain possession, and had he dared, he would have made loveto Donna in his bearlike way. Hence, as in the case of all pure women infrontier towns, where rough men foregather, Donna's easily discerniblepurity had been her most salient protection, and beyond such bulwarksBorax O'Rourke had never dared to venture.

  It had been a shock, therefore, to Mr. O'Rourke, when he discovered herthat August night, crying over a stranger and kissing him. Borax himselfwas not a bad-looking fellow, in a rough out-o'-doors sort of way, andwhile he had not been privileged to a close scrutiny of the manwhom Donna had kissed, still he believed him to be a rough-and-readyindividual like himself, and quite naturally the thought occurred toBorax that he, too, might not have been unwelcome, had he but possessedsufficient courage to make a cautious advance.

  He was confirmed in this thought now at the news which he heard upon thefirst night of his return to San Pasqual, and with the thought thathe had been worshiping an idol with feet of clay, Mr. O'Rourke cursedhimself for an unmitigated jackass in thus leaving to some other rovingrascal the prize which he had so earnestly desired for himself. With thereceipt of the information about Donna, Mr. O'Rourke unconsciouslyfelt himself instantly on the same social level with her, and sinceconvention was something alien to his soul, and possession his soleinspiration, he decided that he could make his advances now in fullconfidence that he might be successful; and if not, there would be nonecessity for feeling sheepish over his rebuff.

  "I'll ask her to marry me, an' damn the odds" he decided. "There's worseplaces than the Hat Ranch to live in, with a few dollars always comin'in. She'll be glad enough of the offer, like as not--considerin' thecircumstances, an' she can send the kid to an orphan asylum."

  By morning this crafty idea had taken full possession of Borax, so afterfortifying himself with a half dozen drinks, he set forth for the HatRanch. Also, under the influence of the liquor and his overweening pridein his bright idea, he had taken pains to announce his destination andthe object of his visit. A crowd of male observers stood on the porch ofthe Silver Dollar saloon and watched him depart, the while they spurredhim on his way with many a jeer and jibe.

  Sam Singer was seated in the kitchen at the Hat Ranch, enjoying anafter-breakfast cigarette, when O'Rourke came to the kitchen door,hiccoughed and made rough demand for the mistress of the house. Donna,from an adjoining room, heard him and came into the kitchen.

  "Well, Borax" she demanded, "what do you want? A hat?"

  She saw that he had been drinking, and a sudden fear took possession ofher. With the ex
ception of her Indian retainer, Bob McGraw, HarleyP. Hennage and Doc Taylor, no male foot had profaned the Hat Ranch intwenty years, and the presence of O'Rourke was a distinct menace.

  "Not on your life, sweetheart" he began pertly, "I want you."

  Donna spoke to the Indian in the Cahuilla tongue, and Sam Singer sprangat the mule-skinner like a panther on an unsuspecting deer. The leanmahogany-colored hands closed around the ruffian's throat, and the twobodies crashed to the floor together. O'Rourke, taken unaware by thesuddenness and ferocity of the attack, was no match for the Indian. Heendeavored to free his arm and reach for his gun, but Sam Singerhad anticipated him. Already the big blue gun was in the Indian'spossession; he raised it, brought the butt down on O'Rourke's head, andthe battle was over, almost before it had fairly started.

  "Drag him outside" Donna commanded. The Indian grasped O'Rourke byhis legs and dragged him outside the compound. Then he returned tothe kitchen, secured a bucket, filled it at the artesian well, andreturning, dashed it over the still dazed enemy.

  The water did its work, and presently O'Rourke sat up.

  "I'll kill you for this" he said; whereat Sam Singer struck him in theface and rolled him over in the dirt. Incidentally, he retained Mr.O'Rourke's big blue gun as a souvenir of the fray.

  Half an hour later a very dejected, bedraggled mule-skinner, bruised,bleeding and covered with sand which clung to his dripping person,returned to San Pasqual, to be heartily jeered at for the result ofhis pilgrimage; for the San Pasqualians noticed that not only had Mr.O'Rourke suffered defeat, but in the melee his gun had been taken fromhim, and to suffer such humiliation at the hands of a mere Indian wasconsidered in San Pasqual the very dregs and drainings of downrightdisgrace.

  For two days Borax O'Rourke drowned his chagrin in the lethal watersof the Silver Dollar saloon, and presently to him here there came ananonymous letter, containing, by some devil's devising, a unique schemefor revenge on Donna, and on Sam Singer, who depended on her bounty. Atone stroke he could destroy them both, and cast them forth into the widereaches of the Mojave desert, homeless.

  The unknown writer of this anonymous note desired to advise BoraxO'Rourke that Donna Corblay had no title to the lands on which the HatRanch stood; that the desert was still part of the public domain andsubject to entry; that he, Borax O'Rourke, might file on forty acressurrounding the Hat Ranch, and by demonstrating that he had an artesianwell on the forty, which would irrigate one-eighth of his entry,he could obtain title to the land. In any event, after filing hisapplication, he would then be in a position to evict his enemies.

  This seemed to the brute O'Rourke such a very novel idea that he decidedto follow it out immediately. He spent that day sobering up, and thenext few days in a trip to the land office one hundred and fifty milesup the valley; at Independence. Upon his return to San Pasqual he hadold Judge Kenny, the local justice of the peace, serve formal writtennotice upon Donna Corblay to evacuate immediately; otherwise he wouldcommence suit.

  The news was over San Pasqual in an hour, and formed the basis of muchdiscussion in the Silver Dollar when Borax Somebody hailed him.

  "Well, Borax, I see you're goin' to play even. D'ye think you'll be ableto oust the girl from the Hat Ranch? The boys have been discussin' it,and it looks like she might put up a fight on squatter's rights."

  "I'll git her out all right" rumbled O'Rourke, "an' when I do, I'llchuck the old lady's bones after her. I'll teach her an' that Indian o'hers--"

  Borax O'Rourke paused. His tongue clicked drily against the roof of hismouth.

  Seated at a card-table across the room, idly shuffling a deck of cards,sat Harley P. Hennage, and he was staring at Borax O'Rourke. At thelatter's sudden pause, a silence fell upon the Silver Dollar, and everyman lined up at the long bar turned and followed O'Rourke's glance.

  For fully a minute Mr. Hennage's small baleful eyes flicked murderlights as their glance burned into O'Rourke's wolfish soul. Then, quitecalmly, he commenced placing his cards for a game of solitaire, and whenhe had carefully disposed of them he spoke:

  "O'Rourke!"

  The word was deep, throaty, almost a growl. Simultaneously the mennearest O'Rourke drifted quickly away from him.

  "Well?"

  "I don't like your game. Stop it. Hand me an assignment o' that desertentry o' yours by three o'clock, an' get out o' town by four o'clock.Hear me?"

  "An' if I don't?" demanded O'Rourke.

  "If you don't," repeated Mr. Hennage calmly, "I shall cancel the entryat one minute after four o'clock."

  "You can't bluff me."

  "I'm not bluffin' this time, you dog. Do I get that assignment ofentry?"

  Borax O'Rourke knew that his life might be the price of a refusal, butin the presence of that crowd where men were measured by their couragethe remnants of his manhood forbade him to answer "yes." He was not acoward.

  "I'll be in the middle o' the street at four o'clock" he answered.

  "Got a gun?"

  "No."

  The gambler threw him over a twenty-dollar piece.

  "Go get one."

  Borax O'Rourke picked the coin off the floor and shuffled out of theSilver Dollar saloon.

  Until one minute past four o'clock, then, the incident was closed, andMr. Hennage returned to his interrupted game of solitaire.