Chapter XXII
Miss Rutherford Speaks her Mind
For the first time in over a year an itinerant preacher was to holdservices in the Huerfano Park schoolhouse. He would speak, BeulahRutherford knew, to a mere handful of people, and it was to mitigatehis disappointment that she rode out into the hills on the morning ofher disappearance to find an armful of columbines for decorating thedesk-pulpit. The man had written Miss Rutherford and asked her tonotify the community. She had seen that the news was carried to theremotest ranch, but she expected for a congregation only a scatter ofpatient women and restless children with three or four coffee-brownyouths in high-heeled boots on the back row to represent the sinners.
It was a brave, clean world into which she rode this summer morning.The breeze brought to her nostrils the sweet aroma of the sage. Beforeher lifted the saw-toothed range into a sky of blue sprinkled here andthere with light mackerel clouds. Blacky pranced with fire andintelligence, eager to reach out and leave behind him the sunny miles.
Near the upper end of the park she swung up an arroyo that led to BigFlat Top. A drawling voice stopped her.
"Oh, you, Beulah Rutherford! Where away this glad mo'ning?"
A loose-seated rider was lounging in the saddle on a little bluff fiftyyards away. His smile reminded her of a new copper kettle shining inthe sun.
"To find columbines for church decorations," she said with an answeringsmile.
"Have you been building a church since I last met up with you?"
"There will be services in the schoolhouse tomorrow at three P.M.,conducted by the Reverend Melancthon Smith. Mr. Charlton is especiallyinvited to attend."
"Maybe I'll be there. You can't sometimes 'most always tell. I'mgoing to prove I've got nothing against religion by going with you tohelp gather the pulpit decorations."
"That's very self-sacrificing of you." She flashed a look of gayderision at him as he joined her. "Sure you can afford to waste somuch time?"
"I don't call it wasted. But since you've invited me so hearty to yourpicnic, I'd like to be sure you've got grub enough in the chuck wagonfor two," he said with a glance at her saddle-bags.
"I'm not sure. Maybe you had better not come."
"Oh, I'm coming if you starve me. Say, Beulah, have you heard aboutJess Tighe?"
"What about him?"
"He had a stroke last night. Doc Spindler thinks he won't live morethan a few hours."
Beulah mused over that for a few moments without answer. She had noliking for the man, but it is the way of youth to be shocked at theapproach of death. Yet she knew this would help to clear up thesituation. With the evil influence of Tighe removed, there would be achance for the park to develop along more wholesome lines. He had beenlike a sinister shadow that keeps away the sunlight.
She drew a deep breath. "I don't wish him any harm. But it will be agood thing for all of us when he can't make us more sorrow and trouble."
"He never made me any," Charlton answered.
"Didn't he?" She looked steadily across at him. "You can't tell me hedidn't plan that express robbery, for instance."
"Meaning that I was in the party that pulled it off?" he asked,flushing.
"I know well enough you were in it--knew it all along. It's the sortof thing you couldn't keep out of."
"How about Ned? Do you reckon he could keep out of it?" She detectedrising anger beneath his controlled voice.
"Not with you leading him on." Her eyes poured scorn on him. "And I'msure he would appreciate your loyalty in telling me he was in it."
"Why do you jump on me, then?" he demanded sulkily. "And I didn't sayNed was in that hold-up--any more than I admit having been in itmyself. Are you trying to make trouble with me? Is that it?"
"I don't care whether I make trouble with you or not. I'm not going topretend and make-believe, if that's what you want. I don't have to doit."
"I see you don't," he retorted bluntly. "I suppose you don't have tomind your own business either."
"It is my business when Ned follows you into robbery."
"Maybe I followed him," he jeered.
She bit back the tart answer on her tongue. What was the use ofquarreling? It used to be that they were good friends, but of latethey jangled whenever they met. Ever since the Western Express affairshe had held a grudge at him. Six months ago she had almost promisedto marry him. Now nothing was farther from her thoughts.
But he was still very much of the mind that she should.
"What's the matter with you, Boots?" he wanted to know roughly. "Youused to have some sense. You weren't always flying out at a fellow.Now there's no way of pleasing you."
"I suppose it is odd that I don't want my friends to be thieves," sheflung out bitterly.
"Don't use that word if you mean me," he ordered.
"What word shall I substitute?"
He barely suppressed an oath. "I know what's ailing you? We're notsmooth enough up here for you. We're not educated up to your standard.If I'd been to Cornell, say--"
"Take care," she warned with a flash of anger in her black eyes.
"Oh, I don't know. Why should I cull my words so careful? I noticeyours ain't hand-picked. Ever since this guy Beaudry came spying intothe park, you've had no use for me. You have been throwing yourself athis head and couldn't see any one else."
She gasped. "How dare you, Brad Charlton?"
His jealousy swept away the prudence that had dammed his anger."Didn't you take him out driving? Didn't you spend a night alone withhim and Dave Dingwell? Didn't you hot-foot it down to Hart's becauseyou was afraid yore precious spy would meet up with what he deserved?"
Beulah drew up Blacky abruptly. "Now you can leave me. Don't stop tosay good-bye. I hate you. I don't ever want to see you again."
He had gone too far and he knew it. Sulkily he began to make hisapology. "You know how fond I am of you, Boots. You know--"
"Yes, I ought to. I've heard it often enough," she interrupted curtly."That's probably why you insult me?"
Her gypsy eyes stabbed him. She was furiously angry. He attempted toexplain. "Now, listen here, Beulah. Let's be reasonable."
"Are you going up or down?" she demanded. "I'm going the other way.Take one road or the other, you--you scandalmonger."
Never a patient man, he too gave rein to his anger. "Since you want toknow, I'm going down--to Battle Butte, where I'll likely meet yorefriend Beaudry and settle an account or two with him. I reckon beforeI git through with him he'll yell something besides Cornell."
The girl laughed scornfully. "Last time I saw him he had just beaten adozen or so of you. How many friends are you going to take along thistrip?"
Already her horse was taking the trail. She called the insult down tohim over her shoulder. But before she had gone a half-mile her eyeswere blind with tears. Why did she get so angry? Why did she say suchthings? Other girls were ladylike and soft-spoken. Was there a streakof commonness in her that made possible such a scene as she had justgone through? In her heart she longed to be a lady--gentle, refined,sweet of spirit. Instead of which she was a bad-tempered tomboy."Miss Spitfire" her brothers sometimes called her, and she knew thename was justified.
Take this quarrel now with Brad. She had had no intention of breakingwith him in that fashion. Why couldn't she dismiss a lover as girls inbooks do, in such a way as to keep him for a friend? She had notmeant, anyhow, to bring the matter to issue to-day. One moment theyhad been apparently the best of comrades. The next they had beensaying hateful things to each other. What he had said wasunforgivable, but she had begun by accusing him of complicity in thetrain robbery. Knowing how arrogant he was, she might have guessed howangry criticism would make him.
Yet she was conscious of a relief that it was over with at last.Charlton was proud. He would leave her alone unless she called him toher side. Her tears were for the humiliating way in which they hadwrenched apart rather than for the
fact of the break.
She knew his temper. Nothing on earth could keep him from flying atthe throat of Roy Beaudry now. Well, she had no interest in either ofthem, she reminded herself impatiently. It was none of her businesshow they settled their differences. Yet, as Blacky followed the stifftrail to Big Flat Top, her mind was wretchedly troubled.
Beulah had expected to find her columbines in a gulch back of Big FlatTop, but the flowers were just past their prime here. The petals fellfluttering at her touch. She hesitated. Of course, she did not haveto get columbines for the preaching service. Sweet-peas would do verywell. But she was a young woman who did not like to be beaten. Shehad plenty of time, and she wanted an excuse to be alone all day. Whynot ride over to Del Oro Creek, where the season was later and thecolumbines would be just coming on?
The ayes had it, and presently Miss Rutherford was winding deeper intothe great hills that skirted Flat Top. Far in the gulches, dammed bythe small thick timber, she came on patches of snow upon which the sunnever shone. Once a ptarmigan started from the brush at her feet. Anelk sprang up from behind a log, stared at her, and crashed awaythrough the fallen timber.
Her devious road took Beulah past a hill flaming with goldenrod andIndian paint-brushes. A wealth of color decorated every draw, for uphere at the roots of the peaks blossoms rioted in great splashes thatran to the snowbanks.
After all, she had to go lower for her favorite blooms. On Del Oro shefound columbines, but in no great profusion. She wandered from thestream, leading Blacky by the bridle. On a hillside just above anaspen grove the girl came upon scattered clumps of them. Tying thepony loosely to a clump of bushes, she began to gather the delicateblue wild flowers.
The blossoms enticed her feet to the edge of a prospect hole long sinceabandoned. A clump of them grew from the side of the pit about a footbelow the level of the ground. Beulah reached for them, and at thesame moment the ground caved beneath her feet. She clutched at a bushin vain as she plunged down.
Jarred by the fall, Beulah lay for a minute in a huddle at the bottomof the pit. She was not quite sure that no bones were broken. Beforeshe had time to make certain, a sound brought her rigidly to her feet.It was a light loose sound like the shaking of dried peas in theirpods. No dweller of the outdoors Southwest could have failed torecognize it, and none but would have been startled by it.
The girl whipped her revolver from its scabbard and stood pressedagainst the rock wall while her eyes searched swiftly the prison intowhich she had fallen. Again came that light swift rattle with itssinister menace.
The enemy lay coiled across the pit from her, head and neck raised,tongue vibrating. Beulah fired--once--twice--a third time. It wasenough. The rattlesnake ceased writhing.
The first thing she did was to examine every inch of her prison to makesure there were no more rattlers. Satisfied as to this, she leanedfaintly against the wall. The experience had been a shock even to hersound young nerves.