Chapter XXIV
The Bad Man Decides not to Shoot
Beulah woke from a sleep of exhaustion to a world into which themorning light was just beginning to sift. The cold had penetrated toher bones. She was stiff and cramped and sore from the pressure of therock bed against her tender young flesh. For nearly two days she hadbeen without food or drink. The urge of life in her was at low tide.
But the traditions among which she had been brought up made pluck aparamount virtue. She pushed from her the desire to weep in self-pityover her lot. Though her throat was raw and swollen, she called atregular intervals during the morning hours while the sun climbed intoview of her ten-foot beat. Even when it rode the heavens a red-hotcannon ball directly above her, the hoarse and lonely cry of the girlechoed back from the hillside every few minutes. There were times whenshe wanted to throw herself down and give up to despair, but she knewthere would be opportunity for that when she could no longer fight forher life. The shadow was beginning to climb the eastern wall of thepit before Beaudry's shout reached her ears faintly. Her first thoughtwas that she must already be delirious. Not till she saw him at theedge of the prospect hole was she sure that her rescuer was a reality.
At the first sight of her Roy wanted to trumpet to high heaven the joythat flooded his heart. He had found her--alive. After the torment ofthe night and the worry of the day he had come straight to her in hiswandering, and he had reached her in time.
But when he saw her condition pity welled up in him. Dark hollows hadetched themselves into her cheeks. Tears swam in her eyes. Her lipstrembled weakly from emotion. She leaned against the side of the pitto support her on account of the sudden faintness that engulfed hersenses. He knelt and stretched his hands toward her, but the pit wastoo deep.
"You'll have to get a pole or a rope," she told him quietly.
Beaudry found the dead trunk of a young sapling and drew the girl uphand over hand. On the brink she stumbled and he caught her in hisarms to save her from falling back into the prospect hole.
For a moment she lay close to him, heart beating against heart. Then,with a little sobbing sigh, she relaxed and began to weep. Her tearstugged at his sympathy, but none the less the pulses pounded in hisveins. He held her tight, with a kind of savage tenderness, while hisbody throbbed with the joy of her. She had come to him with the samesure instinct that brings a child to its mother's arms. All her prideand disdain and suspicion had melted like summer mists in her need ofthe love and comfort he could give her.
"It's all right now. You're safe. Nothing can hurt you," he promised.
"I know, but you don't know--what--what--" She broke off, shuddering.
Still with his arm about her, he led Beulah to his horse. Here he madeher sit down while he gave her water and food. Bit by bit she told himthe story of her experience. He suffered poignantly with her, but hecould not be grateful enough that the finger-tip of destiny had pointedhim to her prison. He thanked his rather vague gods that it had beenhis footsteps rather than those of another man that had wandered hereto save her.
What surprised and wholly delighted him was the feminine quality ofher. He had thought of her before as a wild young creature full ofpride and scorn and anger, but with a fine barbaric loyalty that mightyet redeem her from her faults. He had never met a young woman sohard, so self-reliant. She had asked no odds because of her sex. Nowall this harshness had melted. No strange child could have been moreshy and gentle. She had put herself into his hands and seemed to trusthim utterly. His casual opinions were accepted by her as if they hadbeen judgments of Solomon.
Roy spread his blankets and put the saddle-bags down for a pillow.
"We're not going to stay here to-night, are we?" she asked, surprised.
He smiled. "No, you're going to lie down and sleep for an hour. Whenyou wake, supper will be ready. You're all in now, but with a littlerest you will be fit to travel."
"You won't go away while I sleep," she said.
"Do you think it likely? No, you can't get rid of me that easy. I'm aregular adhesive plaster for sticking."
"I don't want to get rid of you," she answered naively. "I'd be afraidwithout you. Will you promise to stay close all the time I sleep?"
"Yes."
"I know I won't sleep, but if you want me to try--"
"I do."
She snuggled down into the blankets and was asleep in five minutes.
Beaudry watched her with hungry eyes. What was the use of denying tohimself that he loved her? If he had not known it before, the pasthalf-hour had made it clear to him. With those wan shadows below herlong eye-lashes and that charming manner of shy dependence upon him,she was infinitely more attractive to him than she had ever been before.
Beulah Rutherford was not the kind of girl he had thought of as asweetheart in his daydreams. His fancies had hovered hazily about someimaginary college girl, one skilled in the finesse of the rules thatsociety teaches young women in self-defense. Instead, he had fallen inlove with a girl who could not play the social game at all. She wasalmost the only one he had known who never used any perfume; yet heratmosphere was fragrant as one of the young pines in her own mountainpark. The young school-teacher was vital, passionate, and--hesuspected--fiercely tender. For her lover there would be rare gifts inher eyes, wonderful largesse in her smile. The man who could qualifyas her husband must be clean and four-square and game from the soles ofhis feet up--such a man as Dave Dingwell, except that the cattleman wasten years too old for her.
Her husband! What was he thinking about? Roy brought his boltingthoughts up with a round turn. There could be no question of marriagebetween her father's daughter and his father's son. Hal Rutherford hadput that out of doubt on the day when he had ridden to the ElephantCorral to murder Sheriff Beaudry. No decent man could marry thedaughter of the man who had killed his father in cold blood. Out ofsuch a wedding could come only sorrow and tragedy.
And if this were not bar enough between them, there was another.Beulah Rutherford could never marry a man who was a physical coward.It was a dear joy to his soul that she had broken down and wept andclung to him. But this was the sex privilege of even a brave woman. Aman had to face danger with a nerve of tested iron, and that was athing he could never do.
Roy was stretched on the moss face down, his chin resting on the twocupped palms of his hands. Suddenly he sat up, every nerve tense andalert. Silently he got to his feet and stole down into the aspengrove. With great caution he worked his way into the grove and peeredthrough to the hillside beyond. A man was standing by the edge of theprospect hole. He was looking down into it. Young Beaudry recognizedthe heavy, slouch figure at the first glance.
Not for an instant did he hesitate about what he meant to do. The hourhad come when he and Dan Meldrum must have an accounting. From itsholster he drew his revolver and crept forward toward the bad man. Hiseyes were cold and hard as chilled steel. He moved with the long, softstride of a panther crouched for the kill. Not till the whole thingwas over did he remember that for once the ghost of fear had beendriven from his soul. He thought only of the wrongs of BeulahRutherford, the girl who had fallen asleep in the absolute trust thathe would guard her from all danger. This scoundrel had given her twodays of living hell. Roy swore to pay the fellow in full.
Meldrum turned. He recognized Beaudry with a snarl of rage and terror.Except one of the Rutherfords there was no man on earth he less wantedto meet. The forty-four in his hand jerked up convulsively. Themiscreant was in two minds whether to let fly or wait.
Roy did not even falter in his stride. He did not raise the weapon inhis loosely hanging hand. His eyes bored as steadily as gimlets intothe craven heart of the outlaw.
Meldrum, in a panic, warned him back. His nerve was gone. For twodays he had been drinking hard, but the liquor had given out atmidnight. He needed a bracer badly. This was no time for him to gothrough with a finish fight against such a man as Be
audry.
"Keep yore distance and tell me what you want," the ex-convict repeatedhoarsely. "If you don't, I'll gun you sure."
The young cattleman stopped about five yards from him. He knew exactlywhat terms he meant to give the enemy.
"Put your gun up," he ordered sharply.
"Who's with you?"
"Never mind who is with me. I can play this hand alone. Put up thatgun and then we'll talk."
That suited Meldrum. If it was a question of explanations, perhaps hecould whine his way out of this. What he had been afraid of wasimmediate battle. One cannot talk bullets aside.
Slowly he pushed his revolver into its holster, but the hand of the manrested still on the butt.
"I came back to help Miss Rutherford out of this prospect hole," hewhimperingly complained. "When onc't I got sober, I done recalled thatshe was here. So I hit the trail back."
Meldrum spoke the exact truth. When the liquor was out of him, hebecame frightened at what he had done. He had visions of New Mexicohunting him down like a wild dog. At last, unable to stand it anylonger, he had come back to free her.
"That's good. Saves me the trouble of looking for you. I'm going togive you a choice. You and I can settle this thing with guns righthere and now. That's one way out for you. I'll kill you where youstand."
"W--what's the other way?" stammered the outlaw.
"The other way is for you to jump into that prospect hole. I'll rideaway and leave you there to starve."
"Goddlemighty! You wouldn't do that," Meldrum wheedled. "I didn't gofor to hurt Miss Rutherford any. Didn't I tell you I was drunk?"
"Dead or alive, you're going into that prospect hole. Make up yourmind to that."
The bad man moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. Hestole one furtive glance around. Could he gun this man and make hisgetaway?
"Are any of the Rutherfords back of that clump of aspens?" he asked ina hoarse whisper.
"Yes."
"Do . . . do they know I'm here?"
"Not yet."
Tiny beads of sweat stood out on the blotched face of the rustler. Hewas trapped. Even if he fired through the leather holster and killedBeaudry, there would be no escape for him on his tired horse.
"Gimme a chanc't," he pleaded desperately. "Honest to God, I'll clearout of the country for good. I'll quit belling around and live decent.I'll--"
"You'll go into the pit."
Meldrum knew as he looked into that white, set face that he had come tohis day of judgment. But he mumbled a last appeal.
"I'm an old man, Mr. Beaudry. I ain't got many years--"
"Have you made your choice?" cut in Roy coldly.
"I'd do anything you say--go anywhere--give my Bible oath never to comeback."
"Perhaps I'd better call Rutherford."
The bad man made a trembling clutch toward him. "Don't you, Mr.Beaudry. I'll--I'll go into the pit," he sobbed.
"Get in, then."
"I know you wouldn't leave me there to starve. That would be an awfulthing to do," the killer begged.
"You're finding that out late. It didn't worry you when Dave Dingwellwas being starved."
"I hadn't a thing to do with that--not a thing, Mr. Beaudry. HalRutherford, he give the order and it was up to me to go through.Honest, that was the way of it."
"And you could starve a girl who needed your help. That was all right,of course."
"Mr. Beaudry, I--I was only learning her a lesson--just kinder playing,y' understand. Why, I've knowed Miss Beulah ever since she was alittle bit of a trick. I wouldn't do her a meanness. It ain'treasonable, now, is it?"
The man fawned on Roy. His hands were shaking with fear. If it wouldhave done any good, he would have fallen on his knees and wept. Thesight of him made Roy sick. Was this the way _he_ looked when theyellow streak was showing?
"Jump into that pit," he ordered in disgust. "That is, unless you'drather I would call Rutherford."
Meldrum shambled to the edge, sat down, turned, and slid into theprospect hole.
"I know it's only yore little joke, Mr. Beaudry," he whined. "Mebbe Iain't jest been neighborly with you-all, but what I say is let bygonesbe bygones. I'm right sorry. I'll go down with you to Battle Butteand tell the boys I done wrong."
"No, you'll stay here."
Beaudry turned away. The muffled scream of the bad man followed him asfar as the aspens.