CHAPTER VII
MOYA'S HIGHWAYMAN
Dinner at the Lodge was just finished. It was the one hour of the daywhen anything like formality obtained. Each one dropped into breakfastwhen he or she pleased. Luncheon rarely found them together. But LadyJim insisted that dinner should be a civilized function. Unless therewas to be night fishing the whole party usually adjourned from thedining-room to the river-front porch, where such members of it asdesired might smoke the postprandial cigar or cigarette. To-night nobodycared to get out rod and line. In an hour or so they would return to theliving-room for bridge.
Voices drifted up the trail and presently riders came into sight. Theyhalted among the trees, where one dismounted and came forward, histrailing spurs jingling as he walked.
He bowed to his audience in general, and again and more particularly toLady Farquhar.
"Evening, ma'am. My name's Gill--sheriff of this county. I hate totrouble you, but my men haven't had a bite to eat since early thismo'ning. Think we could get a snack here? We'll not get to Gunnison tillmost eleven."
Lady Farquhar rose. "I'll have the cook make something for you. Howmany?"
"Six. Much obliged. Just anything that's handy."
Sheriff Gill beckoned to the men in the trees, who tied their horses andpresently came forward. All but one of them were heavily armed. That onewalked between a 30-30 and a 32 special carbine. It was observable thatthe men with the rifles did not lift their eyes from him.
Moya felt her heart flutter like that of a caged bird. The blood ebbedfrom her lips and she swayed in her seat. The prisoner was Jack Kilmeny.Farquhar, sitting beside the girl, let his hand fall upon hers with acomforting little pressure.
"Steady!" his voice murmured so that she alone heard.
Yet his own pulse stirred with the sheer melodrama of the scene. For asthe man came forward it chanced that the luminous moonbeams haloed likea spotlight the blond head and splendid shoulders of the prisoner. Neverin his gusty lifetime had he looked more the vagabond enthroned. He wascoatless, and the strong muscles sloped beautifully from the brownthroat. A sardonic smile was on the devil-may-care face, and those whosaw that smile labeled it impudent, debonair, or whimsical, as fancypleased.
"By Jove, the fellow's a natural-born aristocrat," thought Farquhar, themost democratic of men.
Jack Kilmeny nodded with cool equality toward Farquhar and the captain,ignored Verinder, and smiled genially at India. For Moya his look had aspecial meaning. It charged her with the duty of faith in him. Somehowtoo it poured courage into her sinking heart.
"Afraid an engagement at Gunnison with Sheriff Gill won't let me stopfor any poker to-night," he told his host.
Farquhar was on the spot to meet him in the same spirit. "Verinder willbe glad of that. I fancy my pocketbook too will be fatter to-morrowmorning."
Biggs appeared to take the newly arrived party in charge. As theystarted to follow him the prisoner came face to face with Joyce, who wasjust coming out of the house. She looked at the young miner and at therifles, and her eyes dilated. Under the lowered lights of evening sheseemed to swim in a tide of beauty rich and mellow. The young man caughthis breath at the sheer pagan loveliness of her.
"What is it?" she asked in a low, sweet, tremulous voice.
His assurance fled. The bravado was sponged from his face instantly. Hestared at her in silence from fascinated eyes until he moved forward atthe spur of an insistent arm at his elbow.
India wondered how Lady Jim would dispose of the party. Jack Kilmenymight be a criminal, but he happened to be their cousin. It would hardlydo to send him to the servants' quarters to eat. And where he ate thesheriff and his posse would likewise have to dine.
The young woman need not have concerned herself. Lady Farquhar knewenough of the West and its ways not to make a mistake. Such food ascould be prepared at short notice was served in the dining-room.
Having washed the dust of travel from himself, the sheriff returned tothe porch to apologize once more for having made so much trouble.
Farquhar diverted him from his regrets by asking him how they had madethe capture.
"I ain't claiming much credit for getting him," Gill admitted. "Thishere was the way of it. A kid had been lost from Lander's ranch--strayedaway in the hills, y'understand. She was gone for forty-eight hours, andeverybody in the district was on the hunt for her. Up there themountains are full of pockets. Looked like they weren't going to gither. Soon it would be too late, even if they did find her. Besides,there are a heap of mountain lions up in that country. I tell you herfolks were plumb worried."
Moya, listening to every word as she leaned forward, spoke vividly. "AndMr. Kilmeny found her."
The sheriff's surprised eyes turned to her. "That's right, ma'am. Hedid. I dunno how you guessed it, but you've rung the bell. He found herand brought her down to the ranch. It just happened we had drapped inthere ten minutes before. So we gathered him in handy as the pocket inyour shirt. Before he could move we had the crawl on him."
The sheriff retired to the dining-room, whence came presently snatchesof cheerful talk between the prisoner and his captors. In their companyJack Kilmeny was frankly a Western frontiersman.
"You passed close to me Wednesday night at the fork of Rainbow above theJ K ranch. I was lying on a ledge close to the trail. You discussedwhether to try Deer Creek or follow Rainbow to its headwaters," theminer said.
"That was sure one on us. Hadn't been for the kid, I don't reckon weever would have took you," a deputy confessed.
"What beats me is why you weren't a hundred miles away in Routt Countyover in yore old stamping ground," another submitted.
"I had my reasons. I wasn't looking to be caught anyhow. Now you've gotme you want to watch me close," the prisoner advised.
"We're watching you. Don't make any mistake about that and try any foolbreak," Gill answered, quite undisturbed.
"He's the coolest hand I ever heard," Farquhar said to the party on theporch. "If I were a highwayman I'd like to have him for a partner."
"He's not a highwayman, I tell you," corrected Moya.
"I hope he isn't, but I'm afraid he is," India confided in a whisper."For whatever else he is, Jack Kilmeny is a man."
"Very much so," the captain nodded, between troubled puffs of his pipe.
"And I'm going to stand by him," announced his sister with a determinedtoss of her pretty head.
Moya slipped an arm quickly around her waist. She was more grateful forthis support than she could say. It meant that India at least haddefinitely accepted the American as a relative with the obligation thatimplied. Both girls waited for Ned Kilmeny to declare himself, for,after all, he was the head of the family. He smoked in silence for aminute, considering the facts in his stolid deliberate fashion.
The excitement of the girl he loved showed itself in the dusky eyessparkling beneath the soft mass of blue-black hair, in the glow ofunderlying blood that swept into her cheeks. She hoped--oh, how shehoped!--that the officer would stand by his cousin. In her heart sheknew that if he did not--no matter how right his choice might be inprinciple--she never would like him so well again. He was a man whocarried in his face and in his bearing the note of fineness, of personaldistinction, but if he were to prove a formalist at heart, if he weregoing to stickle for an assurance of his kinsman's innocence before hecame to the prisoner's aid, Moya would have no further use for him.
When the sheriff presently came out Captain Kilmeny asked him if hemight have a word with the prisoner.
"Sure. Anything you want to say to him."
The English officer drew his cousin aside and with some embarrassmenttendered to his cousin the use of his purse in the event it might beneeded for the defense.
Jack looked at him steadily with hard unflinching eyes. "Why are youoffering this, captain?"
"I don't quite take you."
"I mean, what's your reason? Don't like it to get out that you have acousin in the pen, is that it? Anxious to avoid a family
scandal?" heasked, almost with a sneer.
The captain flushed, but before he could answer India flamed out. "Youmight have the decency to be ashamed of that, Jack Kilmeny."
Her cousin looked at the girl gravely, then back at her lean,clean-faced brother. "I am. Beg your pardon, captain. As for your offer,I would accept it if there were any need. But there isn't. The chargesagainst me will fall flat."
"Deuced glad to hear it. Miss Dwight has just been telling us it wouldbe all right."
India looked straight at Jack out of the steel-blue eyes that were solike his own. "I wasn't so sure of it myself, but Moya was. Nothingcould shake her. She's a good friend."
"I had it sized up about that way," the miner replied. "But I've anotion Miss Kilmeny will stand the acid too. Anyhow, I'm much obliged toher."
The prisoner shook hands with both of his cousins, lifted abroad-brimmed gray felt hat from the rack, and delivered himself to thesheriff.
"All right, Gill."
India gave a little exclamation and moved toward the hatrack. Her handfell upon a second hat, similar in appearance to the first, but muchmore worn and dust-stained. She opened her lips to speak and closed themwithout saying a word. For her eyes had met those of Moya and read therea warning.
Jack Kilmeny nodded a brisk farewell to Farquhar, smiled at Miss Dwight,and moved with his guards to the clump of trees where the horses hadbeen left. His eyes had looked for Joyce, but she was not at that momentin sight.
The last faint beat of the retreating hoofs died away. An awkwardconstraint settled upon the party left at the Lodge. It was impossibleto discuss the situation openly, yet it was embarrassing to ignore thesubject in the thoughts of all. After a decent interval they began todrop away, one by one, from the group. India followed Moya, and foundthat young woman in her room.
"What are you hiding?" Miss Kilmeny asked quickly.
Moya produced from her hatbox a gray sombrero and put it on the table."I didn't know it was you--thought it might be Lady Jim," she explained.
"Why wasn't I to tell Jack Kilmeny that he had taken Ned's hat bymistake?" India wanted to know.
"Because it wasn't by mistake."
"Not by mistake! What would he want with another man's hat?"
"I'm not sure about that. Perhaps he _didn't want his own_. You see, Ihad started myself to tell him about the mistake, but his eyes asked meplain as words not to speak."
"But why--why?" India frowned at the hat, her active brain busy. "Itwould be absurd for him to want Ned's hat. He must have had some reason,though."
"Don't they search prisoners before they lock them up?" Moya askedabruptly.
India shook her head. "I don't know. Do they?"
"Of course they do." Moya's eyes began to shine. "Now suppose there issomething about that hat he didn't want them to see."
"How do you mean?" India picked up the hat and turned it round slowly."It's worn and a bit disreputable, but he wouldn't care for that."
Moya found a pair of scissors in her work basket. With these she rippedoff the outer ribbon. This told her nothing. Next she examined theinside. Under the sweat pad was a folded slip of paper. She waved it inexcitement.
"What did I tell you?"
"But--if he is innocent--what could there be he wanted to hide?"
"I don't know." Moya unfolded the paper enough to see that there waswriting in it. "Do you think we ought to read this?"
"I don't know," India repeated in her turn. "Perhaps it may be a messageto you."
Moya's face lighted. "Of course that's it. He wanted to tell ussomething when the rest were not there, so he used this method."
Three cramped lines were penciled on the torn fragment of paper.
At wharf above camp. Twelve steps below big rock. In gunny sack three yards from shore.
Two pairs of puzzled eyes looked into each other.
"What can it mean?" India asked.
"I don't know, unless----"
"Unless what?"
"Can it be a direction for finding something?"
"But what? And why should it be hidden in his hat? Besides, he wouldhave no chance to put it in there after he was captured."
"Then perhaps it isn't a message to me at all."
"That's what we must find out. 'At wharf above camp.' That probablymeans his fishing camp."
"What are you going to do, India?"
"I'm going to get Ned to help me find that gunny sack."
Moya found herself trembling. She did not know why. It was not doubt ofher reckless friend, but none the less she was in a panic.
"Do you think we'd better?"
Miss Kilmeny looked at her in surprise. In general nobody came todecision more quickly than Moya.
"Of course. How else can we tell whether it is something he wants us todo for him?"
"When shall we look?"
"The sooner the better--to-night," answered the other girl immediately."The wharf above the camp. It's not a quarter of an hour from here. I'llnot sleep till I know what he means."
"Lady Jim," Moya reminded her.
"She needn't know. She can't object if we take Ned and go fishing for anhour."
Moya consulted her watch. "They'll be gathering for bridge pretty soon.Let's go now. We can be back in time for supper."
"Get into your fishing togs. I'll get Ned and we'll meet you on the westporch in a quarter of an hour."
Within the appointed time the three slipped away down the river banktrail as silently as conspirators. The captain was rather inclined topooh-pooh the whole thing, but he was not at all sorry to share anadventure that brought him into a closer relationship with Moya Dwight.
"Must be this wharf," India said presently, as a bulky shadow loomed outof the darkness.
"Shouldn't wonder. Here's a big rock just below it. Didn't the paper saysomething about a rock?" asked the captain.
"Twelve steps below big rock, it says."
The soldier paced off the distance. "What now?"
"Three yards from the shore," called his sister. "There should be agunny sack, whatever that is."
"Afraid he's spoofing us," Kilmeny said with a laugh as he moved out inhis waders against the current. "Here I am. What's the next direction?"
India giggled. She was Irish enough to get the humorous side of thingsand could not help being frivolous even when she was greatly interested."Now you look over your left shoulder at the moon and wish."
Her brother's high voice cut in. "I say. My foot's kicking something.Wait a jiff."
He braced his feet, dived suddenly down with one arm till his facetouched the water, and grappled with his fingers for a hold on somethinglying between two rocks at the bottom. When he straightened again it waswith an effort. He did not attempt to raise his burden from the stream,but waded ashore with it. Using both hands, he dragged his find to land.
"It's a sack," India cried excitedly.
The captain's eyes met those of Moya. His face was grave, but she waswhite to the lips. Both of them felt sure of what they would find in thesack.
"Open it," she told him tensely.
With his pocketknife Kilmeny cut the string that tied the sack. He drewout a heavy valise so full that it gaped. Silver and gold coins, as wellas bills, filled it to the mouth. They had found the money stolen fromthe treasurer of the Gunnison County Fair association.
All three of them were sick at heart. Jack Kilmeny then was guilty,after all. The message in the hat had not been intended for them, buthad been merely a note of identification of the spot. He had taken thecaptain's hat merely because he did not want the officers to find thedirections under the sweat pad. He had in essence lied to Moya and tothe cousins who had offered to stand shoulder to shoulder with him inhis trouble.
To Moya the next hour was a nightmare. They returned to the Lodge andslipped into the house by way of a French window opening upon thedeserted north porch. Kilmeny hid the sack of treasure in his trunk anddivested himself of his fishing clothes. Presently
he joined Moya andhis sister on the front porch, where shortly they were discovered byVerinder in search of a fourth at bridge.
India, knowing how greatly her friend was shaken, volunteered to fillthe table and maneuvered Verinder back into the living-room with her.The millionaire had vaguely the sense of a conspiracy against him andresented it, even though of late he had been veering from Moya to Joycein his attentions.
Captain Kilmeny, left alone with the girl of his dreams, wisely saidnothing. He was himself indignant, his family pride stung to the quick.His cousin was not only a thief but a liar. Born of a race of soldiers,with the traditions of family and of the army back of him forgenerations, the latter offense was the greater of the two. Heunderstood something of how Miss Dwight felt. She had let herself becomegreatly interested in this vagabond cousin of his. Openly she hadchampioned his cause. Now her feelings were wounded, her pride hurt, andher anger ablaze. The fellow's offense against her had been flagrant.
So far the captain had guessed correctly. Moya writhed like a bruisedwoodland creature. Her friendship had been abused. She had been ascredulous as a simple country wench, while he no doubt had been laughingup his sleeve at her all the time. No longer had she any doubt as to hisguilt. She visualized the hurried run for safety to camp, the swiftdisposal of the treasure in the river because of the close pursuit. Whenshe lived over again that scene on Sunbeam the girl flogged her soullike a penitent. As one grinds defiantly on an ulcerated tooth, so shecrushed her pride and dragged it in the dust.
But the wound was deeper even than this. To give herself in friendshipimpulsively was her temperament, though not many were judged worthy ofsuch giving. This blue-eyed scamp had won her as no man ever had before.She had seen him through a glamour. Now his character stood stripped inits meanness. Her sweet trust was crushed. In the reaction that was uponher she craved rest and safety. No longer had she any confidence in herown judgment. Against the advice of her friends she had been wayward andheadstrong, so sure that she knew best.
Kilmeny, sitting beside her in the deep shadows cast by the wildcucumber vines, became aware that she was weeping silently. His heartbled for her. He had known her always buoyant, gallant as Galahad,vibrant of joy to the finger tips.
"I say, don't," he pleaded. It was impossible for him to voiceadequately his feelings. Greatly daring, he let an arm rest across theshoulders that were being racked by suppressed _pianissimo_ sobs.
"You mustn't, you know. I can't stand it." And, again, "Please don't."
She gulped down the lump in her throat and turned upon him filmy eyes,the lashes of which were tangled with tears. This fine strong soldierrepresented the haven of rest toward which she was being driven. Had shenever met his American cousin she knew that she would probably haveaccepted him in the end. The swift impulse swept her to anchor her craftfor life in a safe harbor. She had tried rebellion, and that had lefther spent and beaten. What she wanted now was safety, a rest from theturmoil of emotion.
"Do you still ... want me?" she asked lifelessly.
He could not on the instant take her meaning. Then, "Want you!" hecried in a low voice no words could have expressed fully. "Want you? Oh,my dear!"
"You know I don't love you ... not in one way," she told him naively."Lady Jim says that will come. I don't know. Perhaps you won't want totake the risk."
She could see the desire of her leap to his honest eyes. "By God, I'lltake my chance," he cried.
"You'll give me all the time I want--not push me too hard?"
"You shall set your own time."
Her dusky head was leaning wearily against the back of a wicker porchchair. From sheer fatigue her eyes fluttered shut. Her lover could seethe round bird-like throat swell as she swallowed the lump that hadgathered. Pity for her and love of her rose in him like a flood. Hewould have given anything to wrap her in his arms and fight away hertroubles. But he knew it would be months before he could win the rightto do this.
"Would you mind if ... if we didn't tell the others just yet?"
"It shall be as you say, Moya, dear."
She nodded languid thanks. "You're good. I ... I think I'll go to bed.I'm so tired."
He kissed the tips of her fingers and she vanished round the corner ofthe house.
Kilmeny sat down again and looked for long across the moonlit river.His sweetheart had promised to marry him, but in how strange a fashion.He was to be her husband some day, but he was not yet her lover by agood deal. His imagination fitted another man to that role, and thererose before him the strong brown face of his cousin with its mockingeyes and devil-may-care smile.
His promised wife! He had despaired of winning her, and she had crept tohim as a hurt child does to its mother. There was no exultation in hisheart. Poor child! How sad and tired her eyes had been.