CHAPTER XV
THE PARTING ON THE RIVER TRAIL
"I'll be leaving you now, ma'am." There was a good moon, and its mellowlight streamed full into Dakota's grim, travel-stained face as he haltedhis pony on the crest of a slope above the Two Forks and pointed out alight that glimmered weakly through the trees on a level some distance onthe other side of the river.
"There's Doubler's cabin--where you see that light," he continued,speaking to Sheila in a low voice. "You've been there before, and youwon't get lost going the rest of the way alone. Do what you can forDoubler. I'm going down to my shack. I've done a heap of riding to-day,and I don't feel exactly like I want to keep going on, unless it'simportant. Besides, maybe Doubler will get along a whole lot better if Idon't hang around there. At least, he'll do as well."
Sheila had turned her head from him. He was exhibiting a perfectly naturalaversion toward visiting the man he had nearly killed, she assured herselfwith a shudder, and she felt no pity for him. He had done her a service,however, in appearing at the Double R at a most opportune time, and shewas grateful. Therefore she lingered, finding it hard to choose words.
"I am sorry," she finally said.
"Thank you." He maneuvered his pony until the moonlight streamed in herface. "I reckon you've got the same notion as your father--that I shotDoubler?" he said, watching her narrowly. "You are willing to takeDuncan's word for it?"
"Duncan's word, and the agreement which I found in the pocket of yourvest," she returned, without looking at him. "I suppose that is proofenough?"
"Well," he said with a bitter laugh, "it does look bad for me, for a fact.I can't deny that. And I don't blame you for thinking as you do. But youheard what I told your father about the shooting of Doubler being aplant."
"A plant?"
"A scheme, a plot--to make an innocent man seem guilty. That is what hasbeen done with me. I didn't shoot Doubler. I wouldn't shoot him."
She looked at him now, unbelief in her eyes.
"Of course you would deny it," she said.
"Well," he said resignedly, "I reckon that's all. I can't say that Iexpected anything else. I've done some things in my life that I'veregretted, but I've never told a lie when the truth would do as well.There is no reason now why I should lie, and so I want you to know that Iam telling the truth when I say that I didn't shoot Doubler. Won't youbelieve me?"
"No," she returned, unaffected by the earnestness in his voice. "You wereat Doubler's cabin when I heard the shot--I met you on the trail. Youkilled that man, Blanca, over in Lazette, for nothing. You didn't need tokill him; you shot him in pure wantonness. But you killed Doubler formoney. You would have killed my father had I not been there to preventyou. Perhaps you can't help killing people. You have my sympathy on thataccount, and I hope that in time you will do better--will reform. But Idon't believe you."
"You forgot to mention one other crime," he reminded her in a low voice,not without a trace of sarcasm.
"I have not forgotten it. I will never forget it. But I forgive you, forin comparison to your other crimes your sin against me was trivial--thoughit was great enough."
Again his bitter laugh reached her ears. "I thought," he began, and thenstopped short. "Well, I reckon it doesn't make much difference what Ithought. I would have to tell you many things before you would understand,and even then I suppose you wouldn't believe me. So I am keeping quietuntil--until the time comes. Maybe that won't be so long, and then you'llunderstand. I'll be seeing you again."
"I am leaving this country to-morrow," she informed him coldly.
She saw him start and experienced a sensation of vindictive satisfaction.
"Well," he said, with a queer note of regret in his voice, "that's toobad. But I reckon I'll be seeing you again anyway, if the sheriff doesn'tget me."
"Do you think they will come for you to-night?" she asked, suddenlyremembering that her father had told her that Duncan had gone to Lazettefor the sheriff. "What will they do?"
"Nothing, I reckon. That is, they won't do anything except take me intocustody. They can't do anything until Doubler dies."
"If he doesn't die?" she said. "What can they do then?"
"Usually it isn't considered a crime to shoot a man--if he doesn't die.Likely they wouldn't do anything to me if Doubler gets well. They mightwant me to leave the country. But I don't reckon that I'm going to letthem take me--whether Doubler dies or not. Once they've got a man it'spretty easy to prove him guilty--in this country. Usually they hang a manand consider the evidence afterward. I'm not letting them do that to me.If I was guilty, I suppose I might look at it differently, but maybenot."
Sheila was silent; he became silent, too, and looked gravely at her.
"Well," he said presently, "I'll be going." He urged his pony forward, butwhen it had gone only a few steps he turned and looked back at her. "Doyour best to keep Doubler alive," he said.
There was a note of the old mockery in his voice, and it lingered long inSheila's ears after she had watched him vanish into the mysterious shadowsthat surrounded the trail. Stiffling a sigh of regret and pity, she spoketo her pony, and the animal shuffled down the long slope, forded theriver, and so brought her to the door of Doubler's cabin.
The doctor was there; he was bending over Doubler at the instant Sheilaentered the cabin, and he looked up at her with grave, questioning eyes.
"I am going to nurse him," she informed the doctor.
"That's good," he returned softly; "he needs lots of care--the care that awoman can give him."
Then he went off into a maze of medical terms and phrases that left herconfused, but out of which she gathered the fact that the bullet hadmissed a vital spot, that Doubler was suffering more from shock than fromreal injury, and that the only danger--his constitution being strongenough to withstand the shock--would be from blood poisoning. He had somefever, the doctor told Sheila, and he left a small vial on a shelf withinstructions to administer a number of drops of its contents in a spoonfulof water if Doubler became restless. The bandages were to be changedseveral times a day, and the wound bathed.
The doctor was glad that she had come, for he had a very sick patient inMrs. Moreland, and he must return to her immediately. He would try to lookin in a day or two. No, he said, in answer to her question, she could notleave Doubler to-morrow, even to go home--if she wanted the patient to getwell.
And so Sheila watched him as he went out and saddled his horse and rodeaway down the river trail. Then with a sigh she returned to the cabin,closed the door, and took up her vigil beside the nester.