CHAPTER XVIII
A SHOT OUT OF THE NIGHT
Ramona sat on the porch in the gathering darkness. She had been readingaloud to her father, but he had fallen asleep beside her in his bigarmchair. During these convalescent days he usually took a nap afterdinner and after supper. He called it forty winks, but to anunprejudiced listener the voice of his slumber sounded like a sawmill inaction.
The gate clicked, and a man walked up the path. He did not know that thesoft eyes of the girl, sitting in the porch shadows, lit with pleasureat sight of him. Nothing in her voice or in her greeting told him so.
He took off his hat and stood awkwardly with one booted foot on thelowest step.
"I came to see Mr. Wadley," he presently explained, unaccountably shortof small talk.
She looked at her father and laughed. The saw was ripping through aseries of knots in alternate crescendo and diminuendo. "Shall I wakehim? He likes to sleep after eating. I think it does him good."
"Don't you! I'll come some other time."
"Couldn't you wait a little? He doesn't usually sleep long." The girlsuggested it hospitably. His embarrassment relieved any she mightotherwise have felt.
"I reckon not."
At the end of that simple sentence he stuck, and because of it JackRoberts blushed. It was absurd. There was no sense in it, he toldhimself. It never troubled him to meet men. He hadn't felt any shynesswhen there had been a chance to function in action for her. But now hewas all feet and hands before this slip of a girl. Was it because ofthat day when she had come flying between him and the guns of Dinsmore'slynching-party? He wanted to thank her, to tell her how deeply gratefulhe had been for the thought that had inspired her impulse. Instead ofwhich he was, he did not forget to remind himself later, as expressiveas a bump on a log.
"Have you seen anything of Mr. Ridley?" she asked.
"No, miss. He saved yore father's life from Pete Dinsmore. I reckon youknow that."
"Yes. I saw him for a moment. Poor boy! I think he is worrying himselfsick. If you meet him will you tell him that everything's all right. Dadwould like to see him."
Their voices had dropped a note in order not to waken her father. Forthe same reason she had come down the steps and was moving with himtoward the gate.
If Jack had known how to say good-bye they would probably have partedat the fence, but he was not socially adequate for the business ofturning his back gracefully on a young woman and walking away. As hebacked from her he blurted out what was in his mind.
"I gotta thank you for--for buttin' in the other day, Miss Ramona."
She laughed, quite at her ease now. Why is it that the mosttender-hearted young women like to see big two-fisted men afraid ofthem?
"Oh, you thought I was buttin' in," she mocked, tilting a gay challengeof the eyes at him.
"I roped the wrong word, miss. I--I thought--"
What he thought was never a matter of record. She had followed him alongthe fence to complete his discomfiture and to enjoy her power to turnhim from an efficient man into a bashful hobbledehoy.
"Father gave me an awful scolding. He said I didn't act like a lady."
"He's 'way off," differed Jack hotly.
She shook her head. "No. You see I couldn't explain to everybody therethat I did it for--for Rutherford--because I didn't want anything sodreadful as that poor Mexican's death on his account. Dad said some ofthe men might think I did it--oh, just to be showing off," she finisheduntruthfully.
"Nobody would think that--nobody but a plumb idjit. I think you didfine."
Having explained satisfactorily that she had not interfered for hissake, there was really no occasion for Ramona to linger. But Jack hadfound his tongue at last and the minutes slipped away.
A sound in the brush on the far side of the road brought the Ranger toattention. It was the breaking of a twig. The foot that crushed it mightbelong to a cow or a horse. But Roberts took no chances. If some one waslying in wait, it was probably to get him.
"Turn round an' walk to the house," he ordered the girl crisply. "Sing'Swanee River' as you go. Quick!"
There was a note in his voice that called for obedience. Ramona turned,a flurry of fear in her heart. She did not know what there was to beafraid of, but she was quite sure her companion had his reason. Thewords of the old plantation song trembled from her lips into the night.
A dozen yards behind her Jack followed, backing toward the house. Hissix-shooter was in his hand, close to his side.
He flashed one look backward. The parlor was lit up and Clint Wadley waslying on a lounge reading a paper. He was a tempting mark for anybodywith a grudge against him.
Jack took the last twenty yards on the run. He plunged into the parloron the heels of Ramona.
Simultaneously came the sound of a shot and of breaking glass. Wadleyjumped up, in time to see the Ranger blow out the lamp. Jack caughtRamona by the shoulders and thrust her down to her knees in a corner ofthe room.
"What in blue blazes--?" Clint began to demand angrily.
"Keep still," interrupted Jack. "Some one's bushwhackin' either you orme."
He crept to the window and drew down the blind. A small hole showedwhere the bullet had gone through the window and left behind it a starof shattered glass.
Ramona began to whimper. Her father's arm found and encircled her. "It'sall right, honey. He can't git us now."
"I'm goin' out by the back door. Mebbe I can put salt on this bird'stail," said Jack. "You stay right where you are, Mr. Wadley. They can'thit either of you in that corner."
"Oh, don't! Please don't go!" wailed the girl.
Her words were a fillip to the Ranger. They sent a glow through hisblood. He knew that at that moment she was not thinking of the danger toherself.
"Don't you worry. I'll swing round on him wide. Ten to one he's alreadyhittin' the dust fast to make his get-away."
He slipped out of the room and out of the house. So slowly did he movethat it was more than an hour before he returned to them.
"I guessed right," he told the cattleman. "The fellow hit it up at agallop through the brush. He's ten miles from here now."
"Was he after me or you?"
"Probably me. The Rangers ain't popular with some citizens. Looks to melike Steve Gurley's work."
"I wouldn't be a Ranger if I was you. I'd resign," said Ramonaimpulsively.
"Would you?" Jack glanced humorously at Wadley. "I don't expect yorefather would indorse them sentiments, Miss Ramona. He'd tell me to gothrough."
Clint nodded. "'Mona said you wanted to see me about somethin'."
The young man showed a little embarrassment. The cattleman guessed thereason. He turned to his daughter.
"Private business, honey."
Ramona kissed her father good-night and shook hands with Jack. When theywere alone the Ranger mentioned the reason for his call.
"It's goin' around that Pete Dinsmore claims to have somethin' onRutherford. The story is that he says you'd better lay off him or he'lltell what he knows."
The eyes of the cattleman winced. Otherwise he gave no sign ofdistress.
"I've got to stand the gaff, Jack. He can't blackmail me, even if thehound cooks up some infernal story about Ford. I hate it most on 'Mona'saccount. It'll hurt the little girl like sixty."
Jack was of that opinion too, but he knew that Wadley's decision not tothrow his influence to shield the Dinsmores was the right one.
"She thought a heap o' Ford, 'Mona did," the cattleman went on. "He wasall she had except me. The boy was wild. Most young colts are. My fault.I made things too easy for him--gave him too much money to spend. Butoutside of bein' wild he was all right. I'd hate to have her hearanything against him." He sighed. "Well, I reckon what must be must."
"Stories the Dinsmores tell won't count with honest folks. Pete is onebad _hombre_. Everybody will know why he talks--if he does. That's a big_if_ too. He knows we've got evidence to tie his gang up with thekillin' of Ford. He doesn't know how much.
Consequence is he'll not wantto raise any question about the boy. We might come back at him toostrong."
"Mebbeso." Wadley looked at the Ranger and his gaze appraised Roberts aman among men. He wished that he had been given a son like this. "Boy,you kept yore wits fine to-night. That idea of makin' 'Mona walk aloneto the house an' keepin' her singin' so's a bushwhacker couldn't makeany mistake an' think she was a man was a jim-dandy."
The Ranger rose. He had not the same difficulty in parting from Wadleyor any other man that he found in making his adieux to a woman. Hesimply reached for his hat, nodded almost imperceptibly, and walked outof the house.