Chapter VII
_The Return of Waring_
The interior of the little desert hotel at Stacey, Arizona, atoned forits bleached and weather-worn exterior by a refreshing neatness that wasalmost startling in contrast to the warped board front with its paintedsign scaled by the sun.
The proprietress, Mrs. Adams, a rosy, dark-haired woman, had heard theOverland arrive and depart. Through habit she listened until the distantrumble of the train diminished to a faint purr. No guests had arrived onthe Overland. Stacey was not much of a town, and tourists seldom stoppedthere. Mrs. Adams stepped from the small office to the dining-room andarranged some flowers in the center of the long table. She happened tobe the only woman in the desert town who grew flowers.
The Overland had come and gone. Another day! Mrs. Adams sighed, pattedher smooth black hair, and glanced down at her simple and neat attire.
She rearranged the flowers, and was stepping back to view the effectwhen something caused her to turn and glance toward the office. Therehad been no sound, yet in the doorway stood a man--evidently a rider. Hewas looking at the calendar on the office wall. Mrs. Adams steppedtoward him. The man turned and smiled. She gazed with awakeningastonishment at the dusty, khaki-clad figure, the cool gray eyes beneaththe high-crowned sombrero, and last at the extended hand. Withoutmeeting the man's eyes, she shook hands.
"Jim! How did you know?" she queried, her voice trembling.
"I heard of you at Nogales. I wasn't looking for you--then. You have aright pleasant place here. Yours?"
She nodded.
"I came to see the boy," he said. "I'm not here for long."
"Oh, Jim! Lorry is so big and strong--and--and he's working for theStarr outfit over west of here."
"Cattle, eh? Is he a good boy?"
"A nice question for you to ask! Lorry rides a straighter trail than hisfather did."
The man laughed and patted her shoulder affectionately. "You needn'thave said that, Annie. You knew what I was when I married you. And noman ever said I wasn't straight. Just what made you leave Sonora withoutsaying a word? Didn't I always treat you well?"
"I must say that you did, Jim. You never spoke a rough word to me inyour life. I wish you had. You'd be away for weeks, and then come backand tell me it was all right, which meant that you'd 'got your man,' asthey say down there. At first I was too happy to care. And when the babycame and I tried to get you to give up hiring out to men who wantedkilling done,--for that's what it was,--you kept telling me that someday you would quit. Maybe they did pay big, but you could have beenanything else you wanted to. You came of good folks and had education.But you couldn't live happy without that excitement. And you thought Iwas happy because you were. Why, even up here in Arizona they sing'Waring of Sonora-Town.' Our boy sings it, and I have to listen, knowingthat it is you he sings about. I was afraid of you, Jim, and afraid ourboy would grow up to be like you."
Waring nodded. "I'm not blaming you, Annie. I asked why you leftme--without a word or an address. Do you think that was square?"
Mrs. Adams, flushed, and the tears came to her eyes. "I didn't darethink about that part of it. I was afraid of you. I got so I couldn'tsleep, worrying about what might happen to you when you were away. Andyou always came back, but you never said where you'd been or what you'ddone. I couldn't stand it. If you had only told me--even about themen--that you were paid to kill, I might have stood it. But you neversaid a word. The wives of the American folks down there wouldn't speakto me. And the Mexican women hated me. I was the wife of Jim Waring,'the killer.' I think I went crazy."
"Well, I never did believe in talking shop, Annie."
"That's just it. You were always polite--and calling what you did,'shop'! I don't believe you ever cared for a single person on thisearth!"
"You ought to know, Annie. But we won't argue that. Don't act as thoughyou had to defend yourself. I am not blaming you--now. You haveexplained. I did miss the boy, though. Are you doing well here?"
"It was hard work at first. But I never did write to father to help me."
"You might have written to me. When did the boy go to work? He'seighteen, isn't he?"
Mrs. Adams smiled despite herself. "Yes, this fall. He started in withthe Starr people at the spring round-up."
"Couldn't he help you here?"
"He did. But he's not the kind to hang round a hotel. He's all man--if Ido say it." And Mrs. Adams glanced at her husband. In his lithe,well-set-up figure she saw what her son would be at forty. "Yes, Jim,he's man size--and I've raised him to go straight."
Waring laughed. "Of course you have! What name will I sign, Annie?"
"Folks here call me Mrs. Adams."
"So you're Annie Adams again! Well, here's your husband's name, if youdon't mind." And he signed the register, "James Waring, Sonora, Mexico."
"Isn't that risky?" she queried.
"No one knows me up here. And I don't intend to stay long. I'd like tosee the boy."
"Jim, you won't take him away!"
"You know me better than that. You quit me down there, and I won't saythat I liked it. I wondered how you'd get along. You left no word. WhenI realized that you must have wanted to leave me, that settled it.Following you would have done no good, even if I had known where you hadgone. I was free. And a gunman has no business with a family."
"You might have thought about that before you came courting me."
"I did. Didn't you?"
"You're hard, Jim. I was just a girl. Any woman would have been glad tomarry you then. But when I got sense enough to see how you earned yourmoney--I just had to leave. I was afraid to tell you--"
"There, now, Annie; we'll let that go. I won't say that I don't care,but I've been mighty busy since you left. I didn't know where you wereuntil I hit Nogales. I wanted to see you and the boy. And I'm as hungryas a grizzly."
"Anita is getting supper. Some of the folks in town board here. They'llbe coming in soon."
"All right. I'm a stranger. I rode over. I'd like to wash up."
"You _rode_ over?"
"Yes. Why not? I know the country."
Mrs. Adams turned and gestured toward the stairway. She followed him andshowed him to a room. So he hadn't come in on the Overland, but hadridden up from Sonora. Why had he undertaken such a long, weary ride?Surely he could have taken the train! She had never known him to bewithout money. But he had always been unaccountable, coming and goingwhen he pleased, saying little, always serene. And now he had not saidwhy he had ridden up from Sonora. "Why not?" was all that he had said inexplanation.
He swung out of his coat and washed vigorously, thrusting his fingersthrough his short, curly hair and shaking his head in boyish enjoymentthat was refreshing to watch. She noticed that he had not aged much. Heseemed too cool, too self-possessed always, to show even the ordinarytrace of years. She could not understand him; yet she was surprised by aglow of affection for him now that he had returned. As he dried his headshe saw that his hair was tinged with gray, although his face was linedbut little and his gray eyes were as keen and quick as ever. If he hadonly shared even that part of his life with her--down there!
"Jim!" she whispered.
He turned as he took up his coat. "Yes, Annie?"
"If you would only promise--"
He shook his head. "I won't do that. I didn't come to ask anything ofyou except to see the boy But if you need money--"
"No. Not that kind of money."
"All right, girl." And his voice was cheery. "I didn't come here to makeyou feel bad. And I won't be here long. Can't we be friends while I'mhere? Of course the boy will know. But no one else need know. And--youbetter see to the folks downstairs. Some one just came in."
She turned and walked down the hall, wondering if he had ever cared forher, and wondering if her boy, Lorry, would ever come to possess thatalmost unhuman quality of intense alertness, that incomprehensiblecoolness that never allowed him to forget what he was for an instant.
When Waring came down she
did not introduce him to the boarders, a factthat sheriff Buck Hardy, who dined at the hotel, noted with someinterest. The men ate hastily, rose, and departed, leaving Hardy andWaring, who called for a second cup of coffee and rolled a cigarettewhile waiting.
Hardy had seen the stranger ride into town on the big buckskin. Thehorse bore a Mexican brand. The hotel register told Hardy who thestranger was. And the sheriff of Stacey County was curious to know justwhat the Sonora gunman was doing in town.
Waring sat with his unlighted cigarette between his fingers. The sheriffproffered a match. Their eyes met. Waring nodded his thanks and blew asmoke-ring.
"How are things down in Sonora?" queried Hardy.
"Quiet."
Mrs. Adams questioned Waring with her eyes. He nodded. "This is Mr.Waring," she said, rising. "This is Mr. Hardy, our sheriff."
The men shook hands. "Mrs. Adams is a good cook," said Waring.
A clatter of hoofs and the sound of a cheery voice broke the silence.
A young cowboy jingled into the room. "Hello, Buck! Hello, mother!" AndLorry Adams strode up and kissed his mother heartily. "Got a runnin'chance to come to town and I came--runnin'. How's everything?"
Mrs. Adams murmured a reply. Buck Hardy was watching Waring as heglanced up at the boy. The sheriff pulled a cigar from his vest andlighted it. In the street he paused in his stride, gazing at the end ofhis cigar. Lorry Adams looked mighty like Jim Waring, of Sonora. Hardyhad heard that Waring had been killed down in the southern country. Someone had made a mistake.
Waring had risen. He stood with one hand touching the table, the tips ofhis fingers drumming the rhythm of a song he hummed to himself. Theboy's back was toward him. Waring's gaze traveled from his son's head tohis boot-heel.
Lorry noticed that his mother seemed perturbed. He turned to Waringwith a questioning challenge in his gray eyes.
Mrs. Adams touched the boy's arm. "This is your father, Lorry."
Lorry glanced from one to the other.
Waring made no movement, offered no greeting, but stood politelyimpassive.
Mrs. Adams spoke gently: "Lorry!"
"Why, hello, dad!" And the boy shook hands with his father.
Waring gestured toward a chair. Lorry sat down. His eyes were warm withmild astonishment.
"Smoke?" said Waring, proffering tobacco and papers.
Lorry's gaze never left his father's face as he rolled a cigarette andlighted it. Mrs. Adams realized that Waring's attitude of coolindifference appealed to the boy.
Lorry remembered his father dimly. He was curious to know just what kindof man he was. He didn't talk much; that was certain. The boy rememberedthat his mother had not said much about her husband, answering Lorry'schildish questionings with a promise to tell him some day. He recalled along journey on the train, their arrival at Stacey, and the taking overof the run-down hotel that his mother had refurnished and made a placeof neatness and comfort. And his mother had told him that she would beknown "Mrs. Adams." Lorry had been so filled with the newness of thingsthat the changing of their name was accepted without question. Slowlyhis recollection of Sonora and the details of their life there came backto him. These things he had all but forgotten, as he had grown to loveArizona, its men, its horses, its wide ranges and magic hills.
Mrs. Adams remembered that her husband had once told her he could findout more about a man by watching his hands than by asking questions. Shenoticed that Waring was watching his son's hands with that old,deliberate coldness of attitude. He was trying to find out just whatsort of a man his boy had grown to be.
Lorry suddenly straightened in his chair. Mrs. Adams, anticipating hisquestion, nodded to Waring.
"Yes," said Waring; "I am the Waring of Sonora that you are thinkingabout."
Lorry flushed. "I--I guess you are," he stammered. "Mother, you nevertold me _that_."
"You were too young to understand, Lorry."
"And is that why you left him?"
"Yes."
"Well, maybe you were right. But dad sure looks like a pretty decenthombre to me."
They laughed in a kind of relief. The occasion had seemed ratherstrained.
"Ask your mother, Lorry. I am out of it." And, rising Waring strode tothe doorway.
Lorry rose.
"I'll see you again," said Waring. And he stepped to the street, humminghis song of "Sonora and the Silver Strings."
Mrs. Adams put her arm about her son's shoulders. "Your father is a hardman," she told him.
"Was he mean to you, mother?"
"No--never that."
"Well, I don't understand it. He looks like a real man to me. Why did hecome back?"
"He said he came back to see you."
"Well, he's my father, anyway," said Lorry.