CHAPTER XXIX
NYLAND'S VENGEANCE
Just before the dusk enveloped Okar, Banker Maison closed the desk inhis private office and lit a cigar. He leaned back in the big deskchair, slowly smoking, a complacent smile on his lips, his eyes glowingwith satisfaction.
For Maison's capacity for pleasure was entirely physical. He got moreenjoyment out of a good dinner and a fragrant cigar than manyintellectual men get out of the study of a literary masterpiece, or aphilanthropist out of the contemplation of a charitable deed.
Maison did not delve into the soul of things. The effect of his greedon others he did not consider. That was selfishness, of course, but itwas a satisfying selfishness.
It did not occur to him that Mary Bransford, for instance, orSanderson--or anybody whom he robbed--could experience any emotion orpassion over their losses. They might feel resentful, to be sure; butresentment could avail them little--and it didn't bring the dollarsback to them.
He chuckled. He was thinking of the Bransfords now--and Sanderson. Hehad put a wolf on Sanderson's trail--he and Silverthorn; and Sandersonwould soon cease to bother him.
He chuckled again; and he sat in the chair at the desk, hugely enjoyinghimself until the cigar was finished. Then he got up, locked thedoors, and went upstairs.
Peggy Nyland had not recovered consciousness. The woman who was caringfor the girl sat near an open window that looked out upon Okar's onestreet when Maison entered the room.
Maison asked her if there was any change; was told there was not. Hestood for an instant at the window, mentally anathematizing Dale forbringing the girl to his rooms, and for keeping her there; then hedismissed the woman, who went down the stairs, opened the door thatMaison had locked, and went outside.
He stood for an instant longer at the window; then he turned and lookeddown at Peggy, stretched out, still and white, on the bed.
Maison looked long at her, and decided it was not remarkable that Dalehad become infatuated with Peggy, for the girl was handsome.
Maison had never bothered with women, and he yielded to a suspicion ofsentiment as he looked down at Peggy. But, as always, the sentimentwas not spiritual.
Dale had intimated that the girl was his mistress. Well, he was boundto acknowledge that Dale had good taste in such matters, anyway.
The expression of Maison's face was not good to see; there was a glowin his eyes that, had Peggy seen it, would have frightened her.
And if Maison had been less interested in Peggy, and with his thoughtsof Dale, he would have heard the slight sound at the door; he wouldhave seen Ben Nyland standing there in the deepening dusk, his eyesaflame with the wild and bitter passions of a man who had come to kill.
Maison did not see, nor did he hear until Ben leaped for him. ThenMaison heard him, felt his presence, and realized his danger.
He turned, intending to escape down the other stairway. He was toolate.
Ben caught him midway between the bed and the door that opened to thestairway, and his big hands went around the banker's neck, cuttingshort his scream of terror and the incoherent mutterings which followedit.
Peggy Nyland had been suffering mental torture for ages, it seemed toher. Weird and grotesque thoughts had followed one another in rapidsuccession through her brain. The thing had grown so vivid--thehorrible imaginings had seemed so real, that many times she had been onthe verge of screaming. Each time she tried to scream, however, shefound that her jaws were tightly set, her teeth clenched, and she couldget no sound through them.
Lately, though--it seemed that it had been for hours--she had felt agradual lessening of the tension. Within the last few hours she hadheard voices near her; had divined that persons were near her. But shehad not been certain. That is, until within a few minutes.
Then it seemed to her that she heard some giant body threshing aroundnear her; she heard a stifled scream and incoherent mutterings. Thething was so close, the thumping and threshing so real, that shestarted and sat up in bed, staring wildly around.
She saw on the floor near her two men. One had his hands buried in theother's throat, and the face of the latter was black and horriblybloated.
This scene, Peggy felt, was real, and again she tried to scream.
The effort was successful, though the sound was not loud. One of themen turned, and she knew him.
"Ben," she said in an awed, scared voice, "what in God's name are youdoing?"
"Killin' a snake!" he returned sullenly.
"Dale?" she inquired wildly. Her hands were clasped, the fingersworking, twisting and untwisting.
"Maison," he told her, his face dark with passion.
"Because of me! O, Ben! Maison has done nothing to me. It was Dale,Ben--Dale came to our place and attacked me. I felt him carryingme--taking me somewhere. This--this place----"
"Is Maison's rooms," Ben told her. In his eyes was a new passion; heknelt beside the bed and stroked the girl's hair.
"Dale, you said--Dale. Dale hurt you? How?"
She told him, and he got up, a cold smile on his face.
"You feel better now, eh? You can be alone for a few minutes? I'llsend someone to you."
He paid no attention to her objections, to her plea that she was afraidto be alone. He grinned at her, the grin that had been on his facewhen he had shot Dal Colton, and backed away from her until he reachedthe stairs.
Outside he mounted his horse and visited several saloons. There was nosign of Dale. In the City Hotel he came upon a man who told him thatearlier in the day Dale had organized a posse and had gone to theDouble A to arrest Sanderson. This man was not a friend of Dale's, andone of the posse had told him of Dale's plan.
Nyland mounted his horse again and headed it for the neck of the basin.In his heart was the same lust that had been there while he had beenriding toward Okar.
And in his soul was a rage that had not been sated by the death of thebanker who, a few minutes before Nyland's arrival, had been so smuglyreviewing the pleasurable incidents of his life.