CHAPTER XLV
THE LAST CIGARS
Trimmer, the lumberman, not to be stayed, had broken in upon McCoppetruthlessly, with perceptions unerring concerning the troubles in theair, when Lawrence was arrested. The gambler consented to an interviewwith instinctive regard for his safety. That something significant waslaid on Trimmer's mind he felt with a subtle sense of divination.
The lumberman, smoking furiously, came to his point with utmostdirectness.
"Opal," he said, "I'm goin' away, and I want ten thousand dollars. Iwant it now. You owe me some you ain't paid up, and now I'm raisin'the ante."
"You're raising bunions," McCoppet assured him softly, throwing awayhis unsmoked cigar and putting a fresh one in his mouth. "I'll pay youwhat I agreed--when I get the ready cash."
"Think so, do you, Opal?" inquired the lumberman, eying his man ingrowing restlessness. "I think different, savvy? I'm onto you andyour game with Lawrence--you payin' him twenty thousand bucks to fakethe reservation. I want ten thousand right away, in the next tenminutes, or you'd better pack your trunk."
McCoppet, startled by the accusation, watched the savage manner inwhich the lumberman ate up the smoke of his weed. He could think ofone way only in which a man of Trimmer's mentality could have come uponcertain private facts.
"So," he said presently, "you crawled in under this place, this floor,and caught it through the cracks."
"Knot-hole," said Trimmer gesturing, "that one over there. And I tellyou, Opal, I want that money now. Do you hear? I want it now!" Hesmashed his heavy fist upon the table, and off flew the ash of hiscigar.
"What will you do if I refuse?" the gambler asked him coldly. "Wait!Hold on! Don't forget, my friend, that Culver's murder is up to you,and I'll give you up in a minute."
The lumberman rose. Every moment that passed increased the danger tothem both.
"Look a-here, Opal," he said in a threatening voice of anger, "I ain'ta-goin' to fool with you no longer. Hear me shout? Culver's up to youas much as me. You stole the 'Laughin' Water' claim. There's hella-sizzlin' down the street right now--down to Lawrence's. If you don'tcough up ten thousand bucks pretty pronto----"
"So, Larry--so, you've split on me already," the gambler interrupted,rising and narrowing his gaze upon the bloated face. "You've peddledit maybe, and now you come to me----"
"I ain't peddled nuthin'!" Trimmer cut in angrily. "I didn't tell noone but Barger, and he ain't no friend of Van Buren's. But Lawrence iscaught. Pratt run out the line, and now it's me that stands betweenyou and trouble, and I want the money to stand."
McCoppet was far less calm than he appeared. How much was alreadyreally known to the town was a matter wholly of conjecture. AndTrimmer's haste to cash in thus and probably vanish excited his gravestsuspicions. He eyed his friend narrowly.
"Larry, we'll wait and see how much you've maybe leaked."
"No we won't wait fer nuthin'!--not fer nuthin', understand?" correctedTrimmer aggressively. "I ain't a-trustin' you, Opal, no more! Youdone me up at every turn, and now, by God! you're goin' to come toterms!" He pulled an ugly, rusty gun, and thumped with its muzzle onthe table. "You'll never leave this room alive if I don't git themoney. Ring fer it, Opal, ring the bell, and order it in with thedrinks!"
McCoppet would have temporized. It was not so much the money now asthe state of affairs in the street. How much was known?--and what wasbeing done? These were the questions in his mind.
"Don't get excited, friend," he said. "If things are out, and you andI are caught with the aces in our sleeves, we may have to fight back toback." He was edging around to draw his pistol unobserved,
But Trimmer was alert. "Stand still, there, Opal, I've got the drop,"he said. "I'm lookin' out fer number one, this morning, understand?You ring the----"
A sudden, loud knock at the door broke in upon his speech, and both menstarted in alarm.
"Opal! Opal!" cried a muffled voice in accents of warning just outsidethe door, "Christler's on your trail! Come out! Come out and--huh!Too late! You'll have to get out the window!"
The roar and excitement of the coming crowd, aroused to a wildindignation, broke even to the den. An army of citizens, leading theway for Christler's deputies, was storming McCoppet's saloon.
He heard, and a little understood. He knew too much to attempt toexplain, to accuse even Trimmer to a mob in heat. Nothing but flightwas possible, and perhaps even that was a risk.
He started for the window. Trimmer leaped before him.
"No you don't!" he said. "I told you, Opal----"
"Take that!" the gambler cut in sharply. His gun leaped out with flameat its end; and the roar, fire, bullet, and all seemed to bury in thelumberman's body. A second shot and a third did the same--and Trimmerwent down like a log.
His gun had fallen from his hand. With all his brute vitality hecrawled to take it up. One of the bullets had pierced his heart, butyet he would not die.
McCoppet had snatched up a chair and with it he beat out the window.Then Trimmer's gun crashed tremendously--and Opal sank against the sill.
He faced his man. A ghastly pallor spread upon his countenance. Hewent down slowly, like a man of melting snow, his cigar still hangingon his lip.
He saw the lumberman shiver. But the fellow crowded his cigar stump inhis mouth, with fire and all, and chewed it up as he was dying.
"Good shot," said McCoppet faintly. His head went forward on hisbreast and he crumpled on the floor.
CHAPTER XLVI
WASTED TIME
Van was conveyed to Mrs. Dick's. The fever attacked him in hishelplessness and delirium claimed him for its own. He glided fromunconsciousness into a wandering state of mind before the hour of noon.
His wound was an ugly, fiery affair, made worse by all that he did.For having returned from his lethargy, he promptly began to fight anewall his battles with horses, men, and love that had crossed his summerorbit.
Gettysburg, Dave, and Napoleon begged for the brunt of the battle.They got it. For three long days Van lay upon his bed and flung themall around the room. He hurt them, bruised them, even called themnames, but ever like three faithful dogs, whom beatings will neverdiscourage--the beatings at least of a master much beloved--theyreturned undaunted to the fray, with affection constantly increasing.
There were three other nurses--two women and Algy, the cook. But Bethwas the one who slept the least, who glided most often to the sickman's side, who wetted his lips and renewed the ice and gave him acooler pillow. And she it was who suffered most when he called uponher name.
"Beth! Beth!" he would call in a wildness of joy, and then pass hishand across his eyes, repeating: "--this is the man I hate more thananyone else in the world!"
That she finally knew, that the tell-tale portion of her letter hadbeen found when Bostwick was searched--all this availed her nothingnow, as she pleaded with Van to understand. He fought his fights, andran his race, and returned to that line so many times that she fearedit would kill him in the end.
At midnight on that final day of struggling he lay quite exhausted andweak. His mind was still adrift upon its sea of dreams, but he foughthis fights no more. The fever was still in possession, but its methodhad been changed. It had pinned him down as a victim at last, forresistance had given it strength.
At evening of the seventh day he had slept away the heat. He waswasted, his face had grown a tawny stubble of beard, but his strengthhad pulled him through.
The sunlight glory, as the great orb dipped into purple hills afar,streamed goldenly in through the window, on Beth, alone at his side.It blazoned her beauty, lingering in her hair, laying its roseate tintupon the pale moss-roses of her cheeks. It richened the wondrousluster of her eyes, and deepened their deep brown tenderness of love.She was gold and brown and creamy white, with tremulous coral lips.Yet on her face a greater beauty burned--the beauty of herinner-self--the beauty of her womanhood, her nature, shining through.
This was the vision Van looked upon, when his eyes were open at last.He opened them languidly, as one at peace and restored to control byrest. He looked at her long, and presently a faint smile dawned in hiseyes.
She could not speak, as she knelt at his side, to see him thus return.She could only place her hand upon her cheek and give herself up to hisgaze--give all she was, and all her love, and a yearning too vast to beexpressed.
The smile from his eyes went creeping down his face as the dawn-glowcreeps down a mountain. Perhaps in a dream he had come upon the truth,or perhaps from the light of her soul. For he said with a faint, wansmile upon his lips:
"I don't believe it, Beth. You meant to write 'love' in your letter."
The tears sprang out of her eyes.
"I did! I did! I did!" she sobbed in joy too great to be contained."I've always loved you, _always_!"
Despite his wound, his weakness--all--she thrust an arm beneath hisneck and pillowed her cheek on his breast. He wanted no furtherexplanation, and she had no words to spend.
One of his arms was remarkably efficient. It circled her promptly anddrew her up till he kissed her on the lips. Then he presently said:
"How much time have we wasted?"
"Oh, _days_!" she said, warmly blushing. "Ever since that night on thedesert."
He shook a smiling negative.
"Wrong. We've wasted all our lives."
He kissed her again, then sank into slumber with the dusk.
CHAPTER XLVII
A TRIBUTE TO THE DESERT
Love is a healer without a rival in the world. Van proved it--Van andBeth, of course, together, with Gettysburg, Dave, and Napoleon to help,and Algy to furnish the sauce. All were present, including Glen andMrs. Dick, on the summer day of celebration when at last Van came downto dinner. At sight of the wan, wasted figure, Algy, in hischaracteristic way, fought down his heathen emotions.
"What's mallah you, Van?" he demanded, his face oddly twitching as hespoke. "Makee evlybody _sick_! That velly superstich! Nobody's gottime cly for you come home--makee my dinner spoil!"
He bolted for the kitchen, swearing in loving Chinese.
But with that day passed, Van soon snatched back his own. His strengthreturned like a thing that was capable of gladness, lodging where itbelonged. His spirit had never been dimmed.
Bostwick, who had been detained by the sheriff, faithfully waiting tillVan should "get back on his feet," was almost relieved when his day fordeparture finally dawned. He was dressed, at Van's express desire, inthe convict suit which he had worn on the day of his arrival.
Van was on hand when at last the stage, with Bostwick and Christler forpassengers, was ready to pull up the street.
"Searle," he said, "for a man of your stripe you are really to beenvied. You're going to about the only place I know where it's evenremotely possible to be good and not be lonesome."
Searle went. Lawrence, perhaps more fortunate, had managed to escape.He had fled away to Mexico, taking the bulk of his plunder.
Gettysburg, Dave, and Napoleon returned once more to the placer andsluices on the hill. Glenmore Kent was of the party, as superintendentof the mine. He held a degree from a school of mines, and knew evenmore than he had learned. Moreover, he had saved the gold pilfered byBostwick and McCoppet.
Then one sunny morning Van and Beth were married by a Justice of thePeace. Algy and Mrs. Dick were the lawful witnesses of the rites. Theonly nuptial present was the gift of a gold mine in the mountains tothe bride.
"You see," said Van, "_you_ are my 'Laughing Water' claim--and justabout all I can handle."
They were alone. She came to his arms and kissed him with all thedivinity and passion of her nature. He presently took her face in hishands and gave her a rough little shake.
"Where shall we go to spend our honeymoon?"
She blushed like a tint of sunset, softly, warmly, and hid her cheekupon his shoulder.
"Out in the desert--underneath the sky."
THE END
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