Keith of the Border: A Tale of the Plains

  Miss Christie Maclaire, attired in a soft lounging robe, her luxurianthair wound simply about her head, forming a decidedly attractivepicture, gazed with manifest dissatisfaction on the bare walls of herroom, and then out through the open window into the comparativelyquiet street below. The bar-tender at the "Palace," directly opposite,business being slack, was leaning negligently in the doorway. His rovingeyes caught the fair face framed in the window, and he waved his handencouragingly. Miss Christie's big brown eyes stared across at him insilent disgust, and then wandered again about the room, her foot tappingnervously on the rag carpet.

  "It's my very last trip to this town," she said decisively, her red lipspressed tightly together.

  Miss Maclaire had indeed ample reason to feel aggrieved over herreception. She had written to have the best apartment in the housereserved for her, and then, merely because she had later been invitedout to Fort Hays, and was consequently a day behind in arrival, haddiscovered that another woman--a base imposter, actually masqueradingunder her name--had been duly installed in the coveted apartment.Driving in from the fort that morning, accompanied by two of the moresusceptible junior officers, conscious that she had performed mostartistic work the evening before in the spacious mess-hall, and feelingconfident of comfortable quarters awaiting her, it had been somethingof a shock to be informed by the perturbed clerk that "15" was alreadyoccupied by another. "A lady what come in last night, and I naturallysupposed it was you."

  In vain Miss Maclaire protested, ably backed by the worshipful officerswho still gallantly attended her; the management was obdurate. Thenshe would go up herself, and throw the hussy out. Indeed, too angry forbantering further words, Christie had actually started for the stairs,intending to execute her threat, when the perspiring Tommy succeeded instopping her, by plainly blurting out the exact truth.

  "Don't you ever do it," he insisted. "The marshal brought her in here,and fired a fellow out o' the room so as to give it to her. He'd cleanout this house if we ran in a cold deck on a friend o' his."

  "What do I care for what your marshal does?"

  "But he's Bill Hickock, Miss, 'Wild Bill.'"

  Miss Maclaire leaned back against the stair-rail, her eyes turning fromTommy to her speechless supporters. Slowly the truth seemed to penetrateher brain.

  "Oh," she gasped at last. "Then--then what else can you give me?"

  The officers had long since departed, promising, however, to remain overin town and hear her again that night at the Trocadero, with hints asto a late supper; she had received a call from the manager of that mostpopular resort, and had rendered his life miserable by numerous demands;had passed half an hour practising with the leader of the orchestra; butnow was at last alone, tired, decidedly irritable, and still tempted toinvade "15," and give that other woman a piece of her mind. Then someonerapped on the door. There was a decided accent of vexation in the voicewhich bade the one outside enter, but the lady's mood changed swiftlyas her brown eyes perceived standing in the doorway the erect form ofKeith, the light from the window revealing clearly his strong face.The man stood hat in hand, bowing slightly, unable to comprehend whyhe should have been sent for, yet marvelling again at the remarkableresemblance between this woman and that other whom he had left atFort Larned. As Miss Maclaire stood with back toward the window, shepresented the same youthful appearance, the same slenderness of figure,the same contour of face.

  "Miss Christie Maclaire?" he asked, as though in doubt.

  "Yes," graciously, won instantly by the man's appearance and manner,"you wished to see me? Will you be seated?"

  He crossed the narrow room to the stiff-backed chair indicated, andthe lady sank negligently down into her own, resting her head against apillow, and regarding him expectantly. He could view her now much moredistinctly, observing the slight difference in age, the fuller lips, thedarker shade of the hair, and the varied expression of the eyes. It wasas if a different soul looked forth from the same face. He had neverbefore realized how little, apparently trifling, details marked thehuman countenance, and, embarrassed by her own scrutiny, his glanceswept about the room. Misunderstanding this shifting of eyes, MissChristie sought to place the man more at ease.

  "The room is a perfect fright," she observed briskly, "but what can oneexpect in these mushroom towns? Really I had never been here before, orI shouldn't have come. They pay good money though for talent, and we allhave to live, you know. Are--are you in professional work?"

  He shook his head, smiling, somewhat perplexed at his reception.

  "Really I didn't suppose you were," she went on, "you don't look it.But there are so many who come to me to help them, that I have grownsuspicious of every stranger. May I ask why you desired to see me?"

  Another suspicion had taken possession of her mind, for the men of thatsection were never backward in exhibiting admiration, yet somehow thisman did not seem exactly of that kind.

  "I came merely because I was sent for, Miss Maclaire," he replied,his gray eyes once again upon her face. "Doctor Fairbain gave me yourmessage; I am Jack Keith."

  She looked the complete astonishment she felt, sitting up in the chair,her eyes filled with questioning doubt.

  "Doctor Fairbain! My message! Surely you are mistaken? I know no one ofthat name, and have sent no message."

  "You did not express a desire to see me?"

  She laughed, exhibiting a row of white teeth.

  "Certainly not; not until this moment was I even of the existence of Mr.Jack Keith."

  His own eyes smiled in response to the challenge of hers.

  "I can assure you the surprise was mine also," he hastened to informher, now more at ease, as he grasped the situation. "I could notunderstand how I had become known to you, yet I pledge you my word themessage was actually brought. Of course you may suspicion otherwise, forI have seen you on the stage, and being a normal man, have wished that Icould devise some excuse for meeting you."

  "Indeed!" her eye-brows slightly uplifted.

  "Yes, I make that confession frankly, yet this call comes from no suchdesire. I had no question when I came, but what I had been sent for--youwill believe this?"

  "I suppose I must, yet it seems very peculiar," she replied, feelingconvinced that he was a gentleman, and troubled as to what she had bestdo. "Yet now that you have discovered your mistake--"

  "I hope to take advantage of the opportunity," he broke in firmly,leaning slightly forward. "May I ask you a question?"

  "I could hardly prevent it, and really I do not know that I haveanything to conceal."

  "Then I will risk the effort--do you know a man named Hawley?--BartlettHawley?"

  Her eyes did not falter, although a red spot shot into her cheeks, andher lips pressed together.

  "No; that is I have never met him," she acknowledged, just a trifleconfused. "But I have received two letters signed by that name, andrather expected the gentleman would call upon me here in Sheridan duringmy engagement. Is that your mission? Were you sent by him? or are youMr. Hawley?"

  "I disclaim all relation, Miss Maclaire, even friendship. You, ofcourse, know who this individual is?"

  "No," the short monosyllable was not encouraging. "His messages were ofa business character."

  "So I presumed, yet one likes to know something even of the personhe does business with. I have been acquainted with Hawley for severalyears, and have never been aware of any honorable business he has everengaged in. He is a professional gambler, known on the frontier as'Black Bart'; last night he was running a faro game across there in the'Palace.' I cannot help wondering what kind of business such a fellowcould possibly have with you, Miss Maclaire."

  The woman's eyes flashed, hardening in their brown depths.

  "What right have you to ask?" she began indigently. "I am capable ofdeciding my own affairs. As I have told you I have never met Mr. Hawley,but I am not to be influenced against him merely by the denunciation ofan avowed enemy. He has written me of something he has discovered whichis of deep pers
onal interest to me, and has promised to tell me thedetails, as well as place within my hands certain necessary papers."

  "I appreciate your feelings," he said gently, as she paused, "but wouldyou mind telling me the nature of those papers?"

  There was something in Keith's face which told of honesty, and inspiredconfidence. Miss Maclaire's worldly experience had given her deepinsight into the character of men, and somehow, as she looked intothe clear gray eyes, she felt impelled to answer, a vague doubt of theunknown Hawley in her mind.

  "They--they were papers to establish identity. He had discovered themby accident; they have to do with an inheritance. Really that is allI know, for he wrote very briefly, stating it would be safer to conferwith me personally--only I imagine there is a large sum involved."

  "From whose estate?"

  "My grandfather's."

  "And his name was?"

  "Why--why, Mr. Keith, actually I do not know. It may seem strange,but--but I cannot even tell the names of my parents; I cannot remembereither my father or mother. Oh, I do not know why I should tell you allthis! Who are you, really? Why do you ask me such questions?"

  He leaned forward, touched by the woman's emotion. "Miss Maclaire,"he said gravely. "I am not prying into your life needlessly, but amendeavoring to serve you as well as others. Hawley may indeed possesspapers of great value, but if so they were not found by accident, butstolen from the body of a murdered man. These papers may possibly referto you, but if so Hawley himself does not believe it--he has simplychosen you to impersonate the right party because of physicalresemblance."

  "Resemblance to whom?"

  "To a young woman, a Miss Hope."

  "But how do you know this? Why should you be interested? Are you adetective?"

  "No, I am not a detective, but I cannot explain to you my interest. I amtrying to serve you, to keep you from being drawn into a plot--"

  "Rather to keep me from learning the truth, Mr. Jack Keith," she burstforth, rising to her feet indignantly. "You are here trying to prejudiceme against Mr. Hawley. He is your enemy, and you have come to mestabbing him in the back for revenge. That is your interest. Well, I amgoing to see the man, and consider what he has to say. I don't care halfso much about the money as I do to find out who I am. If he can throwany light on my early life, on my parentage, I shall be the happiestwoman in the world. I am sorry I told you anything--but I am going tosee him just the same. Perhaps he might tell me something about you."

  They were both standing, the woman's eyes flashing angrily, defiantly,her hands clinched. Keith, realizing the false position into which hehad drifted, hesitated to answer. He meant to tell her the whole storyand urge her to cooperate with him in learning the gambler's purpose.The woman impressed him as honest at heart, in spite of her life andenvironment; she was not one whom a swindler could easily dupe intobecoming a tool.

  "Miss Maclaire," he began, determined on his course, "listen to me forjust a moment. I am--"

  There was a rap at the door. The eyes of both turned that way, and thenKeith backed slowly into the darkened corner beyond the window, hisright hand thrust into the pocket of his coat. Miss Maclaire observedthe movement, her lips smiling, a red flush on either cheek. Then shestepped across the root, and opened the door. Framed against the blackbackground of the hall, his dark, rather handsome face clearly revealedas he fronted the window, his black, audacious eyes fixed appreciatinglyupon the lady, stood "Black Bart" Hawley. He saw no one but her,realized no other presence, had no thought except to make a goodimpression. He was facing a beautiful woman, whom he sought to use, andhe bowed low, hat in hand.

  "Miss Maclaire," he said, pleasantly, "I trust you will pardon all thathas occurred between us, and permit me to explain."

  "I--I do not understand," she replied, puzzled by these unexpectedwords. "There has nothing occurred between us, I am sure, which requiresexplanation. Have we met before?"

  The man smiled. Seeing the woman's face in the shadows he was stillconvinced she was the same he had last parted with on the Salt Fork.However, if she preferred to ignore all that, and begin their relationsanew, it was greatly to his liking. It gave him insight into hercharacter, and fresh confidence that he could gain her assistance.Anyhow, he was ready enough to play her game.

  "Let us assume not," just the slightest trace of mockery in the tone,"and begin anew. At least, you will confess the receipt of my letters--Iam Bartlett Hawley."

  She cast a half-frightened glance toward Keith, and the man, followingthe direction of her eyes, perceived the presence of the other. Hisright leg went backward, his hand dropping to the belt, his formstiffening erect. Keith's voice, low but clear in the silence, seemed tocut the air.

  "Not a motion, Hawley! I have you covered."

  "Oh, gentlemen, please don't!"

  "Have no fear, Miss Maclaire; this man and I will settle our differenceselsewhere, and not in your presence." He stepped forth into the middleof the room, revolver drawn, but held low at the hip, his watchful eyesnever deserting the gambler's face.

  "Back up against the wall, Hawley," he commanded. "I hardly need to tellyou how I shoot, for we, at least, have met before. Now, I'm goingout, and leave you to your interview with Miss Maclaire, and I wish youhappiness and success."

  He moved across to the opening, keeping his face toward his adversary;then backed out slowly, closed the door with a snap, and sprang asideto avoid any possibility of a bullet crashing after him. No sound ofmovement from within reached his ears, however, and he walked silentlyto the head of the stairs.

  Chapter XXIII. An Unexpected Meeting