Nan of Music Mountain

  CHAPTER XIII

  PARLEY

  She stood beside the rock from which the ledge was reached from below,and as if she had just stepped up into sight. Her rifle was so held inboth hands that it could be fired from her hip, and at such closequarters with deadly accuracy. As she stood with startled eyes fixedon his haggard face, her slender neck and poised head were veryfamiliar to de Spain.

  And her expression, while it reflected her horrified alarm, didnot conceal her anger and aversion at the sight of him. Unaware ofthe forbidding spectacle he presented, de Spain, swept by abrainstorm at the appearance of this Morgan--the only one of all theMorgans he had not fancied covering him and waiting to deliver hisdeath-warrant--felt a fury sweep over him at the thought of beingshot by a woman. The wild idea that she meant to kill him, which in arational moment would never have entered his mind, now in hisdelirium completely obsessed him. Working, as it were, mechanically,even the instinct of self-defense asserted itself against her. Butenough of reason remained in his disordered senses to tell him thatself-defense was out of the question. Whatever she meant to do, hecould no more fire at this girl, even had he a chance--and herealized he was at her mercy--than he could at his sister; and helay with his eyes bent on hers, trying to read her purpose.

  She stood guarded, but motionless with surprise. De Spain turnedhimself slowly and, sitting up, waited for her to speak. There waslittle to hope for, he thought, in her expression. And all of hisduplicity seemed to desert him before her cold resolution. The trickshe would have tried, at bay before a man, he felt no inclination toattempt. He read in her set face only abhorrence and condemnation, andfelt in no way moved to argue her verdict. "I suppose," he said, atlength, not trying to disguise his bitter resentment of her presence,"you've come to finish me."

  His shirt stained and tattered for bandages, his hair matted in bloodon his forehead, his eyes inflamed and sunken, his lips crusted andswollen, the birthmark fastened vividly on his cheek made him adesperate sight. Regarding him steadily, Nan, as bewildered as if shehad suddenly come on a great wounded beast of prey still dangerous,made no response to his words. The two stared at each other defiantlyand for another moment in silence. "If you are going to kill me," hecontinued, looking into her eyes without any thought of appeal, "do itquick."

  Something in his long, unyielding gaze impelled her to break the spellof it. "What are you doing here?" she demanded with anger, curbing hervoice to control her excitement as best she could.

  De Spain, still looking at her, answered only after a pause. "Hiding,"he said harshly.

  "Hiding to kill other men!" Nan's accusation as she clutched her riflewas almost explosive.

  He regarded her coolly, and with the interval he had had for thinking,his wits were clearing. "Do I look like a man hunting for a fight?Or," he added, since she made no answer, "like a man hunting for aquiet spot to die in? How," he went on slowly, delirium giving placeto indignation, "can you say I'm hiding here to kill other men? That'swhat your people tell you, is it?"

  "I know you are a murderer."

  In spite of his weakness he flushed. "No," he exclaimed sharply, "I'mnot a murderer. If you think it"--he pointed contemptuously to herside--"you have your rifle--use it!"

  "My rifle is to defend myself with. I am not a public executioner,"she answered scornfully.

  "You need no rifle to defend yourself from me--though I am amurderer. And if you're not a public executioner, leave me--I'm dyingfast enough."

  "You came here to hide to kill somebody!" she exclaimed, as if thethought were a sudden explanation.

  "What do you mean by 'here'? I might better ask why you came here," heretorted. "I don't know where I am. Do I look as if I came here bychoice?" He paused. "Listen," he said, quite master of himself, "I'lltell you why I came. I shall never get away alive, anyway--you canhave the truth if you want it. I got off my horse in the night to geta drink. He bolted. I couldn't walk. I climbed up here to hide till mywounds heal. Now, I've told you the truth. Where am I?"

  The grip of her hands on the rifle might have relaxed somewhat, butshe saw his deadly revolver in its accustomed place and did not meanto surrender her command of him. Nor would she tell him where he was.She parried his questions. He could get no information of any sort outof her. Yet he saw that something more than his mere presence detainedand perplexed her. Her prompt condemnation of him rankled in his mind,and the strain of facing her suspicion wore on him. "I won't ask youanything more," he said at length. "You do right to give me noinformation. It might help me save my life. I can't talk any longer.You know you think I've no right to live--that's what you think, isn'tit? Why don't you shoot?" She only stared at him. "Why don't youanswer?" he demanded recklessly.

  Nan summoned her resolution. "I know you tried to kill my cousin," shesaid hotly, after he had taunted her once more. "And I don't know youwon't try it again as soon as you are able. And I am going to thinkwhat to do before I tell you anything or do anything."

  "You know I tried to kill your cousin! You know nothing of the kind.Your cousin tried to kill me. He's a bully and a coward, a man thatdoesn't know what fair fighting means. Tell him that for me."

  "You are safe in abusing him when he's not here."

  "Send him to me! This is no place for a woman that calls me what youcall me--send your cousin and all his friends!" His voice shook withanger. "Tell him I'm wounded; tell him I've had nothing to eat since Ifought him before. And if he's still afraid"--de Spain drew and brokehis revolver almost like a flash. In that incredibly quick instant sherealized he might have threatened her life before she could move amuscle--"tell your fine cousin I've got one cartridge left--just one!"So saying, he held in one hand the loaded cartridge and in the otherthe empty revolver.

  "You think little of bloodshed, I know," she returned unpleasantly.

  "I think a whole lot," he drawled in painful retort, "of fairfighting."

  "And I'm a woman--you do well to taunt me with that."

  "I did not taunt you with it. You are hatefully unjust," he protestedsullenly.

  "You've asked me to go--I'm going. How much of what you tell me istrue, I don't know. But I can believe my own eyes, and I believe youare not in condition to do much injury, even if you came here withthat intention. You will certainly lose your life if you move fromyour hiding-place."

  She started away. He leaned toward her. "Stop," he said peremptorily,raising himself with a wrenching effort. Something in the stern eyeheld her. His extended hand pointed toward her as arbitrarily as if,instead of lying helpless at her feet, he could command her to hisbidding. "I want to ask you a question. I've told you the truth. Ihave just one cartridge. If you are going to send your cousin and hismen here, it's only fair I should know it now--isn't it?"

  Her face was hard in spite of the weakness he struggled to conceal. Itannoyed her to think he had surmised she was revolving in her mindwhat to do. He was demanding an answer she had not yet given toherself.

  "My cousin is wounded," she said, pausing. And then with indecision:"If you stay here quietly you are not likely to be molested."

  She stepped down from the ledge as noiselessly as she had come. Shakenby the discovery she had so unexpectedly made, Nan retreated almostprecipitately from the spot. And the question of what to do worriedher as much as it worried de Spain. The whole range had been shaken bythe Calabasas fight. Even in a country where appeal to arms wascommon, where men were ready to snuff out a life for a word, or killfor a mess of pottage--to settle for the least grave offense a disputewith a shot--the story of the surprising, unequal, and fatal encounterof the Calabasas men with de Spain, and of his complete disappearanceafter withstanding almost unheard-of odds, was more than a three days'wonder; nothing else was talked of for weeks. Even the men in Morgan'sGap, supposed to be past masters of the game played in the closed roomat Calabasas, had been stunned by the issue of the few minutes withJeffries's new man.

  Nan, who had heard but one side of the story, pictured the aggressorfrom
the tale of the two who lived to tell of the horribly sharpaction with him. Morning, noon, and night she had heard nothing butthe fight at Calabasas discussed by the men that rode in and out ofthe Gap--and in connection with it, de Spain's unexplained flightand disappearance. Those that knew the real story of the conspiracyto kill him did not talk much, after the disastrous outcome, ofthat part of the affair. But Nan's common sense whispered to her,whatever might be said about de Spain's starting the fight, thatone man locked in a room with four enemies, all dangerous in anaffray, was not likely to begin a fight unless forced to--none, atleast, but a madman would do so. She had heard stories, too, of deSpain's drinking and quarrelling, but none that told them had everseen him under the influence of drink or had had a quarrel with himexcept Gale and Sassoon--and these two were extremely quarrelsome.

  Unhappy and irresolute, Nan, when she got home, was glad of an excuseto ride to Calabasas for a packet of dressings coming by stage fromSleepy Cat for Gale, who lay wounded at Satt Morgan's; and, eating ahasty luncheon, she ordered her horse and set out.

  Should she tell her Uncle Duke of finding de Spain? Whenever she decidedthat she must, something in the recollection of de Spain's conditionunsettled her resolution. Tales enough of his bloodthirstiness, hismerciless efficiency, his ever-ready craft and consummate duplicitywere familiar to her--most of them made so within the last threedays--for no one in her circle any longer professed to underrate thedemonstrated resourcefulness of the man.

  Yet only a few of these stories appealed to Nan's innate convictionsof truth and justice. She lived among men who were, for the most part,not truthful or dependable even in small things--how could they berelied on to tell the truth about de Spain's motives and conduct? Asto his deadly skill with arms, no stories were needed to confirm this,even though she herself had once overcome him in a contest. Theevidence of this mastery had now a fatal pre-eminence among thetragedies of the Spanish Sinks. Where he lay he could, if he meditatedrevenge on her people, murder any of them, almost at will. To sparehis life imperilled to this extent theirs--but surely he lay not farfrom death by exhaustion. Weighed against all she had ever listenedto concerning his deceit was the evidence of her own sight. She hadseen men desperately ill, and men desperately stricken. This man waseither both or she could never again believe her senses. And if he wasnot helped soon he would die.

  But who was to help him? Certainly none of his friends could knowwhere he was hidden or of his plight--no help could come from themunless she told them. If she told them they would try to reach him.That would mean an appalling--an unthinkable--fight. If she told heruncle, could she keep him from killing de Spain? She believed not. Hemight promise to let him go. But she knew her uncle's ferociousresentment, and how easy it would be for him to give her fine wordsand, in spite of them, for de Spain to be found dead some morningwhere he lay--there were plenty of men available for jobs such asthat.

  All came back to one terrifying alternative: Should she help thiswretched man herself? And if he lived, would he repay her by shootingsome one of her own kin?

  The long ride to Calabasas went fast as the debate swept on, and thevivid shock of her strange experience recurred to her imagination.

  She drew up before the big barn. Jim McAlpin was coming out to go tosupper. Nan asked for her package and wanted to start directly backagain. McAlpin refused absolutely to hear of it. He looked at herhorse and professed to be shocked. He told her she had ridden hard,urged her to dismount, and sent her pony in to be rubbed, assuring Nanheartily there was not a man, outside the hostlers, within ten miles.While her horse was cared for, McAlpin asked, in his harmless Scotchway, about Gale.

  Concerning Gale, Nan was non-committal. But she listened withinterest, more or less veiled, to whatever running comment McAlpin hadto offer concerning the Calabasas fight. "And I was sorry to see Galemixed up in it," he concluded, in his effort to draw Nan out, "sorry.And sorrier to think of Henry de Spain getting killed that way. Why, Iknowed Henry de Spain when he was a baby in arms." He put out his handcannily. "I worked for his father before he was born." His listenerremained obdurate. There was nothing for it except further probing, towhich, however, Jim felt abundantly equal. "Some say," he suggested,looking significantly toward the door of the barn, and significantlyaway again, "that Henry went down there to pick a fight with the boys.But," he asserted cryptically, "I happen to know _that_ wasn't so."

  "Then what did he go down there for?" demanded Nan indignantly, butnot warily.

  McAlpin, the situation now in hand, took his time to it. He leanedforward in a manner calculated to invite confidence without givingoffense. "Miss Nan," said he simply, "I worked for your Uncle Duke forfive years--you know that." Nan had, at least, heard it fifty times."I think a good deal of him--I think a good deal of you, so does themissus, so does little Loretta--she's always asking about you, thechild is--and I hear and see a good deal here that other people don'tget next to--they can't. Now Henry de Spain was here, with me, sittingright there where you are sitting, Miss Nan, in that chair," declaredMcAlpin with an unanswerable finger, "not fifteen minutes before thatfight began, he was there. I told you he never went down there tofight. Do you want the proof? I'll tell you--I wouldn't want anybodyelse to know--will you keep it?"

  Nan seemed indifferent. "Girls are not supposed to keep secrets," shesaid obstinately.

  Her narrator was not to be balked. He pointed to the coat-rack on thewall in front of them both. "There is Henry de Spain's coat. He hungit there just before he went down to the inn. Under it, if you look,you'll find his belt of cartridges. Don't take my word--look foryourself."

  Giving this information time to sink in, McAlpin continued. Nan's eyeshad turned, despite her indifference, to the coat; but she wasthinking more intently about the belt which McAlpin asserted hungunder it. "You want to know what he did go down to the hotel for thatafternoon? I happen to know that, too," averred McAlpin, sitting down,but respectfully, on the edge of the chair. "First I want to say this:I worked for your Uncle Duke five years."

  He paused to give Nan a chance to dispute the statement if she sodesired. Then taking her despairing silence as an indorsement of hisposition in giving her a confidence, he went on: "Henry de Spain isdead," he said quietly. She eyed him without so much as winking. "Iwouldn't tell it if he wasn't. Some of the boys don't believe he is.I'm not a pessimist--not a bit--but I'm telling you it's a physicalimpossibility for a man to take the fire of four revolvers in thehands of four men like those four men, at arm's length, and live.Henry de Spain is the cleverest man with a gun that ever rode theSpanish Sinks, but limits is limits; the boy's dead. And he was alwaystalking about you. It's God's truth, and since he's dead it harms noone to tell it to you, though I'd never breathe it to another. He wasfairly gone on you. Now that's the fair truth: the man was gone onyou. I knowed it, where others didn't know it. I was the only one hecould always ask about whether you'd been here, and when; and when youmight be expected coming again--and all such things like that.

  "You don't have to knock me down, Miss Nan, to put me wise about aman's being keen on a girl. I'm a married man," declared McAlpin withmodest pride. "He thought all the time he was fooling me, and keepingcovered. Why, I laughed to myself at his tricks to get informationwithout letting on! Now, that afternoon he came in here kind of moody.It was an anniversary for him, and a hard one--the day his father wasshot from ambush--a good many years ago, but nary one of us had forgotit. Then he happened to see your pony--this same pony you're ridingto-day--a-standing back there in the box-stall. He asked me whose itwas; and he asked me about you, and, by jinx! the way he perked upwhen I told him you were coming in on the stage that afternoon! Whenhe heard you'd been sick, he was for going down to the hotel to get acup of coffee--for you!" McAlpin, like any good story-teller, wasalready on his feet again. "He did it," he exclaimed, "and you knowwhat _he_ got when he stepped into the barroom." He took hold of deSpain's coat and held it aside to enter his exhibit. "There," heconcluded, "is his cartridg
e-belt, hanging there yet. The boy isdead--why shouldn't I tell you?"

  Nan rode home much more excited, more bewildered than when she hadridden over. What should she do? It was already pretty clear to herthat de Spain had not ridden unarmed to where she found him to ambushany of the Morgans. He was not dead; but he was not far from it ifMcAlpin was right and if she could credit her own senses in looking athim. What ought she to do?

  Other things McAlpin had said crowded her thoughts. Strangest shock ofall that this man of all other men should profess to care for her. Shehad shown anger when McAlpin dared speak of it; at least, she thoughtshe had. And she still did not know how, sufficiently, to resent thethought of such audacity on de Spain's part; but recalling all shecould of his words and actions, she was forced to confess to herselfthat McAlpin's assertions were confirmed in them--and that whatMcAlpin had said interpreted de Spain's unvarying attitude toward her.This was, to say the least, a further awkward complication for herfeelings. She already had enough to confuse them.