CHAPTER IX
What God Hath Joined Together
Dick Lane, on leaving the hospital at Chihuahua, went straight to thefortified ledge where he had made his heroic defense. As heconjectured, the renegade, McKee, had got there first, and found andmade off with the buried treasure. So Dick manfully set to work toreplace his lost fortune. It seemed too slow work to go to his mineand dig the gold he immediately required out of the ground, so hestruck out for civilization to sell some of his smaller claims. In thecourse of a month, at the end of which his wanderings brought him toTucson, he had sold enough of his holdings to give him three thousanddollars in ready cash. As he was near the Sweetwater, he resolved notto express the money to Payson, but to take it himself.
He entered the courtyard of Allen Hacienda while the wedding was takingplace within. None of his friends would have recognized him. Hisframe was emaciated from sickness; his head was drawn back by thetorture which he had suffered; he limped upon feet that had beendistorted by the firebrands in McKee's hands; and his face wasovergrown by an unkempt beard.
Sounds of laughter fell upon his ears as he mounted the steps. He heardFresno shout to Slim to hurry up, as he was telling the story about afellow that was so tanked up he could not say "sasaparilla."
Dick halted. "There must be some sort of a party going on here," hethought to himself. "It won't do to take Echo too much by surprise.If Jack got my letter and told her, it's all right, but if itmiscarried--the shock might kill her. I'll see Jack first."
Dick had ridden first to Sweetwater Ranch, but found the placedeserted. The party, he mused, accounted for this. While he wasplanning a way to attract the attention of some one in the house, andto get Payson to the garden without letting Echo know of his presence,Sage-brush Charley, who had espied the stranger through the window,sauntered out on the porch to investigate. Every visitor to theTerritory needed looking over, especially after the trouble with BuckMcKee.
Sage-brush was bound that there should be no hitch at the wedding ofhis boss.
"Howdy," greeted Lane pleasantly. "I'm looking for Jack Payson."
"That so?" answered Sage-brush. "Who may you be?"
"I'm a friend of his."
The foreman could see no danger to come from this weak, sickly man."Then walk right in," he invited; "he's inside."
Sage-brush was about to reenter the house, when Dick halted him withthe request: "I want to see him out here--privately."
"What's the name," asked Sage-brush, his suspicions returning.
"Tell him an old friend from Mexico."
Sage-brush did not like the actions of the stranger and his secrecy.He was there to fight his boss's battles, if he had any. This was notin the contract, but it was a part read into the paper by Sage-brush.
"Say, my name's Sage-brush Charley," he cried, with a show ofimportance. "I'm ranch-boss for Payson. If you want to settle any oldclaim agin' Jack, I'm actin' as his substitoot for him this evenin'."
"On the contrary," said Lane, with a smile at Sage-brush's outbreak,"he has a claim against me."
It was such a pleasant, kindly look he gave Sage-brush, that theforeman was disarmed completely.
"I'll tell him," he said over his shoulder.
Dick mused over the changes that had occurred since he had left theregion. Two years' absence from a growing country means new faces, newranches, and the wiping out of old landmarks with the advance ofpopulation and the invasion of the railroad. He wondered if Jack wouldknow him with his beard. He knew--his mirror told him--that hisappearance had changed greatly, and he looked twenty years older thanon the day he left the old home ranch.
His trend of thought was interrupted by the entrance of Jack on theporch from the house.
"My name's Payson," Jack began hurriedly, casting a hasty glancebackward into the hallway, for the ceremony was about to begin. "Youwant to see me?"
"Jack!" cried Dick, holding out his hand eagerly. "Jack, old man,don't you know me?" he continued falteringly, seeing no sign ofrecognition in his friend's eyes.
Payson gasped, shocked and startled. The man before him was a strangerin looks, but the voice--the voice was that of Dick Lane, the last manin the world he wanted to see at that moment. Frightened, almostbetraying himself, he glanced at the half-open door. If Dick enteredhe knew Echo would be lost to him. She might love him truly, and herlove for Dick might have passed away, but he knew that Echo would neverforgive him for the deception that he had practised upon her.
Grasping his friend's hand weakly, he faltered, "Dick! Dick Lane!"
Jack realized he must act quickly. Some way or somehow Dick must bekept out of the house until after the marriage. Then he, Jack, musttake the consequences. Dick saw his hesitation. It was not what hehad expected. But something dreadful might have happened while he wasaway, there had been so many changes.
"Why, what's the matter?" he asked anxiously. "You got my letter? Youknew I was coming?"
"Yes, yes, I know," lamely answered Jack. "But I expected notice--youknow you said--"
"I couldn't wait. Jack, I'm a rich man, thanks to you--"
"Yes, yes, that's all right," said Payson, disclaiming the praise ofthe man he had so grievously wronged with a hurried acknowledgment ofhis gratitude.
"And I hurried back for fear Echo--"
"Oh, yes. I'll tell her about it, when she's ready to hear it."
"What is the matter, Jack? Are you keeping something from me? Where isshe?"
"In there," said Payson feebly, pointing to the door.
Dick eagerly started toward the house, but Jack halted him, saying:"No--you mustn't go in now. There's a party-you see, she hasn't beenwell, doesn't expect you to-night. The shock might be too much forher."
Jack grasped at the lame excuse. It was the first to come to his mind.He must think quickly. This experience was tearing the heart out ofhim. He could not save himself from betrayal much longer.
"You're right," acquiesced Dick. "You tell her when you get a chance.Jack, as I was saying, I've made quite a bit of money out of my Bisbeeholdings. I can pay back my stake to you now."
"Not now," said Jack nervously.
Would this torture never end? Here was his friend, whom he hadbetrayed come back in the very hour of his marriage to the woman whohad promised first to marry him. Now he was offering him money, whichJack needed badly, for his prospective mother-in-law was complainingabout his taking her daughter to a mortgaged home.
"Sure, now," continued Dick, pulling a roll of bills from his pocket."It's three thousand dollars--here it is, all in one bundle."
"Not now, let that wait," said Jack, pushing the money aside.
"It's waited long enough," cried Dick doggedly. "You put the mortgageon your ranch to let me have the money, and it must be about due now."
"Yes, it will be due, but let it wait."
"What's the use? I'm all right now. I brought the cash with me onpurpose. I wanted to square it with you on sight."
Dick pressed the money into Jack's hand, closing his fingers over theroll of bills. With a sigh of relief, as if a disagreeable task wascompleted, he questioned: "How's Bud?"
Jack replied shortly: "All right; he's inside."
"I didn't write to him," cheerfully resumed Dick. "I didn't want thekid to know. He is so excitable, he would have blabbed it right out.I'll sure be glad to see the boy again. He's impulsive, but hisheart's all right. I know you've kept a lookout over him."
This trust in him was getting too much for Jack to bear, so the voiceof Polly crying to him to hurry up was music to his ears. "I'm coming,"he shouted. "I'll see you in a few minutes," he told Dick. "I'vesomething to tell you. I can't tell you now."
"Go in, then," answered Dick. "I'll wait yonder in the garden. Don'tkeep me waiting any longer than you can help."
Dick turned and walked slowly toward the gate which lead to thekitchen-garden, a part of every ranch home in Arizona. It was cut offfrom the house
by a straggling hedge, on which Echo had spent manyhours trying to keep it in shape.
Jack hesitated about going into the house. Even if Echo married him,he knew that she would never forgive him when she learned of hisdastardly conduct from Dick Lane's own mouth. It was better tosacrifice the life of one to save three lives from being ruined.
Jack followed Lane up, partly drawing his gun. It would be so easy toshoot him. No one would recognize Dick Lane in that crippled figure.Jack's friends would believe him if he told them the stranger had drawnon him, and he had to shoot him in self-defense.
Then the thought of how dastardly was the act of shooting a man in theback, and he his trusting friend, smote him suddenly, and he replacedthe pistol in its holster. "It is worse than the murder of 'Ole Man'Terrill," he muttered.
Dick walked on entirely unconscious of how close he had been to death,with his friend as his murderer.
So interested had the two men been in their conversation, that neitherhad noticed Buck McKee hiding behind the hedge, listening to theirtalk, and covering Jack Payson, when he was following Dick with hishand on his revolver. McKee heard Payson's ejaculation, and smiledgrimly.
Jack's absence had aroused Jim Allen, who hurried out on the porch,storming. "Say, Jack, what do you mean by putting the brakes on thisyere weddin'?"
"Jim--say, Jim! I--want you to do something for me," cried Jack, as herushed toward his future father-in-law, greatly excited.
"Sure," answered Allen heartily.
"Stand here at this door during the ceremony, and no matter whathappens don't let any one in."
"But--" interrupted Allen.
"Don't ask me to explain," blurted Jack. "Echo's happiness is at stake."
"That settles it--I've not let any one spile her happiness yet, an' Iwon't in the few minutes that are left while I'm still her mainprotector. Nobody gets in."
"Remember--no one--no matter who it is," emphasized Jack, as he dartedinto the house.
Jim Allen lighted his pipe. "Now, what's eatin' him?" he muttered tohimself. Then, "They're off!" he cried, looking through the window.
The Reverend Samuel Price began to drone the marriage-service.
It is the little things in life that count, after all. Men will workthemselves into hysteria over the buzzing of a fly, and yet plan abattle-ship in a boiler-shop. A city full of people will at one timebecome panic-stricken over the burning of a rubbish-heap, and atanother camp out in the ruins of fire-swept homes, treating theirmiseries as a huge joke.
Philosophers write learnedly of cause and effect. In chemistry certaincombinations give certain results. But no man can say: "I will do thusand so, this and that will follow." All things are possible, but fewthings are probable.
Dick Lane had planned to shield Echo by writing to Jack Payson, lettinghim break the news of his return. Fate would have it that she wouldnot know until too late of his escape. A letter sent directly to hermight have prevented much unhappiness and many heartaches. Not tillmonths later, when happiness had returned, did Jack realize that hisone great mistake was made by not telling Echo of Dick's rescue.
Both Dick and Echo might have had a change of heart when they metagain. Echo was young. Dick had wandered far. Both had lost touchwith common interests. Jack Payson had entered her life as a factor.He was eager and impetuous; Dick was settled and world-worn by hardshipand much physical suffering. Now Jack was at the altar racked withmental torture, while Dick waited in the garden for his traitorousfriend. The innocent cause of the tragedy was sweetly and calmlyreplying to the questions of the marriage-ritual, while Jack waslooking, as Allen said to himself, "darned squeamish."
"According to these words, it is the will of God that nothing shallsever the marriage-bond," were the words that fell upon Allen's ears ashe stooped to look in the window at the wedding-party.
"The Sky Pilot's taking a long time to make the hitch. Darned if Icouldn't hitch up a twenty-mule team in the time that he's takin' toget them two to the pole," said Allen, speaking to himself.
Dick had grown impatient at Jack's absence, and wandered back from thegarden to the front of the house. Spying Allen, he greeted him with"Hello, Uncle Jim."
"That's my name," answered Allen suspiciously. "But I ain't uncle toevery stranger that comes along."
"I'm no stranger," laughed Dick. "You know me."
"Do I?" replied Allen, unconvinced. "Who are you?"
"The poor orphan you took from an asylum and made a man of--Dick Lane."
"Dick Lane!" repeated the astonished ranchman. "Come back from thedead!"
"No, I ain't dead yet," answered Dick, holding out his hand, whichAllen gingerly grasped, as if he expected to find it thin air. "Iwasn't killed. I have been in the hospital for a long time. I wroteJack--he knows."
"My God!" Allen cried. "Jack knows--you wrote to him--he knows." Overand over he repeated the astonishing news which had been broken to himso suddenly. Here was a man, as if back from the dead, standing in hisown dooryard, telling him that Jack knew he was alive. No word hadbeen told him. What could Echo say? This, then, explained Jack'sstrange request, and his distress.
"And Echo?" Dick questioned, glancing toward the house.
"Echo." The name aroused Allen. He saw at once that he must actdefinitely and quickly. Echo must not see Dick now. It was too late.The secret of his return on the wedding-day must be known only to thethree men.
"Look here, Dick," he commanded. "You mustn't let her see you--shemustn't know you are alive."
Dick was growing confused over the mystery which was being thrown aboutEcho Allen. First Jack had told him he must wait to see her, and nowher father tells him he must never see her again, or let her know thathe is alive. His strength was being overtaxed by all this evasion anddelay.
"Dick," said Allen, with deep sympathy, laying his hand upon the man'sshoulder. "She's my daughter an' I want her life to be happy. Can'tyou see? Do you understand? She thinks you're dead."
"What are you saying?" cried Dick, trying to fathom the riddle.
"You've come back too late, Dick," sadly explained Allen.
"Too late," echoed Dick. "There's something back of all this. I'll seeher now."
He started to enter the door, but Allen restrained him. "You can't goin," he shouted to the excited man, and pushed him down the steps. Itwas an easy task for him for Dick was too weak to offer muchresistance. "No, you won't," he gently told him. His heart bled forthe poor fellow, whom he loved almost as a son, but Echo's happinesswas at stake, and explanations could come later. More to emphasize hisearnestness than to indicate intention to shoot, he laid his hand onthe butt of his revolver, saying: "Not if I have to kill you."
Dick began to realize that whatever was wrong was of the greatestconsequence. It was a shock to him to have his oldest, his best friendin the West treat him in this fashion.
"Jim!" he cried in his anguish.
"You've got to go back where you came from, Dick," sternly answered theranchman. "If ever you loved my daughter, now's your chance to proveit--she must never know you're livin--"
"But--"
"It's a whole lot I'm askin' of you, Dick," continued Allen. "But ifyou love her, as I think you do, it may be a drop of comfort in yourheart to know that by doin' this great thing for her, you'll be makin'her life better and happier."
"I do love her," cried Dick passionately; "but there must be somereason--tell me."
Allen held up his hand to warn Dick to be silent. He beckoned him tofollow him. Slowly he led him to the door, and, partly opening it,motioned him to listen.
"Forasmuch as John Payson and Echo Allen have consented together inholy wedlock" were the words that fell upon his ears.
As the doomed man stands, motionless, before his judges, and hears hisdeath-sentence read without a tremor, ofttimes thinking of some trifle,so Dick stood for a moment. At first he did not fully realize what itall meant. Then the full depth of his betrayal flooded h
im. "What?"he cried. "Payson!" Allen held him back.
Again the minister's voice fell upon their ears repeating the solemnwords. "And have declared the same before God and in the presence ofthese witnesses, I pronounce them husband and wife. What God hathjoined together, let no man put asunder."
Dick, shaken and hurt, slowly sank to his knees, covering his face withhis hands. A dry sob shook his frame. Here was the end of all hishopes. Here was the sad reward for years of toil and waiting.
"Now you know why you can't stay here," said Allen, his tones full ofpity.
"Now I know."
Dick staggered to his feet, and started blindly from the house.
"Dick!" cried Allen, in a broken voice, "forgive me. She's my child,she loves him now."
The betrayed friend took his hand without looking at him. In vain hetried to hide his deep emotion. "I know," he faltered, "I'll nevertrouble her. I'll go away never to return."
"Where'll you go?" asked Allen.
"Back where I came from, back into the desert--into the land of deadthings. Good-by!"
As he wrung the ranchman's hand and turned to walk out of the life ofhis old comrades and the woman he loved, he heard the minister repeat:"The blessing of the Almighty Father rest upon and abide with you, nowand forevermore. Amen."
"Evermore. Amen!" faltered Dick, bidding a last mute farewell to Allen.
The old ranchman watched him quietly as he mounted his horse and rodedown the trail.
His reverie was interrupted by the bursts of laughter of thewedding-guests, and the cries of Fresno: "Kiss the bride, Slim! Kissthe bride!"