CHAPTER XIII
A MISTAKE
At breakfast, a ranchman brought in the news of the attack upon thesheep camp, and by means of it set fire to a powder magazine. TheSandersons went ramping mad for the moment. They saw red; and if theycould have laid hands on their enemy, they would undoubtedly have madean end of him.
Phyllis, seeing the fury of their passion, trembled for the safety ofthe man upstairs. He might be discovered at any moment. Yet she must goto school as if nothing were the matter, and leave him to whatever fatemight have in store.
When the time came for her to go, she could hardly bring herself toleave.
She was in her room, putting in the few minutes she usually spent there,rearranging her hair and giving the last few touches to her toilet afterthe breakfast.
"I hate to go," she confessed to Weaver. "Promise me you'll not make asound or open the door to anybody while I'm away."
"I promise," he told her.
She was very greatly troubled, and could not help showing it. Her facewas wan and drawn, all the youthful life stricken out of it.
"It will be all right," he reassured her. "I'll sit here and read,without making a sound. Nothing will happen. You'll see."
"Oh, I hope not--I hope not!" she cried in a whisper. "You _will_ becareful, won't you?"
"I sure will. A hen with one chick won't be a circumstance to me."
Larrabie Keller had hitched her horse and brought it round to the frontdoor. She leaned toward him after she had gathered the reins.
"You'll not go far away, will you? And if anything happens----"
"But it won't. Why should it?"
"Anna knows. She blundered upon him."
"Will she keep it quiet?"
"I think so, but she's a born gossip. Don't leave her alone with theboys."
"All right," he nodded.
"I feel as if I ought to stay at home," the young teacher saidpiteously, hoping that he would encourage her to do so.
He shook his head. "No--you've got to go, to divert suspicion. It willbe all right here. I'll keep both eyes open. Don't forget that I'm goingto be on the job all day."
"You're so good!"
"After I've been around you a while. It's catching." He tucked in thedust robe, without looking at her.
But she looked at him, as she started, with that swift, shy glance ofhers, and felt the pink tint her cheeks beneath the tan. He was much inher thoughts, this slender brown man with the look of quiet competenceand strength. Ever since that night in the kitchen, he had impressedhimself upon her imagination. She had fallen into the way of comparinghim with Tom Dixon, with her own brother, with Buck Weaver--and never tohis disadvantage.
He talked with a drawl. He walked and rode with an air of languid ease.But the man himself, behind the indolence that sat upon him sogracefully, was like a coiled spring. Sometimes she could see this forcein his eyes, when for the moment some thought eclipsed the gay goodhumor of them. Winsome he was. He had already won her father, even as hehad won her. But the touch of affection in his manner never suggestedweakness.
From the porch Tom Dixon watched her departure sullenly. Since he couldnot have her, he let himself grow jealous of the man who perhaps could.And because he was what he was--a small man, full of vanity andconceit--he must needs make parade of himself with another girl in therole of conquering squire. Larrabie smiled as the young fellow went offfor a walk in obviously confidential talk with Anna Allan, but helearned soon that it was no smiling matter.
Half an hour later, the girl came flying back along the trail the twohad taken. Catching sight of Keller, she ran across to him, plainlyquivering with excitement and fluttering with fears.
"Oh, Mr. Keller--I've done it now! I didn't think----I thought--"
"Take it easy," soothed the young man, with one of his winning smiles."Now, what is it you have done?" Already his eyes had picked out Dixonreturning, not quite so impetuously, along the trail.
"I told him about the man in Phyllis' room."
Larrabie's eyes narrowed and grew steely. "Yes?"
"I told him--I don't know why, but I never could keep a secret. I madehim promise not to tell. But he is going to tell the boys. There hecomes now. And I told Phyllis I wouldn't tell!" Anna began to cry,miserably aware that she had made a mess of things.
"I just begged him not to tell--and he had promised. But he says it'shis duty, and he's going to do it. Oh, Mr. Keller--if Mr. Weaver isthere they will hurt him, and I'll be to blame."
"Yes, you will be," he told her bluntly. "But we may save him yet--ifyou can go about your business and keep your mouth shut."
"Oh, I will--I will," she promised eagerly. "I'll not say a word--not toanybody."
"See that you don't. Now, run along home. I'm going to have a quietlittle talk with that young man. Maybe I can persuade him to change hismind," he said grimly.
"Please--if you could. I don't want to start any trouble."
Larrabie grinned, without taking his eyes from the man coming down thetrail. It was usually some good-natured idiot, with a predisposition togabbling, that made most of the trouble in the world.
"Well, you be a good girl and padlock your tongue. If you do, I'll fixit up with Tom," he promised.
He sauntered forward toward the path. Dixon, full of his news, washurrying to the ranch. He was eager to tell it to the Sandersons,because he wanted to reinstate himself in their good graces. For, thoughneither of them knew he had fired the shot that wounded Weaver, he hadobserved a distinct coolness toward him for his desertion of Phyllis inher time of need. It had been all very well for him to explain that hehad thought it best to hurry home to get help. The fact remained that hehad run away and left her alone.
Now he was for pushing past Keller with a curt nod, but the latterstopped him with a lift of the hand.
"What's your sweat?"
"Want to see me, do you?"
Keller nodded easily.
"All right. Unload your mind. I can't give you but a minute."
"Press of business on to-day?"
"It's _my_ business."
"I'm going to make it mine."
"What do you mean?" came the quick, suspicious retort.
"Let's walk back up the trail and talk it over."
"No."
"Yes."
Their eyes clashed, and those of the stronger man won.
"We can talk it over here," Dixon said sullenly.
"We can, but we won't."
"I don't know as I want to go back up the trail."
"Come." Larrabie let a hand fall on the shoulder of the other man--abrown, strong hand that showed no more uncertainty than the steady eyes.
Dixon cursed peevishly, but after a moment he turned to go back. He didnot know why he went, except that there was something compelling aboutthis man. Besides, he told himself, his news would keep for half an hourwithout spoiling. They walked nearly a quarter of a mile before hestopped.
"Now get busy, Mr. Keller. I've got no time to monkey," he stormed,attempting to regain what he had lost by his concession.
"Sho! You've got all day. This rush notion is the great failing of theAmerican people. We hadn't ought to go through life on the lope--no,sir! We need to take the rest cure for that habit," Larrabie musedaloud, seating himself on a flat boulder between Tom and the ranch.
Dixon let out an oath. "Did you bring me here to tell me that durnfoolishness?"
"Not only to tell you. I figured we would try out the rest cure, you andme. We'll get close to nature out here in the sunshine, and not do athing but rest till the cows come home," Keller explained easily. Hisvoice was indolent, his manner amiable; but there was a wariness in hiseyes that showed him prepared for any move.
So it happened that when Dixon made the expected dash into the chaparralKeller nailed him in a dozen strides.
"Let me alone! Let me go!" cried Tom furiously. "You've got no businessto keep me here."
"I'm doing it for pleasure, say."
; The other tried to break away, but Larrabie had caught his arm andtwisted it in such a way that he could not move without great pain.Impotently he writhed and cursed. Meanwhile his captor relieved him ofhis revolver, and, with a sudden turn, dropped him to the ground andstepped back.
"What's eating you, Keller? Have you gone plumb crazy? Gimme back thatgun and let me go," the young fellow screamed.
"You don't need the gun right now. Maybe, if you had it, you might takea notion to plug me the way you did Buck Weaver."
"What--what's that?" Then, in angry suspicion: "I suppose Phyllis toldyou that lie."
He had not finished speaking before he regretted it. The look in theface of the other told him that he had gone too far and would have topay for it.
"Stand up, Tom Dixon! You've got to take a thrashing for that. There'sbeen one coming to you ever since you ran away and left a girl to standthe gaff for you. Now it's due."
"I don't want to fight," Tom whined. "I reckon I oughtn't to have saidthat, but you drove me to it. I'll apologize----"
"You'll apologize after your thrashing, not before. Stand up and takeit."
Dixon got to his feet very reluctantly. He was a larger man than hisopponent by twenty pounds--a husky, well-built fellow; but he wasentirely without the fighting edge. He knew himself already a beatenman, and he cowered in spirit before his lithe antagonist, even while hetook off his coat and squared himself for the attack. For he knew, asdid anybody who looked at him carefully, that Keller was a game man fromthe marrow out.
Men who knew him said of Larrabie Keller that he could whip his weightin wild cats. Get him started, and he was a small cyclone in action. Butnow he went at his man deliberately, with hard, straight, punishingblows.
Dixon fought back wildly, desperately, but could not land. He could seenothing but that face with the chilled-steel eyes, but when he lashedout it was never there. Again and again, through the openings he left,came a right or a left like a pile driver, with the weight of onehundred and sixty pounds of muscle and bone back of it. He tried toclinch, and was shaken off by body blows. At last he went down from anuppercut, and stayed down, breathing heavily, a badly thrashed man.
"For God's sake, let me alone! I've had enough," he groaned.
"Sure of that?"
"You've pretty near killed me."
Larrabie laughed grimly. "You didn't get half enough. I'll listen tothat apology now, my friend."
With many sighs, the prostrate man came through with it haltingly. "Ididn't mean--I hadn't ought to have said----"
Keller interrupted the tearful voice. "That'll be enough. You will knowbetter, next time, how to speak respectfully of a lady. While we're onthe subject, I don't mind telling you that nobody told me. I'm not afool, and I put two and two together. That's all. I'm not her brother.It wasn't my business to punish you because you played the coyote. Butwhen you said she lied to me, that's another matter."
For very shame, trampled in the dust as he had been, Tom could notleave the subject alone. Besides, he had to make sure that the storywould be kept secret.
"The way of it was like this: After I shot Buck Weaver, we saw theywould kill me if I was caught; so we figured I had better hunt cover.'Course I knew they wouldn't hurt a girl any," he got out sullenly.
"You don't have to explain it to me," answered the other coldly.
"You ain't expecting to tell the boys about me shooting Buck, are you?"Dixon asked presently, hating himself for it. But he was afraid of Philand his father. They had told him plainly what they thought of him forleaving the girl in the lurch. If they should discover that he had donethe shooting and left her to stand the blame for it, they would do morethan talk.
"I certainly ought to tell them. Likely they may want to see you aboutit, and hear the particulars."
"There ain't any need of them knowing. If Phyl had wanted them to know,she could have told them," said Tom sulkily. He had got carefully to hisfeet, and was nursing his face with a handkerchief.
"We'll go and break our news together," suggested the other cheerfully."You tell them you think Weaver is in her room, and I'll tell them mylittle spiel."
"There's no need telling them about me shooting Weaver, far as I cansee. I'd rather they didn't know."
"For that matter, there's no need telling them your notions about whereBuck is right now."
Tom said nothing, but his dogged look told Larrabie that he was notpersuaded.
"I tell you what we'll do," said Keller, then: "We'll unload on themboth stories, or we won't tell them either. Which shall it be?"
Dixon understood that an ultimatum was being served on him. For, thoughhis former foe was smiling, the smile was a frosty one.
"Just as you say. I reckon it's your call," he acquiesced sourly.
"No--I'm going to leave it to you," grinned Larrabie.
The man he had thrashed looked as if he would like to kill him. "We'llclose-herd both stories, then."
"Good enough! Don't let me keep you any longer, if you're in a hurry.Now we've had our little talk, I'm satisfied."
But Dixon was not satisfied. He was stiff and sore physically, butmentally he was worse. He had played a poor part, and must still do so.If he went down to the ranch with his face in that condition, he couldnot hope to escape observation. His vanity cried aloud againstsubmitting to the comment to which he would be subjected. The wholestory of the thrashing would be bound to come out.
"I can't go down looking like this," he growled.
"Do you have to go down?"
"Have to get my horse, don't I?"
"I'll bring it to you."
"And say nothing about--what has happened?"
"I don't care to talk of it any more than you do. I'll be a clam."
"All right--I'll wait here." Tom sat down on a boulder and chewedtobacco, his head sunk in his clenched palms.
Keller walked down the trail to the ranch. He was glad to go in place ofDixon; for he felt that the young man was unstable and could not bedepended upon not to fall into a rage, and, in a passionate impulse,tell all he knew. He saddled the horse, explaining casually to thewrangler that he had lost a bet with Tom, by the terms of which he hadto come down and saddle the latter's mount.
He swung to the back of the pony and cantered up the trail. But beforehe had gone a hundred yards, he was off again, examining the hoofmarksthe animal left in the sand. The left hind mark differed from the othersin that the detail was blurred and showed nothing but a single flatstamp.
This seemed to interest Keller greatly. He picked up the correspondingfoot of the cow pony, and found the cause of the irregularity to be adeformity or swelling in the ball of the foot, which apparently was nowits normal condition. The young man whistled softly to himself, swungagain to the saddle, and continued on his way.
The owner of the horse had his back turned and did not hear him comingas he padded up the soft trail. The man was testing in his handsomething that clicked.
Larrabie swung quietly to the ground, and waited. His eyes were liketempered steel.
"Here's your horse," he said. Before the other man moved, he drawled: "Ireckon I'd better tell you I'm armed, too. Don't be hasty."
Dixon turned his swollen face to him in a childish fury. He had pickedup, and was holding in his hand, the revolver Larrabie had taken fromhim and later thrown down. "Damn you, what do you mean? It's my own gun,ain't it? Mean to say I'm a murderer?"
"I happen to know you have impulses that way. I thought I'd check thisone, to save you trouble."
He was standing carelessly with his right hand resting on the mane ofthe pony; he had not even taken the precaution of lowering it to hisside, where the weapon might be supposed to lie.
For an instant Tom thought of taking a chance. The odds would be withhim, since he had the revolver ready to his fingers. But before thatindomitable ease his courage ebbed. He had not the stark fighting nerveto pit himself against such a man as this.
"I don't know as I said anything about shootin
g. Looks like you'retrying to fasten another row on me," the craven said bitterly.
"I'm content if you are; and as far as I'm concerned, this thing isbetween us two. It won't go any further."
Keller stood aside and watched Dixon mount. The hillman took his spleenout on the horse, finding that the safest vent for his anger. He jerkedits head angrily, cursed it, and drove in the spurs cruelly. With aleap, the cow pony was off. In fifty strides it reached the top of thehill and disappeared.
Keller laughed grimly, and spoke aloud to himself, after the manner ofone who lives much alone.
"There's a _nice_ young man--yellow clear through. Queer thing she couldever have fancied him. But I don't know, either. He's a right goodlooker, and has lots of cheek; that goes a long way with girls. Likelyhe was mighty careful before her. And he'd not been brought up againstthe acid test, then."
His roving eyes took in with disgust the stains of tobacco juiceplastered all over the clean surface of the rocks.
"I'll bet a doughnut she never knew he chewed. Didn't know it myselftill now. Well, a man lives and learns. Buck Weaver told me he came on adead cow of his just after the rustlers had left. Fire still smoldering.Tobacco stains still wet on the rocks. And one of the horses had a hindhoof that left a blurred trail. Surely looks like Mr. Tom Dixon isheaded for the pen mighty fast."
He turned and strolled back to the house, smiling to himself.
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