CHAPTER XXII
MULLENDORE WINS
Kate sat on the side bench listening to Mullendore's disjointedmumblings. It was now well towards midnight and she had been sitting sofor hours in the hope that he might have a lucid moment, but to thepresent her vigil had been unrewarded. Mostly his sentences were ajumble relative to trapping or sheep. Again, he lay inert with his eyesfixed upon her face in a meaningless stare.
Gusts of wind shook the wagon and swayed the kerosene lamp in itsbracket, while a pounding rain beat a tattoo on the canvas cover. Thetension was telling on Kate and a kind of nervous frenzy grew upon heras the time dragged by and she was no nearer learning what she had hopedto learn--than when she had had Mullendore brought to her camp.
She and Bowers had taken turns guarding him, and in growing despair shehad watched him weaken, for each day the chances lessened that his mindwould clear; and now Kate sat staring back into his unblinking eyesasking herself if it was possible that his crime was to be buried withhim and she must go on the rest of her life bearing the onus of hisguilt? The answer to every question she wanted to know was locked in thebreast of the emaciated man lying on the bunk.
Bowers had proved to be correct in his diagnosis. The headache,backache, stiff neck and muscles with which Mullendore's illness hadstarted were the forerunner of brown blotches, fever and janglingnerves. A virulent case of spotted fever, it was pronounced by "Doc"Fussel, who doubted that he would recover.
"I'd knock him in the head and put him to bed with a shovel, if 'twereme," Bowers had grumbled when he had helped move Pete Mullendore over toKate's headquarters.
"We've got to make him talk," Kate had replied grimly. "We've got to getthe truth somehow, Bowers, before he goes."
Kate had no prearranged plan as to the course she would pursue ifMullendore became rational, but trusted to her instinct to guide her.She was certain only of one thing--that if he had a spark of manhood inhim she would reach it somehow. Though he inspired in her a feelingwhich was akin to her repugnance for creeping things, and there weremoments when something like her childish terror of the half-breedtrapper returned, she was determined that there were no lengths to whichshe would not go, in the way of humbling her pride, to attain her end.
The clock, ticking loudly on its nail, said midnight, and stillMullendore, deaf and blind to all save the fantastic world into which hestared, mumbled incoherently.
At last, unable longer to sit quietly, Kate arose and leaned over him.
"Do you remember the Sand Coulee, Pete?--the Sand Coulee Roadhouse whereyou used to stop?" she asked softly.
His mumblings ceased as if her voice had penetrated his dulled ears.Then his lips moved:
"The Sand Coulee Roadhouse--the Sand Coulee--"
"Where you trapped. Remember the bear hides you brought in that springKatie left?"
"The pack's slippin' agin--them saddles is far and away too narrer--andthem green hides weigh like lead--" He ran his words together like aperson talking in his sleep.
"You load too heavy--you load to break a horse's back--Katie Prenticealways told you that."
A troubled frown grew between his eyes as though he was groping, vainlygroping for some elusive thought.
"Katie told me--Katie Prentice--" His voice trailed off and ended in abreath.
She made a gesture of despair, but repeated persistently:
"She told you that you ought to be ashamed to pack a horse like that.Three hundred pounds, Pete Mullendore! You haven't any feeling for ahorse."
"Killed Old Blue and left him on the trail. My, but you're gittin'growed up fast. Ain't you got a kiss for Pete?"
She leaned closer.
"Would you do something for me if I kissed you--if Katie Prentice kissedyou, Pete Mullendore?"
She repeated her words, speaking in a whisper, with carefuldistinctness.
"Will you tell Katie something that she wants to know, if she kissesyou, Pete Mullendore?"
"Goin' to take you back to the mountings next trip--learn you to tanhides good--with ashes and deer brains--all--same--squaw--make goodsquaw out o' you--Katie--break your spirit first--you brat--lick youtill I break your heart."
Katie's hands clenched.
"My mother wouldn't let me go with you!"
A shadowy cunning crossed his face.
"You'll go, when I say so. I got the whip-hand o' Jezebel."
"You're bragging, Pete Mullendore. My mother's not afraid of you."
"Jest a line on a postal--ud bring the Old Man on a special. You're moreafraid of the Old Man than you are of dyin'--ain't it the truth,Isabelle?" he mumbled.
"You're only talking to hear yourself--you wouldn't know where to write.You've forgotten the name of the town where the 'Old Man' lives. Youcan't remember at all, can you, Pete?"
A frown lined his forehead while she waited with parted lips, afraid tomove lest she start him rambling elsewhere again.
"You couldn't say the name of the town where Katie Prentice's fatherlives!"
Bending over him, rigid, tense, it seemed as though she would draw theanswer from him through sheer will power.
He rolled his head fretfully to and fro, looking into her eyes withdilated pupils that burned in yellow bloodshot eyeballs. The windrattled loose wagon bolts and scattered the ashes on the hearth in apuff, while Kate with a thumping heart waited for a response.
"_Think!_" she urged. "Say it out loud, Mullendore--the name of the townyou'd put on the postal if you were going to write to the 'Old Man.'"
His lips moved to speak, and then somewhat as if the habit of secrecyasserted itself even in his delirium, he checked himself with anexpression of obstinacy on his face.
Kate's hand crept to his shoulder and clutched it tight.
"Tell me, Pete!" She shook him hard. "Say it--quick!"
He muttered thickly:
"What for?"
"You're a liar, Pete Mullendore!" she taunted. "You don't know. Youhaven't any idea where Katie Prentice's father lives!"
The gibe brought no response; yet slowly, so gradually that it was notpossible to tell when it began, a look that was wholly rational cameinto his eyes. He blinked, touched his dry lips with his dry tongue and,turning his head, recognized her without surprise.
"Git me a drink."
She held a dipper to his lips.
He fixed his eyes upon her face.
"I been sick?"
"Spotted fever."
He stirred slightly.
"What's this?" A weak astonishment was in his voice as he felt a ropeacross his arms and chest.
"To keep you in bed."
"I been--loony?"
She nodded.
He looked at her quizzically.
"Emptied my sack?"
"You've talked."
He lay motionless, staring at her fixedly; then, as if arriving at aconclusion:
"Guess I didn't say much."
"You said plenty," significantly.
"But not enough, eh?" he jeered.
She regarded him silently.
"Where am I, anyhow?"
"In my camp."
"Oh." He considered a moment, then mocked, "Got religion?"
"Not yet," curtly.
"Jest wanted me close? Ol' friends are the best friends--ain't they?" Hegrinned weakly at her.
"Pete," slowly, "there are some questions I want to ask you."
"Thought it was about time for the pumps to start. What do you want toknow?"
Kate's heart leaped. She endeavored to steady her voice, to keep out ofher face the eagerness with which she trembled, as she replied:
"I want to know who my father is--where he is, if he's alive. Oh, Pete!"Her hands came together beseechingly, "Tell me that--I beg of you tellme about him."
Satisfaction glistened in his eyes.
"I thought that would be it! The only civil words I ever got out of youwhen you was a kid was when you hoped to make me loosen up and talk toyou about him." Then he asked again with an express
ion she could notinterpret, "You're sure you'd ruther I give up that than anything elseon earth?"
"Yes, Pete!" she gulped. "It means so much to me."
"I guess yes. The ground wouldn't be good enough for your feet if the'Old Man' had you."
"Is that the truth? He'd care for me like that? Oh, Pete!"
"Care? He'd worship you. Them Prouty folks would bite themselves if theycould see your Old Man," he chuckled faintly.
"He is still living, then? Oh, Pete!" She extended two pleading handsimpulsively, "Don't make me wait!"
Something other than fever glittered in his eyes, and there was morethan satisfaction in his voice when he said:
"That's somethin' like it--somethin'--not quite! It's sweeter nor musicto hear you beg. But, damn you, you ain't humble enough yet!"
"What do you want me to do?" she cried. "I'll--I'll get down on myknees, if only you'll tell me what I want to know!"
"That's it!" in shrill excitement. "Get down on your knees. I ain'tforgot that you called me a 'nigger' once, and hit me with a quirt.It'll kinda wipe it out to see you crawlin' to Pete, that you alwaystreated like dirt. Git down on your knees and beg, if you want me totalk!"
She sank to the floor of the wagon without a word.
He looked at her queerly as she knelt. There was intense gratificationin his voice, "You do want to know, when you'll swaller that."
"Yes, Pete," humbly, "I do."
His thin hands lay inert upon the soogan. His head turned weakly whilehe kept his eyes upon her as though enjoying the situation to theutmost. There was a silence in which he seemed both to be gatheringstrength and considering how to begin.
"He's the kind of a feller--your Old Man--that don't have to holler hishead off to git himself heard. They'd listen in any man's country whenhe talks. He don't talk much, but what he says goes--the kind that canalways finish what he starts.
"He's six feet, and there wasn't any man in the country could handle himin those days. I've seen him throw a three-year-ol' steer like you'dslap over a kid. He was easy and quiet, commonly, like one of them stilldeep rivers that slip along peaceful till somethin' gits in its way. Thepatientest feller I ever see with dumb brutes, and a patience thatwasn't hardly human, even with folks. But when he did break loose--well,them that thought he was 'harmless' and went too far on account of itnever made the same mistake twice."
He continued with evident relish:
"That's where he fooled her--Isabelle--she didn't read him right. Shethought he was 'soft' because she had her way with him."
"They were married, Pete?"
"Married, right enough--he never thought any other way about her. Shewas all-the-same angel to him," he grinned. "She never was straight--weall knowed that but him, but she was slick, and she was swingin' herthrowrope for him in about a week after they brought her in from theMiddle West to teach the school in that district. Anybody that said aword ag'in' her to him would have gone to the hospital. So he went aheadand married her--while she laffed at him to his own hired men.
"If he'd worked her over with a quirt about onct a month, instead ofwonderin' what he could do for her next, he might have had her yet.
"If he made a door-mat out of hisself before, it was worse after youcome. He was the greatest hand for little things that ever I see--colts,kittens, calves, puppies and a baby! He walked the floor carrying you ona pillow for fear you'd break.
"It was too slow for Isabelle--that life--and only one man to fetch andcarry for her. We used to make bets among ourselves as to how long'twould last, and the short-time man won out. She liked 'em 'tough,' shesaid--no white-collared gents for her; and she got what she was lookin'for when she throwed in with Freighter Sam that hauled supplies from therailroad to the ranch.
"They skipped out between daylight and dark and made as clean a getawayas ever was pulled off. But where she made her big mistake was takin'you along. If it hadn't been for that, he wouldn't a-walked a half mileto bring her back. Twenty-four hours put ten years on him, and he neversqueaked. But if he'd caught that freighter he'd took him by the heelsand swung him like you'd knock a rabbit's brains out agin a post.
"He went over the country with a fine-tooth comb, hopin' to git youback. A couple of times he almost closed in on 'em, but they managed togive him the slip and headed north while mostly he hunted south andwest.
"You was well growed before I run into 'em. Freighter Sam used to bangher head agin the door jamb about twict a week, and they got along gooduntil he fell for a hasher in an eatin' house and quit Isabelle cold.She hit bottom pretty pronto after that." Mullendore stopped.
"But my father, Pete;--tell me more about him!"
He eyed her with a quizzical and appraising look before he replied:
"You favor the Old Man as much as if you was made out of the mud thatwas left when they was done workin' on him. Your eyes, your mouth, yourchin--the way you walk and stand--the easy style you set a horse. As thesayin' is, 'You're the spit out of his mouth.' God A'mighty! Wouldn't hespile you if you was with him!"
"But you don't tell me where he is, Pete!"
He ignored the interruption and said with slow malice, watching herface:
"I've often thought what a shame it was that you two never gottogether--a hankerin' for each other so."
Something in his tone struck terror to her heart.
"But you're going to tell me, Pete? You are! You are!" She crawledcloser to the bunk, on her knees.
A passionate satisfaction glittered in his eyes.
"Yes! it's a plumb pity that you and him never happened to meet up."
There was cold cruelty in his tantalizing voice.
"You mean--you mean--" she stammered with colorless lips--"that--thatyou're only tormenting me again--you don't intend--"
"That depends." His pupils dilated, his white teeth gleamed.
"But you promised, Pete! Haven't you any honor--not a speck?"
"I git what I want any way I can git it. That's me--Mullendore."
"Tell me what you want! Is it money, Pete?"
"Money! Hell! What's money good for to me? Money's only to blow afteryou've got enough to eat. What do you spose I want? I want you!"
"What do you mean?"
"Just that." An oath came between his clenched teeth. "I'm stuck on you!I want you so I hate you, if you can understand that--and always have.I'd like to take you off like a dog packs a bone away for himself. I'vedealt you and your sheep all the misery I could, because every step youtook up was just so far from me. What I've done," savagely, "is nothin'to what I'll do when I git out of this, if you don't say yes."
Kate's face, that had gone scarlet, was a grayish white as she got upslowly from her knees.
Her breathing was labored as she demanded:
"You--mean--that--you'll--not--tell me anything more unless I do whatyou ask?"
"You got it right."
Kate's nerves and self-control gave way as a taut string snaps. In thecenter of a black disc she saw only the mocking eyes and evil face ofMullendore.
"I'm going to kill you, Pete! I'm--going--to choke you--to death!You--shan't torment me--any more!"
Her strong hands were close to his throat while he shrank from the whitefury in her face. Suddenly her arms dropped to her sides. Such a feelingof physical repulsion swept over her that she could not touch him evenin her rage.
"Lost your nerve?" he mocked. "Old Pete wins again, eh, Kate?"
She did not answer but stepped out on the wagon tongue that the coolrain might patter in her face. Her knees were shaking beneath her andshe felt nauseated--sick with a feeling of absolute defeat.
The Fighting Shepherdess Page 22