Hidden Gold

by Wilder Anthony

  CHAPTER XXI

  WITH BARE HANDS AT LAST

  In after years, when Wade tried to recall that mad ride, he found itonly a vague blur upon his memory. He was conscious only of the factthat he had traveled at a speed which, in saner moments, he would haveconsidered suicidal. Urging the big black over the rougher ground of thehigher levels, he rode like a maniac, without regard for his own lifeand without mercy for the magnificent horse beneath him. Time and againthe gelding stumbled on the rocky footing and almost fell, only to beurged to further efforts by his rider.

  Five miles out of Crawling Water, the cattleman thought of a short-cut,through a little used timber-trail, which would save him several miles;but it was crossed by a ravine cut by a winter avalanche like the slashof a gigantic knife. To descend into this ravine and ascend on thefarther side would be a tortuous process, which would take more timethan to continue by the longer route. But if the gelding could jump thenarrow cleft in the trail, the distance saved might decide the issuewith Moran. On the other hand, if the leap of the horse was short,practically certain death must befall both animal and rider.

  Wade decided, in his reckless mood, that the chance was worth taking andhe rode the black to the edge of the cleft, where trembling withnervousness, the animal refused the leap. Cursing furiously, Wade drovehim at it again, and again the gelding balked. But at the third try herose to the prick of the spurs and took the jump. The horse's forelegscaught in perilous footing and the struggling, slipping animal snortedin terror, but the ranchman had allowed the impulse of the leap to carryhim clear of his saddle. Quickly twisting the bridle reins around onewrist, he seized the horse's mane with his free hand, and helped by theviolent efforts the animal made, succeeded in pulling him up to a firmerfooting. For some minutes afterward he had to soothe the splendid brute,patting him and rubbing his trembling legs; then, with a grim expressionof triumph on his face, he resumed his journey. The chance had won!

  There was less likelihood now that he would be too late, although thethought that he might be so still made him urge the horse to the limitof his speed. He kept his eyes fastened on a notch in the hills, whichmarked the location of the ranch. He rode out on the clearing which heldthe house just in time to hear Dorothy's second scream, and plunged outof his saddle, pulling his rifle from the scabbard beneath his right legas he did so. From the kitchen chimney a faint wisp of smoke curledupward through the still air; a rooster crowed loudly behind the barnand a colt nickered in the corral. Everywhere was the atmosphere ofpeace, save for that scream followed now by another choking cry, and abarking collie, which danced about before the closed door of the housein the stiff-legged manner of his breed, when excited.

  Wade burst into the house like a madman and on into the back room, whereMoran, his face horribly distorted by passion, was forcing the girlslowly to the floor. But for the protection which her supple bodyafforded him, the ranchman would have shot him in his tracks.

  "Gordon!" The overwhelming relief in her face, burned into Wade's soullike a branding-iron. "Don't shoot! Oh, thank God!" She fell backagainst the wall, as Moran released her, and began to cry softly andbrokenly.

  Snarling with baffled rage and desire, Moran whirled to meet thecattleman. His hand darted, with the swift drop of the practised gunman, toward his hip pocket; but too late, for he was already covered bythe short-barreled rifle in Wade's hands. More menacing even than theyawning muzzle was the expression of terrible fury in the ranchman'sface. For a space of almost a minute, broken only by the tense breathingof the two men and a strangled sob from Dorothy, Moran's fate hung onthe movement of an eyelash. Then Wade slowly relaxed the tension of histrigger finger. Shooting would be too quick to satisfy him!

  Moran breathed more freely at this sign, for he knew that he had beennearer death than ever before in all his adventurous life, and the swayof his passion had weakened his nervous control. Courage came back tohim rapidly, for with all his faults he was, physically at least, nocoward. He took hope from his belief that Wade would not now shoot himdown.

  "Well, why don't you pull that trigger?" His tone was almost as cool asthough he had asked a commonplace question.

  "I've heard," said Wade slowly, "that you call yourself a goodrough-and-tumble fighter; that you've never met your match. I want toget my--hands--on you!"

  Moran's features relaxed into a grin; it seemed strange to him that anyman could be such a fool. It was true that he had never met his match inrough fighting, and he did not expect to meet it now.

  "You're a bigger man than I am," the cattleman went on. "I'll take achance on you being a better one. I believe that I can break you withmy--hands--like the rotten thing you are." He paid no heed to Dorothy'stearful protests. "Will you meet me in a fair fight?" Wade's facesuddenly contorted with fury. "If you won't...." His grip on the rifletightened significantly.

  "No, Gordon, no! Oh, please, not that!" the girl pleaded.

  "Sure, I'll fight," Moran answered, a gleam of joy in his eyes. Hegloried in the tremendous strength of a body which had brought himvictory in half a hundred barroom combats. He felt that no one lived,outside the prize-ring, who could beat him on an even footing.

  "Take his gun away from him," Wade told Dorothy. "It's the second timeyou've disarmed him, but it'll be the last. He'll never carry a gunagain. Take it!" he repeated, commandingly, and when she obeyed, added:"Toss it on the bed." He stood his rifle in a corner near the door.

  "You're a fool, Wade," Moran taunted as they came together. "I'm goingto kill you first and then I'll take my will of her." But nothing hecould say could add to Wade's fury, already at its coldest, most deadlypoint.

  He answered by a jab at the big man's mouth, which Moran cleverlyducked; for so heavy a man, he was wonderfully quick on his feet. Heducked and parried three other such vicious leads, when, by a cleverfeint, Wade drew an opening and succeeded in landing his right fist,hard as a bag of stones, full in the pit of his adversary's stomach. Itwas an awful blow, one that would have killed a smaller man; but Moranmerely grunted and broke ground for an instant. Then he landed aswinging left on the side of Wade's head which opened a cut over his earand nearly floored him.

  Back and forth across the little room they fought, with little advantageeither way, while Dorothy watched them breathlessly. Like gladiatorsthey circled each other, coming together at intervals with the shock oftwo enraged bulls. Both were soon bleeding from small cuts on the headand face, but neither was aware of the fact. Occasionally they collidedwith articles of furniture, which were overturned and swept asidealmost unnoticed; while Dorothy was forced to step quickly from onepoint to another to keep clear of them. Several times Wade told her toleave the room, but she would not go.

  Finally the ranchman's superior condition began to tell in his favor. Atthe end of ten minutes' fighting, the agent's breathing became laboredand his movements slower. Wade, still darting about quickly and lightly,had no longer much difficulty in punishing the brutal, leering facebefore him. Time after time he drove his fists mercilessly into Moran'sfeatures until they lost the appearance of anything human and began toresemble raw meat.

  But suddenly, in attempting to sidestep one of his opponent's bull-likerushes, the cattleman slipped in a puddle of blood and half fell, andbefore he could regain his footing Moran had seized him. Then Wadelearned how the big man's reputation for tremendous strength had beenwon. Cruelly, implacably, those great, ape-like arms entwined about theranchman's body until the very breath was crushed out of it. Resortingto every trick he knew, he strove desperately to free himself, but allthe strength in his own muscular body was powerless to break the other'shold. With a crash that shook the house to its foundation, they fell tothe floor, and by a lucky twist Wade managed to fall on top.

  The force of the fall had shaken Moran somewhat, and the cattleman, bycalling on the whole of his strength, succeeded in tearing his armsfree. Plunging his fingers into the thick, mottled throat, he squeezedsteadily until Moran's struggles grew weaker and weaker. Fi
nally theyceased entirely and the huge, heavy body lay still.

  Wade stumbled to his feet and staggered across the room.

  "It's all right," he said thickly, and added at sight of Dorothy's wide,terror-stricken eyes: "Frightened you, didn't we? Guess I should haveshot him and made a clean job of it; but I couldn't, somehow."

  "Oh, he's hurt you terribly!" the girl cried, bursting into fresh tears.

  Wade laughed and tenderly put his arms around her, for weak though hewas and with nerves twitching like those of a recently sobered drunkard,he was not too weak or sick to enjoy the privilege of soothing her. Thefeel of her in his arms was wonderful happiness to him and her tears forhim seemed far more precious than all the gold on his land. He had justlifted her up on the sill of the open window, thinking that the freshair might steady her, when she looked over his shoulder and saw Moran,who had regained consciousness, in the act of reaching for his revolver,which lay on the bed where she had tossed it.

  "Oh, see what he's doing! Look out!"

  Her cry of warning came just too late. There was a flash and roar, and ahot flame seemed to pass through Wade's body. Half turning about, heclutched at the air, and then pitched forward to the floor, where he laystill. Flourishing the gun, Moran got unsteadily to his feet and turneda ghastly, dappled visage to the girl, who, stunned and helpless, wasgazing at him in wide-eyed horror. But she had nothing more to fearfrom him, for now that he believed Wade dead, the agent was tooovershadowed by his crime to think of perpetrating another and worseone. He had already wasted too much valuable time. He must get away.

  "I got him," he croaked, in a terrible voice. "I got him like I said Iwould, damn him!" With a blood-curdling attempt at a laugh, he staggeredout of the house into the sunshine.

  For a moment Dorothy stared woodenly through the empty doorway; then,with a choking sob, she bent over the man at her feet. She shook himgently and begged him to speak to her, but she could get no response andunder her exploring fingers his heart apparently had ceased to beat. Fora few seconds she stared at the widening patch of red on his torn shirt;then her gaze shifted and focused on the rifle in the corner by thedoor. As she looked at the weapon her wide, fear-struck eyes narrowedand hardened with a sudden resolve. Seizing the gun, she cocked it andstepped into the doorway.

  Moran was walking unsteadily toward the place where he had tied hishorse. He was tacking from side to side like a drunken man, waving hisarms about and talking to himself. Bringing the rifle to her shoulder,Dorothy steadied herself against the door-frame and took long, carefulaim. As she sighted the weapon her usually pretty face, now scratchedand streaked with blood from her struggles with the agent, wore theexpression of one who has seen all that is dear in life slip away fromher. At the sharp crack of the rifle Moran stopped short and aconvulsive shudder racked his big body from head to foot. After a singlestep forward he crumpled up on the ground. For several moments his armsand legs twitched spasmodically; then he lay still.

  Horrified by what she had done, now that it was accomplished Dorothystepped backward into the house and stood the rifle in its formerposition near the door, when a low moan from behind made her turnhurriedly. Wade was not dead then! She hastily tore his shirt from overthe wound, her lips twisted in a low cry of pity as she did so. To hertender gaze, the hurt seemed a frightful one. Dreading lest he shouldregain consciousness and find himself alone, she decided to remain withhim, instead of going for the help she craved; most likely she would beunable to find her mother and Barker, anyway. She stopped the flow ofblood as best she could and put a pillow under the ranchman's head,kissing him afterward. Then for an interval she sat still. She neverknew for how long.

  Santry reached the house just as Mrs. Purnell and Barker returned withtheir berries, and the three found the girl bathing the wounded man'sface, and crying over him.

  "Boy, boy!" Santry sobbed, dropping on his knees before the unconsciousfigure. "Who done this to you?"

  Dorothy weepingly explained, and when she told of her own part inshooting Moran the old fellow patted her approvingly on the back. "Goodgirl," he said hoarsely. "But I wish that job had been left for me."

  "Merciful Heavens!" cried Mrs. Purnell. "I shall never get over this."With trembling hands she took the basin and towel from her daughter andset them one side, then she gently urged the girl to her feet.

  "You!" said Santry, so ferociously to Barker that the man winced inspite of himself. "Help me to lay him on the bed, so's to do itgentle-like."

  Dorothy, who felt certain that Wade was mortally hurt, struggleddesperately against the feeling of faintness which was creeping overher. She caught at a chair for support, and her mother caught her in herarms.

  "My poor dear, you're worn out. Go lie down. Oh, when I think...!"

  "Don't talk to me, mother!" Dorothy waved her back, for the presenceclose to her of another person could only mean her collapse. "I'm allright. I'm of no consequence now. He needs a doctor," she added, turningto Santry, who stood near the bed bowed with grief. He, too, thoughtthat Wade would never be himself again.

  "I'll go," said Barker, eager to do something to atone for his absenceat the critical moment, but Santry rounded upon him in a rage.

  "You--you skunk!" he snarled, and gestured fiercely toward the bed. "Heleft you here to look after things and you--you went _berry pickin'_!"Barker seemed so crushed by the scorn in the old man's words thatDorothy's sympathy was stirred.

  "It wasn't Barker's fault," she said quickly. "There seemed to be nodanger. Gordon said so himself. But one of you go, immediately, for thedoctor."

  "I'll go," Santry responded and hurried from the room, followed byBarker, thoroughly wretched.

  Dorothy went to the bedside and looked down into Wade's white face; thenshe knelt there on the floor and said a little prayer to the God of allmen to be merciful to hers.

  "Maybe if I made you a cup of tea?" Mrs. Purnell anxiously suggested,but the girl shook her head listlessly. Tea was the elder woman'spanacea for all ills.

  "Don't bother me, mother, please. I--I've just been through a good deal.I can't talk--really, I can't."

  Mrs. Purnell, subsiding at last, thereafter held her peace, and Dorothysat down by the bed to be instantly ready to do anything that could bedone. She had sat thus, almost without stirring, for nearly an hour,when Wade moved slightly and opened his eyes.

  "What is it?" She bent over him instantly, forgetting everything exceptthat he was awake and that he seemed to know her.

  "Is it you, Dorothy?" He groped weakly for her fingers.

  "Yes, dear," she answered, gulping back the sob in her throat. "Is thereanything you want? What can I do for you?"

  He smiled feebly and shook his head.

  "It's all right, if it's you," he said faintly, after a moment. "You'reall right--always!"

  CHAPTER XXII

  CHURCH-GOING CLOTHES

  After his few words to Dorothy the wounded man lapsed again into coma,in which condition he was found by the physician, who returned withSantry from Crawling Water. During the long intervening time the girlhad not moved from the bedside, though the strain of her own terribleexperience with Moran was making itself felt in exhaustive fatigue.

  "Go and rest yourself," Santry urged. "It's my turn now."

  "I'm not tired," she declared, trying to smile into the keen eyes of thedoctor, who had heard the facts from the old plainsman as they rode outfrom town.

  Wade lay with his eyes closed, apparently in profound stupor, but gavesigns of consciousness when Dr. Catlin gently shook him. Dorothy feltthat he should not be disturbed, although she kept her own counsel, butCatlin wanted to see if he could arouse his patient at all, for theextent of the injury caused by the bullet, which had entered the back inthe vicinity of the spinal cord, could be gauged largely by the amountof sensibility remaining. The wounded man was finally induced to answermonosyllabically the questions put to him, but he did so with surlyimpatience. The physician next made a thorough examination, for whichhe was
better fitted than many a fashionable city practitioner, byreason of his familiarity with wounds of all kinds.

  When he arose Santry, who had watched him as a cat watches a mouse,forced himself to speak, for his throat and mouth were dry as a bone.

  "Well, Doc, how about it?"

  "Oh, he won't die this time; but he may lie there for some weeks. So faras I can tell the bullet just grazed the spinal cord, and it's the shockof that which makes him so quiet now. A fraction of an inch closer andhe would have died or been paralyzed, a cripple, probably for life. Atis it, however, barring the possibility of infection, he should pullthrough. The bullet passed straight through the body without injury toany vital organ, and there is no indication of severe internalhemorrhage."

  Santry moistened his lips with his tongue and shook his head heavily.

  "What gets me," he burst out, "is that Gawd A'mighty could 'a' let askunk like Moran do a thing like that! And then"--his voice swelled asthough the words he was about to utter exceeded the first--"and then letthe varmint get away from me!"

  Dr. Catlin nodded sympathy with the statement and turned to Dorothy. Shehad been anxiously searching his face to discover if he were encouragingthem unduly, and when she felt that he was not stretching the facts atremendous weight was lifted from her mind.

  "You are going to stay here?" he asked.

  "Yes; oh, yes!" she answered.

  "That's good." He opened his medicine case and mixed a simpleantipyretic. "I'll explain what you're to do then. After that you betterlay down and try to sleep. Wade won't need much for some days, exceptgood nursing."

  "I'm not tired," she insisted, at which he smiled shrewdly.

  "I'm not asking you if you're tired. I'm telling you that you are. Thosenerves of yours are jumping now. You've got our patient to considerfirst, and you can't look after him unless you keep well yourself. I'mgoing to mix something up for you in a few minutes and then you're goingto rest. A nurse must obey orders."

  He explained to her what she was to do for the patient and then gave hersomething to offset the effects of her own nervous shock. Thencounseling them not to worry too much, for there would be no fatalresult if his directions were followed, the physician mounted his horseand rode back to town. Such journeys were all in the day's work to him,and poor pay they often brought him, except as love of his fellow-menrewarded his spirit.

  During the long days and nights that followed Dorothy scarcely leftWade's bedside, for to her mother now fell the burdens of the ranchhousehold. From feeling that she never would be equal to the task ofcaring for so many people, Mrs. Purnell came to find her health greatlyimproved by her duties, which left her no opportunity for morbidintrospection.

  Santry, too, was in almost constant attendance upon the sick man, andwas as tender and solicitous in his ministrations as Dorothy herself. Heate little and slept less, relieving his feelings by oaths whisperedinto his mustache. He made the ranch hands move about their variousduties as quietly as mice. Dorothy grew to be genuinely fond of him,because of their common bond of sympathy with Wade. Frequently they sattogether in the sickroom reading the newspapers, which came out fromtown each day. On one such occasion, when Santry had twisted his mouthawry in a determined effort to fold the paper he was reading withoutpermitting a single crackle, she softly laughed at him.

  "You needn't be so careful. I don't think it would disturb him."

  The old fellow sagely shook his head.

  "Just the same, I ain't takin' no chances," he said.

  A moment afterward he tiptoed over to her, grinning from ear to ear, andwith a clumsy finger pointed out the item he had been reading. Anexpression of pleased surprise flooded her face when she read it; theylaughed softly together; and, finding that he was through with thepaper, she put it away in a bureau drawer, meaning to show that itemsome day to Gordon.

  Under the care of Dr. Catlin who rode out from Crawling Water each day,and even more because of Dorothy's careful nursing, the wounded man wasat last brought beyond the danger point and started on the road tohealth. He was very weak and very pale, but the one danger that Catlinhad feared and kept mostly to himself, the danger of blood-poisoning,was now definitely past, and the patient's physical condition slowlybrought about a thorough and complete recovery.

  "Some of it you owe to yourself, Wade, as the reward of decent living,and some of it you owe to the Lord," Catlin told him smilingly. "Butmost of it you owe to this little girl here." He patted Dorothy on theshoulder and would not permit her to shirk his praise. "She's been yournurse, and I can tell you it isn't a pleasant job for a woman, tending awound like yours."

  "Is that so?" said Dorothy, mischievously. "That's as much as you knowabout it. It's been one of the most delightful jobs I ever had."

  "She's a wonderful girl," said Wade, with a tender look at her, afterthey had laughed at her outburst.

  "Oh, you just think that because I'm the only girl around here," sheblushingly declared, and the physician kept right on laughing.

  "There _was_ another girl here once," said Wade. "Or at least she actedsomewhat differently from anything you've done lately."

  He was well enough now to receive his friends on brief visits, andTrowbridge was the first to drop in. Dorothy did not mind having Lem,but she was not sure she enjoyed having the others, for she had foundthe close association with Gordon so very sweet; but she told herselfthat she must not be foolish, and she welcomed all who came. Naturallyso pretty a girl doing the honors of the house so well, and so closelylinked with the fortunes of the host, gave rise to the usual deductions.Many were the quiet jokes which the cattlemen passed amongst themselvesover the approaching wedding, and the festival they would make of theoccasion.

  "Well, good-by, Miss Purnell," said Trowbridge one day, smiling and yetwith a curiously pathetic droop to his mouth.

  "_Miss_ Purnell?" Dorothy exclaimed, in the act of shaking hands.

  "That's what I said." He nodded wisely. "Good-by, Miss Purnell."Refusing to be envious of his friend's good fortune, he laughed cheerilyand was gone before she saw through his little joke.

  The next afternoon she was reading to Gordon when the far-away look inhis eyes told her that he was not listening. She stopped, wondering whathe could be dreaming about, and missing the sound of her voice, helooked toward her.

  "You weren't even listening," she chided, smilingly.

  "I was thinking that I've never had a chance to get into thosechurch-going clothes," he said, with a return of the old whimsical mood."But I look pretty clean, don't I?"

  "Yes," she answered, suddenly shy.

  "Hair brushed? Tie right? Boots clean?"

  To each question she had nodded assent. Her heart was beating very fastand the rosy color was mounting to the roots of her hair, but sherefused to lower her eyes in panic. She looked him straight in the facewith a sweet, tender, cool gaze.

  "Yes," she said again.

  "Well, then, give me your hand." He hitched his rocker forward so as toget closer to her, and took both her hands in this. "Dorothy, I've gotsomething to tell you. I guess you know what it is." Her eyes suddenlybecame a little moist as she playfully shook her head. "Oh, yes, you do,dear, but I've got to say it, haven't I? I love you, Dorothy. It sort ofchokes me to say it because my heart's so full."

  "Mine is, too," she whispered, a queer catch in her voice. "But are yousure you love me?"

  "Sure? Why, that other was only...."

  Withdrawing her hands from his, she laid her fingers for an instant onhis lips.

  "I want to show you something," she said.

  She went to the bureau, and taking out the paper which she had hiddenthere, brought it to him. It was a moment before she could find the itemagain, then she pointed it out. They read it together, as she and Santryhad done the first time she had seen it. The item was an announcementfrom the Rexhills of the engagement of their daughter Helen to Mr.Maxwell Frayne.

  Dorothy watched Wade's face eagerly as he read, and she was entirelycontent wh
en she saw there no trace of his former sentiment for HelenRexhill. He expressed genuine pleasure that Helen was not to be carrieddown with her father's ruin, but the girl knew that otherwise the newshad left him untouched. She had always thought that this would be so,but she was comforted to be assured of it.

  "Why, that was only an infatuation," he explained. "Now I'm really inlove. Thank Heaven, I...." When she looked at him there was a light inher glorious violet-shaded eyes that fairly took his breath away.

  "Hush, dear," she said softly. "You've said enough. I understand, andI'm so...."

  The rest was lost to the world as his arms went around her.

  TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

  Minor changes have been made to make spelling and punctuation consistentthrough the text; otherwise, every effort has been made to be true tothe original book.