Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “Where’s Lucy?” asked Lincoln, with an effort at casualness.

  “She wouldn’t come. She’s been very nervous since yesterday. Poor kid, she seems to think all this was on her account.”

  “So it was, wasn’t it?”

  “Not on your life, darling.”

  “Did Lucy see me — the meeting?”

  “No, I’m glad to say she didn’t. But I did.... I got the thrill of my life until I saw you were hit and staggered and almost fell. I almost died then, Linc! You see, I knew that Miller was quick as lightning and a dead shot and I thought he had outdrawn you in spite of the fury I aroused in him before he went out to meet you. Oh, it was terrible! I never suffered like that before, Lincoln, though I’m afraid you must think me hard and unfeeling.”

  “Well, Kit, seein’ three’s a crowd and thet Bradway doesn’t need me now, I’ll take myself off,” Haught broke in, gazing down upon his prisoner, and as he looked, he winked one of his shrewd gray Texas eyes, in a message of understanding and warning. Then he went out, his heavy foot treads ringing on the board floor.

  To Linc’s amazement and dismay, he suddenly felt his companion pressing against him. Her arms slipped about his neck, and her warm fragrant lips were pressed to his own. Lincoln felt her full breast throb against his. She was quivering slightly.

  “Kit, this — is — very sweet and sympathetic of you,” labored Lincoln awkwardly, “but you’re rather heavy — leaning on me.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Linc,” she cried. “That was a moment when I seemed fully to lose that awful fear that nailed me yesterday and which I could not get rid of.... But sympathetic! You’ve got me wrong, cowboy. What I feel is ten million times more wonderful than sympathy. When you get a little better — well, never mind.”

  “How long is this sheriff going to keep me here?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Kit hesitatingly. “A week perhaps.”

  “But why?” asked Lincoln.

  “He said something about the magistrate having gone to Salt Lake. He has to make some pretense of enforcing the law.”

  “Well, I’d just as soon be here as anywhere so long as I have to take it easy. I suppose you and Lucy will be going back to the ranch?”

  “No. My cattle deal has missed fire. Besides I wouldn’t think of going until you are out.... Linc, hasn’t it occurred to you yet that I might have some very serious ideas in my head?”

  “I daresay,” replied Lincoln constrainedly.

  “What do you think is behind all this — this interest I’ve taken in you?”

  “I hadn’t thought very much about it. You have the reputation of showing interest in — cowboys, especially new ones to the country.”

  “That ought to prove to you how really sincere I am now,” replied Kit broodingly. “Did — did you hear some talk about me in South Pass?”

  “It would be rather hard to avoid hearing things about you.... You’re the main topic of conversation on that range.”

  The woman’s face flared red and her eyes blazed, but she kept control of her temper.

  “A good deal of it is true, Lincoln,” she finally said soberly. “How much depends on what has been said! When I get hold of myself I will confess more than I ever have to anyone in my whole life before.... Lincoln, this is my confession — there’s something in you I’m not used to finding in men. I never realized it about any other man that I took a liking to... perhaps I’m letting my heart run away with my head.”

  “Kit, you couldn’t expect me to believe your — well — feeling for me is any different from — well, from what you felt for all the others?”

  She bowed her head for a moment. Then she whispered:

  “Linc, with all my heart I want you to believe that.”

  “Well, I don’t,” replied Lincoln bluntly. “I don’t want to brag, Kit, but you may find me a little different than the others.”

  “That’s just it, I’m afraid. You do have more education than most men I’ve known — certainly you must come from a good family. But above all, you’re clean and fine — I sensed that in you when I first met you. Cowboys live hard lives, and when off duty many of them get drunk, bat around, go for dance-hall girls and all the slatterns that infest these towns. But you’re not that kind of a cowboy, Lincoln. Perhaps that has something to do with my sudden — liking for you. I don’t know. But I’m inclined to think that if you had been the toughest cowboy on the range, I would have fallen for you just the same.”

  Lincoln laughed shortly. “Well, I hope, my dear, that you get over it pronto. As a matter of fact, Kit, you’ll have to!”

  She fastened dark unfathomable eyes upon him. She seemed suddenly to sense that here was a will as strong or even stronger than her own. The flush left her cheek and she grew pale; her eyes burned darker by contrast. She bit her lip.

  “Lincoln, I shall have to convince you of many things. I am willing to make many sacrifices. I am willing, too, to fight for the man I love,” she cried with a proud look.

  “Kit, you surprise me each time we meet. I don’t know what’s in your mind — I don’t suppose anyone could ever divine that, but there are reasons why such confidences as you are making should not go any further.”

  “Lincoln! Why — ?” she exclaimed.

  The wounded man silently shook his head.

  “You don’t care anything about me — ?” she cried in amazement.

  “I couldn’t say that,” replied Lincoln gravely. “Any man you interest yourself in would be bound to care in some way. You are a beautiful, dangerous, mysterious woman. Does that mean anything to you?”

  “I take it as a compliment,” she replied, smiling. “If I’m mysterious dangerous, beautiful already, I don’t see that I have much to worry about. All that I have to do is turn my back on the past.”

  “Kit, either I’m loco or you are,” he retorted, trying to keep his tone light. “I think we’ve said enough about it today.”

  “I still want to talk to you — about your meeting with Miller.”

  “I’d rather not say anything about that either,” replied Lincoln coldly.

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to,” she said, simply. “You have something on your mind. I want it cleared away. Do you realize that but for me — for my upsetting Miller, it would have been one of those even breaks in which both men die?”

  “That has crossed my mind,” said Lincoln. “You riled him, unnerved him, made him meet me without that cold nerve which he surely would have had. But I said something to him that upset him even more. Wouldn’t you like to know what it was?”

  Kit looked startled for a moment. Then she went on: “I tried to persuade him to avoid meeting you. Of course, that was a pretense. I told him you would beat him to a gun. I lied to him about you and Lucy. And I sent him out there to ask you something that he had to ask before he killed you.”

  “You wanted Miller killed, didn’t you?” he queried.

  “Yes, I did. He was a bad hombre. He was driving Lucy crazy. He wanted money out of me. But these things weren’t important, Lincoln. I wanted you to kill him so that he couldn’t kill you.” She was earnest and persuasive, but he divined that she was not telling the whole truth. Something dark and furtive hid behind her show of tremendous sincerity.

  “Was he trying to blackmail you?”

  “Yes, but it was a bluff. Bad as Hank was, he wouldn’t say anything against me — even if he knew it.” An incredible egotism and faith in her own powers were manifest in her tone and in her words.

  “Miller asked where I was from, down there in the street.”

  “Yes, he wanted to know who the hell you were and I didn’t tell him. But did you tell him?”

  “I wracked my brain for something that would give me the edge.... I told him — that I was Lucy Bandon’s husband!”

  Kit Bandon’s icy little laugh rang out, but there was no amusement in the laugh. “Well, if you aren’t an inventive cuss. So that was it!... I know just when yo
u said that. What did he say?”

  “Well,” replied Linc, “he seemed to take it rather hard.”

  “Then what did you say?” burst out Kit, in a voice that was husky with eagerness.

  “Kit, my gun did the rest of the talking,” he answered, simply.

  She arose and paced the floor, fighting for command of her feelings yet for some reason apparently immeasurably relieved. Lincoln was relieved also. He had deliberately exaggerated Miller’s reaction to his revelation about Lucy because he did not want Kit to know what that last terrible exchange of words between him and Miller had been about.

  Presently Kit turned away from the window, once more composed although her dark eyes still revealed her deep emotion.

  “Lincoln, I’m glad it’s all over now and that I understand. I must say you are as clever with your wits as you are swift with a gun.... I have troubled you, Lincoln. Forgive me. I’ll go now and come back sometime later.”

  She bent to kiss him, but there was no ardor now. A moment later Sheriff Haught was letting her out of the door, and locking it behind her.

  Long after Kit had left the sheriff’s jailhouse Linc Bradway lay on his bed deep in thought. He had wanted to put this tragic problem out of his mind a little while longer but it was no use. What was the truth? Kit Bandon knew something about Jimmy Weston’s death, but had she anything to do with it? The possibility haunted him. If Jimmy had met his death at the Bandon ranch, that would be damning proof of her complicity. Guilt he had seen in Miller’s eyes but it was guilt without fear: no murderer could have watched the cowboy’s expression on the brink of dealing death and perhaps meeting it himself. Despite his guilt, those last furious words of Miller’s seemed to ring with inherent truth. Miller might have killed Jimmy but Lincoln doubted it. Miller was not the man to kill cold-bloodedly without having betrayed his duplicity to Lincoln during their encounter. At that dark moment Lincoln felt as far from the solution of the mystery as ever.

  CHAPTER IX

  LINCOLN WAS LEFT alone until noon, when the waiter brought his lunch from the hotel. It was a lavish spread for a cowboy, and included wine. Noticing the wine, Haught, who had just entered, remarked dryly, “You’re putting on a lot of style, young feller. The daintiest of grub and wine on the side! — Of course, you’re not payin’ for this?”

  “No, I’m not. I suppose, of course, it must be Kit Bandon.”

  “Yes, she told me she’d take care of your meals,” replied Haught.

  “Well, if you hang around you can share some of this wine with me.”

  “I sure will hang around all right,” said the sheriff amiably, seating himself comfortably on the bed.

  “Sheriff, how long are you going to keep me in the calaboose?”

  “I thought you wanted me to keep you locked up for a while?”

  While Lincoln busily applied himself to the food Haught studied him shrewdly.

  “Yes, I did say that,” replied Lincoln. “But I’m O.K. now and the little embarrassment that I expected to meet is passed. Frankly, I’d like to get out.” This was not strictly truthful, for he was very well pleased where he was. However, he really wanted to find out why he was being detained.

  “Well, son, I spread it around about thet it was a matter of law — but it isn’t thet.”

  “All right. I’m glad of that. But I want to know what’s behind it.”

  “This is strictly confidential, Bradway. The Bandon woman is behind it. She wants you kept here for a while.”

  “That was plain to see. But why? Are there any pards of Miller’s around town that she’s afraid I’d clash with?”

  “No. Thet hombre was a lone wolf. She swore out a warrant, and I didn’t have no choice in the matter at all.”

  “Thunderation then!” exclaimed Lincoln. “Why does she want to keep me locked up? Is she afraid I’ll interfere with some shady deal of hers?”

  “It’s beyond me. I figured hard on it. Either there’s someone here that she don’t want you to meet or she wants to keep you away from her niece or she just wants to keep you for herself.”

  “Have you seen her with anyone?”

  “Cattleman I don’t know,” replied Haught. “He’s from Utah. Didn’t strike me as bein’ a Mormon. I made friendly advances to him which he certainly didn’t meet. I know thet she is sellin’ a big bunch of mavericks and some other stuff which is bein’ driven to Rock Springs. The stock arrived yesterday and I went down and had a look at it.”

  “How many head?” asked Lincoln.

  “Not a big herd. Something short of three hundred. But there was a remarkable lot of yearlings in the bunch.”

  They exchanged penetrating glances, each attempting to read the other’s hidden thoughts. The prisoner had divined that the sheriff was very curious, but that he really knew very little about Kit Bandon. He had been markedly friendly to Lincoln and it did not seem that he could be unduly influenced in her favor.

  “Sheriff, let me rest your mind on one thing. I am not in love with Kit Bandon nor mixed up with her in any way.”

  “Well, I wondered about that. I’m glad you came clean because I didn’t want to step on your toes. I reckon if you were a little sweet on the girl thet would explain how the wind blows. Son, you’re skating on thin ice.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “If this Kit isn’t loco about you, I’ve lost my way of figurin’. She’s chain lightnin’, that woman is! I wouldn’t want her daid set on me unless I shared her feelin’s.”

  The sheriff left the room with the tray but either intentionally or accidentally did not lock the door this time. Bradway was left alone but the hours now moved more swiftly as his wound had ceased to bother him; also there was much to keep his mind occupied. Late in the afternoon Kit Bandon visited him again, and brought flowers and candy.

  “Kit, are you bent on spoiling me?” he asked with a smile.

  “I sure am,” responded Kit soberly. “I never yet met the man who couldn’t be spoiled.”

  “But what’s the idea?”

  “Lincoln, you’re not as dense as you make out to be.” She sat beside him but refrained from making any other demonstration. There was a look of hunger in her dark eyes and a suggestion of a sad droop in her red lips. She regretted that her stay would have to be short — that she was laboring through an irritating business deal with a cattleman — that there were other petty difficulties bothering her. The cowboy ventured to say, “Why didn’t you fetch Lucy over? Sometimes I get pretty lonesome.”

  “I asked her to come,” replied Kit a trifle evasively, it seemed to Linc, “but she wouldn’t do it.”

  “Well, perhaps seeing me might be rather dismaying.”

  “No, it isn’t that at all,” said Kit. “It’s her vanity. Lucy is buying a new gown and hat and for some reason or other she just can’t be satisfied. I never saw her so contrary. As a matter of fact, I gave her a hundred dollars and told her to spend it on clothes. The girl lost her head. I suspect I’ve been pretty selfish. I always wore the best clothes that money could buy without any thought of Lucy. She really is a pretty girl and ought to wear clothes that become her. Sometimes I think I’ve been jealous of her good looks and sweetness.”

  “Jealous?” he questioned, as if surprised.

  “It’s one of my many faults. I always was jealous of anyone young and attractive.”

  “But you needn’t be.”

  “I needn’t have been a lot of things, Lincoln. But I must leave you now. Good-by until tomorrow.”

  He lay there revolving in his mind the many puzzling and disquieting facts he knew about Kit. Again he wondered if the strong unrest she manifested could really be due to an awakening of conscience. Somehow, he did not think so. He believed that up to this time in her life Kit Bandon never had bothered with such a thing as conscience. Perhaps this recent perturbation was due more to the wounding of her inordinate vanity — because, in effect, he had not succumbed to her charm and power to dominate men. Sh
e would brook no opposition to her will, and his resistance would only make her more dangerous to deal with.

  Presently Lincoln heard voices outside in the sheriff’s office, and those sometimes drawling, sometimes curt, familiar tones brought him up with a start. It was undoubtedly Vince. An argument appeared to be taking place. It grew louder and more heated. “What do you want for two bits? Shall I go out an’ get pinched to be put in yore old jail? I tell you Bradway will see me if you tell him his pard is here. The name is Vince.”

  “It’s O.K., Sheriff,” shouted his prisoner. “Bring him in, will you?”

  At length Haught grumblingly consented; his footsteps were accompanied by the slow tinkling footfalls that Lincoln recognized. The door opened to admit Haught escorting in a most disreputable little figure. Vince was ragged, dirty, haggard and unshaven. His face was hollow-eyed and gaunt. “Hello, pard. Say, what in hell’s the matter with this law man? He wasn’t goin’ to let me in.”

  “Bradway, I wasn’t taking any chances, for he certainly was a tough-lookin’ little hombre — inclined to be too cocky for his own good. Is he a friend of yours as he claims to be?”

  “I should say he is. He must have gotten into some kind of a mess to look this way.... Vince, shake hands with Sheriff Haught.”

  “Sorry, I am sure, cowboy,” replied the sheriff, as he complied with the request. “I reckon I’d be glad to meet any of Bradway’s friends.” He left the two together.

  Linc called out: “Lock the door, Sheriff, and don’t let anybody in, especially Miss Bandon if she should happen to return.”

  Vince strode over to the cot and sat down upon it to grasp Lincoln’s hand in both his.

  “Vince, you look like a scarecrow,” said the Nebraskan, grinning. “No wonder the sheriff didn’t want to let you in. You’ve been riding hard, hanging out in brush, going hungry and sleepless. What has happened to you? How did you know where to find me, pard?”