Bloom of Cactus

by Robert Ames Bennet

  CHAPTER XI

  CROSS CURRENTS

  Elsie's childlike eyes had been watching the evening shadow of thecliffs creep along the valley after the retreating sunlight. Drawn atlast by Lennon's tense silence, she looked up and saw his frown.

  "Oh! oh, Jack!" she cried. "What is it? You look so cross! Is it--is it'cause what I told about Mena? Oh, it is! I know it is, the way youlook! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I'm 'fraid! It's a secret, and I promised notto tell. Mena was 'splaining all about you to Dad, and I heard--and nowshe'll be so cross at me if she knows I told! Please, please Jack,promise you won't tell her I told you!"

  Lennon put a comforting arm about the shoulders of the panic-strickengirl.

  "You dear little frightened bird! Don't be afraid, I will not tell. Andremember, I am to be a real brother to you. No matter what any one says,you are to trust in my care and protection."

  One of Elsie's arms timidly stole up about his neck. From across theroom sounded a hiccough that ended in a dry hacking cough. Lennon jerkedhis head around. The besotted face of Farley, ghastly white andblear-eyed, was leering at them through a hole in the rear wall.

  Before Lennon could free himself from the soft clasp of the girl's armand dash across the room, the eavesdropper had disappeared. Elsie dartedafter Lennon to clutch his half-raised rifle.

  "Don't shoot--don't shoot!" she begged. "It's only Dad. He's having oneof his spells. But he won't hurt you--not if you keep by me."

  Lennon peered through the hole in the wall. He made out the flaccid formof Farley, outstretched upon the stone floor in a drunken stupor. Theman evidently had been on the verge of unconsciousness when he leeredthrough the hole. The chance was slight that he would ever rememberanything of what he had seen or heard.

  With a feeling of disgust that was not unmingled with relief, Lennonstarted back to the outer window. An odour of scorched food sent Elsieflying to her neglected pots. As half in the deep window embrazure,Lennon paused to watch her, the overhanging cliff ledges reverberatedwith an impatient call. He reluctantly turned his gaze away from thegraceful little cook to look down below the window. Carmena stoodwaiting, with the end of the hoist rope looped about her.

  Lennon's steady winding at the windlass soon brought up the living loadto the crane. Elsie darted out to swing her foster-sister around intothe opening and take from her the brimming pail of goat's milk. Carmenalooked down at Lennon's bandaged hand, which was gripped upon the crankof the windlass.

  "You ought to be careful," she gravely warned him. "Working won't helpyour hurt."

  "On the contrary, the wounds are fast healing, and use of the hand tendsto bring back its strength. It is already much improved."

  "Good."

  "I shall leave off the bandages after to-night."

  Carmena's eyes narrowed.

  "No. You're to keep them on, and don't let any one else--even Dad--seeyour hand. The more helpless Slade and Cochise think you are, thebetter."

  To this Lennon readily agreed. His knowledge of the completeness withwhich the girl had duped him only added to his realization of herability. But he promised himself that any advantage gained by hispretense of helplessness should be used only with a view to Elsie'sbenefit.

  Such pity as he had felt for Farley before the discovery of the illicitwhiskey-still was now smothered in disgust. He would fight for Elsie,but he would not lift a finger to help rid Dead Hole of Farley'sboot-leg confederates.

  Carmena had turned about to peer down the half-shadowed valley.

  "I thought sure Slade would get here to-night," she said. "He's overduealready. Well, we can count on him for to-morrow. Maybe you had betterlet me hide your rifle."

  "Is that necessary?"

  Lennon's tone was more curt than he had intended. The girl entered theliving room and went on through into a rear room.

  She did not come out again that evening, but sent word by Elsie thatFarley was sick and needed nursing. Lennon was only too pleased to supand visit alone with the younger girl. Elsie's piquant daintiness wasmore than ever fascinating to him. He spent a delightful evening, thoughat times his enjoyment was dampened by remembrance of the danger thatthreatened her.

  Carmena came to the breakfast table pale and weary-eyed. From herlaconic remarks to Elsie, Lennon gathered that she had spent the nightwaiting upon her father. After forcing herself to eat a hasty meal, shecame around the table and laid an old short-barreled revolver besideLennon's bowl-plate.

  "It's Dad's," she said. "He's too sick to use it, anyhow. Put it in yourpocket out of sight and have Elsie hide your rifle where either of youcan readily get it. I saw the signal. Slade is coming."

  Elsie almost dropped the pot of fresh coffee that she was settling.Carmena took it and a kettle of hot water and went out without lookingat Lennon.

  In the extreme corner of the room was a dutch-oven built of stone slabs.Elsie started a fire in it, placed large kettles of food on her brazier,and began to mix white flour dough.

  "Slade likes pies as much as Cochise--and white biscuits. That's why hebrings us flour. He says he's going to make me his cook. It always getsCochise awful mad."

  The bare suggestion that the doubtful partners of Farley were accustomedto imply ownership in the innocent, helpless girl brought an angry flushinto Lennon's lean face. He unloaded the short-barreled revolver, madecareful test of its action, and as carefully reloaded the old stylecylinder. The weapon was well suited for hip-pocket wear. At thesuggestion of Elsie, he hung his rifle under his bed.

  Carmena half carried her father into the living-room and seated him inone of the big chairs. He was very white and shaky but rational. He hadbeen bathed and dressed, and his eyes showed proof of soothingtreatment. Though the sight and odour of the cooking nauseated him, hewas braced by a drink made from some bitter desert herb known to thegirls for its tonic effect.

  "Now, Dad, remember you're sick. Just sit here quietly and leave all thebusiness to me," said Carmena. "Jack will keep you company."

  She looked at Lennon, cool-eyed and self-possessed.

  "Watch your bad arm, Mr. Lennon," she advised. "You don't want to goaround with it loose like that. Elsie will fetch you a sling. I'm goingto lower the ladder. Slade doesn't enjoy being made to wait."

  Elsie brought one of her floursack dish-towels, which Lennon, with mockseriousness, permitted her to knot over his shoulder in a sling. Theloop of cloth extended along his arm from elbow to finger tips withouthiding the bandages.

  Farley glowed at the sling with sour suspicion.

  "You climbed the ladder with that arm when you first came," he snapped."There has been all this time for it to improve."

  "Do such poison wounds always improve?" parried Lennon. "I was willingto risk using the arm. But you heard what your daughter said."

  He went across the room to look from an outer window. A large band ofhorsemen was racing full tilt up the valley. They were already near. Attheir head rode Cochise and a big red-faced white man. As Lennon lookedout at them Carmena swung down the rope ladder.

  The tall rangy American horse of the white man forged ahead of theIndian ponies and brought his rider under the cliff as Carmena reachedthe foot of the ladder. She called out to him in a tone of joyfulgreeting and hastened forward to offer her hand. The man ignored herwelcome and jerked a thumb up at the window from which Lennon waslooking.

  Cochise came galloping to the cliff foot with his band of Apaches andfour or five Navahos. All reined their ponies to one side exceptCochise. He sprang off to confront Carmena, with denunciatory words andgestures. The white man leisurely swung out of his saddle and took theattitude of a judge between the girl and Cochise. After no littledisputing, he silenced the young Apache with a curt gesture and enteredinto a low-voiced conference with Carmena. Now and then Cochise broke inwith guttural objections.

  At last the three seemed to reach some kind of an agreement. Theystarted up the ladder, Carmena waiting until the last. The white man,who undoubtedly was the partner called Slade, led
Cochise. The crisisover Lennon's presence in Dead Hole had come to a head. He felt certainthat the period of waiting was about to end in some definite actioneither against himself or against the Apache leader.

  The meeting was by no means unpleasant. After a short pause Carmena ledthe visitors in from the big anteroom. Cochise cast a covert glance atElsie, and with an air of stolid indifference to the others sat down atthe table. Slade was neither silent nor stolid. He stared hard about theliving room and bellowed over to Elsie, who was raking her pies out ofthe dutch oven:

  "Ho, howdy, Cookie Gal! 'Most ready to feed me, huh? Won't have to herdme to it. Lord, but I'm sick of Injun grub! Guess this trip I'll surehave to rope and brand you for my home corral!"

  Carmena broke in on this coarsely jovial banter with smiling deference:

  "You see it's as I told you, Mr. Slade--Dad is almost used up. But I'llact for him and----"

  Slade's ham-like hand came down upon Farley's stooped shoulder in athwack that doubled the invalid over and set him to coughing.

  "Brace up, Dad," the trader-cowman rallied him in his bull voice."You're not dead yet. Good thing for us your bark's worse'n your bite.Huh, Cochise?"

  His massive body shook with a roar of laughter at the joke.

  "This is Mr. Lennon--our guest," Carmena again interposed.

  The big trader swung around to stare down upon the guest. Lennon stood agood six feet in his boots, but Slade over-topped him by two or threeinches and was no less thickset than tall. He looked Lennon straight inthe eyes, crushed his left hand in a hearty grip, and greeted him in atone of bluff cordiality.

  "So you're Carmena's new pard. Glad to see you in Dead Hole. She saysyou want to dicker with us."

  "I said he might want to," murmured the girl.

  Slade grinned genially at the guest's bandaged arm.

  "No might about it, Carmena. Your dad came into Dead Hole for hishealth. But I figger Lennon here knows it ain't no general healthresort."

  "Miss Farley will tell you, I was in urgent need of a change from theBasin," drawled Lennon, as he languidly sank back into his chair. "Deucetake it! The results of a Gila monster's bite are more serious than Iwould have anticipated."

  "Sure--apt to be mighty serious, son, if you don't look out what youdo," agreed Slade. "Guess, though, Carmena got you started off right.We'll see about it soon's I've fed. Here's my Cookie Gal dishing up."

  He thumped down at the table and voraciously fell to upon the food thatElsie hastened to serve him and Cochise. While he plied knife and spoonhe chaffed the blushing girl with a familiarity that made Lennon's bloodboil. Elsie's forced smile and murmured responses did not conceal thepainfulness of her embarrassment.

  Yet Lennon's hot impulse to interpose was checked and cooled when hethought to look at Carmena. Like her father, she was smiling at Sladeand at the same time covertly watching Cochise. The handsome face of theyoung Apache seemed utterly blank of all expression except gluttonishenjoyment of the food he was wolfing. But under the edge of the tableLennon saw his hand steal down and fondle the hilt of his sheath knife.

  The game was now evident. If the rivals were permitted to attack eachother, one or both would almost certainly be killed. A murderous feudbetween their men would as certainly follow. Lennon's anger against theunpleasant pair was intense enough for him to consider the schemejustified, though its suggestion of treachery deepened his prejudiceagainst Carmena.