Desert Conquest; or, Precious Waters

by A. M. Chisholm

  CHAPTER XXIII

  Tom McHale reached Chakchak, stabled his horse, made a hasty toilet,and attacked a belated supper. While he was eating with hearty appetiteCasey and Wade strolled in.

  "Did that freight come?" asked Casey.

  "Nope," said McHale. "I got a tracer started after her."

  "Anything doing in town?"

  "Why, I reckon there was a _leetle_ excitement there for a fewminutes," said McHale. "Sort of an argument in front of Bob Shiller's."

  Casey, from his knowledge of McHale, came to attention at once. "Well?"he asked abruptly.

  "Well, it was me and this here Cross," McHale explained. "I downedhim."

  "In the argument?" laughed Wade, who did not comprehend. But Caseyasked quickly: "Gun?"

  McHale nodded.

  "You did! How'd it happen? Is he dead?"

  "I miss once, but three times I'm pretty near centre," McHale replied."Course, I didn't wait to hold no inquest, but if he ain't fordedJordan's tide by now he's plumb lucky; also tough. Only thing makes medoubt it is the way he goes down. He don't come ahead on his face theway a man does when he's plugged for keeps; but he sorter sagsbackward, so he may have a chance. Still, I reckon she's a slim one."

  Casey got the full story with half a dozen brief questions.

  "Clear case of self-defence, isn't it, Wade?"

  "Looks that way, if the evidence corroborates what he says," the lawyerreplied. "Are you sure he shot first, Tom?"

  "Better put it he meant to shoot first," McHale responded. "Naturally,I ain't standin' round waitin' for no sightin' shots. It comes close toan even break."

  "That's good enough," Wade declared. "If his actions left no doubt ofhis hostile purpose in your mind you were justified in protectingyourself."

  "They sure didn't," said McHale. "He's out to down me, and I know it.There ain't no Alphonse and Gaston stuff when he comes boilin' out,pullin' his gun. I just sail in to get action while I got the chance."

  "Exactly," said Wade. "Well, Tom, you'll be arrested, of course. IfCross isn't dead, likely you can get bail. If he is, I'm afraid you'llhave to remain in custody till the trial. I'll defend you myself, ifyou'll let me. Or maybe it would be better to get a man whose practiceis more on the criminal side. I'll get the best there is for you."

  "I'm obliged," said McHale. "I'll stand a trial all right, but I ain'tfigurin' on bein' arrested for a while."

  "Nonsense!" said Wade. "You don't mean to resist arrest? That'sfoolish."

  "Oh, I dunno," said McHale. "Depends on how you look at it. I ain'tgoin' to resist to speak of; I'm just lyin' low for a spell. I reckonI'll pack old Baldy with a little outfit, Casey. 'Bout two days fromnow you'll find him out by Sunk Springs if you ride that way."

  "I don't get the idea."

  "It's this way," McHale explained. "This Cross is one of a bad bunch.They'll be out for my scalp. They don't want no law in this. I beenhearin' 'bout Cross and this old-timer, Dade. They're great tillikums,and Dade is the old he-coon of the bunch. I ain't takin' a chance onsome little tin-starred deputy standin' them off. Furthermore, I figureit ain't unlikely they'll come after me some time to-night. If it wasjust you and me, Casey, we could stand the hand, and whatever hangin'there was would come off in the smoke. But with women on the place itwouldn't be right. So I'll just point out for a little campin' spotsomewheres, and save everybody trouble. If any of these here sheriffsor deputies gets nosin' around, you tell 'em how it is. I'll come inwhen the signs is right, and not before. Tell them not to go huntin'me, neither, but to go ahead and get everything set for a proper trial.I'll send word when I'll be in."

  Wade chuckled. "They can't arrange a trial without somebody to try,Tom."

  "They'll have to make a stagger at it, or wait," McHale respondedseriously.

  It was dusk when he headed westward, old Baldy, lightly packed,trotting meekly at the tail of his saddle horse.

  Casey, coming back from a final word with him, met Clyde strollingtoward the young orchard. He fell into step.

  "Nice evening."

  She regarded him quizzically. "I won't ask a single question. Youneedn't be afraid."

  "Did you think I meant to head off your natural curiosity? Not a bit ofit. You want to know where Tom is going at this time of night, andwhy?"

  "Of course I do. But I won't ask."

  "You may just as well know now as later." He told her what hadhappened, omitting to mention McHale's real reason for leaving theranch. Even in the darkness he could see the trouble in her eyes.

  "You really mean it?" she questioned. "You mean that he has killed aman?"

  "Either that or shot him up pretty badly."

  "I can scarcely believe it. I like McHale; he's droll, humorous, socheerful, so easy-going. I can't think of him as a murderer."

  "Nonsense!" said Casey. "No murder about it. It was a fair gunfight--an even break. This fellow came at Tom, shooting. He had toprotect himself."

  "He could have avoided it. He had time to get on his horse and rideaway. But he waited."

  "He did right," said Casey. "This man would have shot him on sight. Itwas best to settle it then and there."

  "That may be so," she admitted, "but life is a sacred thing to me."

  "No doubt Tom considered his own life tolerably sacred," he responded."As an abstract proposition life may be sacred. Practically it's aboutthe cheapest thing on earth. It persists and repeats and increases inspite of war, pestilence, and famine. The principal value of theindividual life is its service to other life. Cross wasn't much good.That old Holstein over there in the corral, with her long andhonourable record of milk production and thoroughbred calves, is ofmore real benefit to the world. You see, it was Tom or Cross. One hadto go. I'm mighty glad it was Cross."

  "Oh, if you put it that way----"

  "That's the way to put it. Of course, we aren't sure that he's morethan shot up a little. Still, knowing what Tom can do with a gun, I'minclined to think that Cross is all same good Indian."

  For some moments they walked in silence. It was rapidly becoming dark.A heavy bank of cloud, blue-black in the waning light, was slowlyclimbing into the northwestern sky, partially obscuring the last tintsof the sunset. The wind had ceased. The air was hot, oppressive, ladenwith the scents of dry earth. Sounds carried far in the stillness. Thestamp of a horse in a stall, the low, throaty notes of a cow nuzzlingher calf, the far-off evening wail of a coyote--all seemed strangelynear at hand, borne by some telephonic quality in the atmosphere.

  "How still it is!" said Clyde. "One can almost feel the darknessdescending."

  "Electrical storm coming, I fancy. No such luck as rain."

  "I don't suppose it affects you," she remarked, "but out here whennight comes I feel lonely. And yet that's scarcely the right word. It'smore a sense of apprehension, a realization of my own unimportance. Thecountry is so vast--so empty--that I feel dwarfed by it. I believe I'mafraid of the big, lonely land when the darkness lies on it. Of course,you'll laugh at me."

  "No," he assured her. "I know the feeling very well. I've had itmyself, not here, but up where the rivers run into the Polar Sea. Thevastness oppressed. I wanted the company of men and to see the thingsman had made. I was awed by the world lying just as it came from thehand of God. The wilderness seemed to press in on me. That's whatdrives men mad sometimes. It isn't the solitude or the lonelinessexactly. It's the constant pressure of forces that can be felt but notdescribed."

  "I think I understand."

  "The ordinary person wouldn't. There are no words to express somethings."

  "I'm glad of it; I don't want the things I feel the most cheapened bywords."

  "Something in that," he agreed. "Words are poor things when one really_feels_. Providence seems to have arranged that we should be more orless tongue-tied when we feel the most."

  "Is that the case?"

  "I think so--with men, at any rate. It's especially so with most of usin affairs of love and death."

  "But some men make
love very well, you know," she smiled.

  "I defer to your experience," he laughed back.

  "Oh, my experience!" She made a wry face. "And what do you know of myexperience?"

  "Less than nothing. But from some slight observation of my fellow men Iam aware that a very pretty and wealthy girl is in a position tocollect experience of that kind faster than she can catalogue it."

  "Perhaps she doesn't want to do either."

  "Referring further to my fellow man, I beg to say that her wishes cutvery little ice. She will get the experience whether she wants it ornot."

  "Accurate observer! Are you trying to flatter me?"

  "As how?"

  "Do you think me pretty?"

  "Even in the darkness----"

  "Be serious. Do you?"

  "Why, of course I do. I never saw a prettier girl in my life."

  "Cross your heart?"

  "Honest Injun--wish I may die!"

  "Oh, well," said Clyde, "that's something. That's satisfactory. I'mglad to extract something of a complimentary nature at last. You werefar better when I met you at the Wades'. You did pay me a compliment,and you asked me for a rose. Please, sir, _do_ you remember asking apoor girl for a rose?"

  "I have it still."

  "Truly?" A little throb of pleasure shot through her and crept into hervoice. "And you never told me!"

  "I was to keep it as security. That was the bargain."

  "But how much nicer it would be to say that you kept it because I gaveit to you. Are you aware that I made an exception in your favour bydoing so?"

  "I thought so at the time," said Casey. "I expected a refusal. However,I took a chance."

  "And won. Are you sure that you have the rose still? And where amongyour treasures do you keep it?"

  He hesitated.

  "You don't know where it is! That's just like a man. For shame!"

  "You're wrong," Casey said quietly. "I keep it with some little thingsthat belonged to my mother."

  She put out her hand impulsively. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I--I beg yourpardon!"

  His strong fingers closed on hers. She did not withdraw her hand. Heleaned forward to look into her upraised eyes in the growing darkness.

  "That seemed the proper place to keep it. I value your friendship verymuch--too much to presume on it. We are at opposite ends of theworld--I'm quite aware of that. When this little holiday of yours isover you'll go back to your everyday life and surroundings, and I don'twant you to take with you one regret or unpleasant memory."

  "I don't know what I shall take," she replied gravely. "But I'm not atall sure that I shall go back."

  "I don't understand."

  "Suppose," she said, "suppose that you were a moderately rich man, ingood health, young, without business or profession, without any specialtalent; and that your friends--your social circle--were very much likeyourself. Suppose that your life was spent in clubs, country houses,travel--that you had nothing on earth to do but amuse yourself, nothingto look forward to but repetitions of the same amusement. What wouldbecome of you?"

  "To be perfectly truthful," he replied, "I should probably go to thedevil."

  "The correct answer," said Clyde gravely. "_I_ am going to the devil.Oh, I'm strictly conventional. I mean that I'm stagnatingutterly--mentally, morally, and physically. I'm degenerating. My lifeis a feminine replica of the one I suggested to you. I'm wearied todeath of it--of killing time aimlessly, of playing at literature, atcharity, at uplifting people who don't want to be uplifted. And there'snothing different ahead. Must I play at living until I die?"

  "But you will marry," he predicted. "You will meet the right man. Thatwill make a difference."

  "Perhaps I have met him."

  "Then I wish you great happiness."

  "And perhaps he doesn't care for me--in that way."

  "The right man would. You're not hard to fall in love with, Clyde."

  "Am I not--Casey?" She smiled up at him through the dark, a littletremor in her voice. She felt his fingers tighten on hers like bands ofsteel, crushing them together, and she was conscious of a strange joyin the pain of it.

  "You know you are not!" he said tensely. "I could----" He broke offabruptly.

  "Then why don't you?" she murmured softly.

  "Why not?" he exclaimed. "I'd look pretty, wouldn't I, a busted landspeculator, falling in love with you! I've some sense of the fitness ofthings. But when you look at me like that----"

  He stooped swiftly and kissed her, drawing her to him almost fiercely."Oh, girl!" he said, "why did you tempt me? I've forgotten what was dueyou as my guest. I've forgotten all that I've been remembering socarefully for weeks. Now it's over. Some day the right man will tellyou how he loves you."

  "I am waiting," she whispered, "for the 'right man' to tell me now!"

  "Why," he exclaimed incredulously, "you don't mean----"

  "But I do mean," she replied. "Oh, Casey, boy, didn't you know?Couldn't you guess? Must I do all the love-making myself?"

  The answer to this question was in the nature of an unqualifiednegative, and extended over half an hour. But Casey retained many ofhis scruples. He could not, he insisted, live on her money. If he wentbroke, as seemed likely, he must have time to get a fresh stake. Clydewaived this point, having some faith in Jim Hess. Of this, however, shesaid nothing to him.

  "We had better go," she said at last. "It is quite dark. Kitty willwonder where we are."

  "Shall you tell her? Better."

  "Not to-night, anyway. She--you see----"

  "She'd jolly you, you mean. Of course. But We may as well have itover."

  "Not to-night," Clyde repeated. She was uncomfortably conscious of herconfidences to Kitty Wade, made without much thought.

  They approached the house from the rear, passing by the kitchen, whenceissued the sound of voices.

  "Let's take a peep at Feng's company?" Casey suggested.

  The kitchen was built apart from the house, but attached to it by acovered way. Standing in the outer darkness, they could look in throughthe open window without risk of being seen, and were close enough tooverhear every word.

  Feng was resting from the labours of the day, sitting smoking on thekitchen table. Facing him, a pipe between his wrinkled lips, sat oldSimon. His face was expressionless, but his eyes, black, watchful, werecuriously alert.

  "What foh you come, Injun?" Feng demanded. "Wantee glub? Injun all time_hiyu_ eat, all same hobo tlamp. S'pose you hungly me catch some_muckamuck_. Catch piecee blead, catch col' loast beef--loast_moosmoos_!"

  "You catchum," Simon agreed. "Casey--where him stop?"

  "Casey!" Feng's features expanded in a grin. "Him stop along gal--_tenasklootchman_, you savvy. Go walkee along gal. P'laps, bimeby, two, tleehou', him come back."

  Simon grunted gutturally. "Ya-as," he drawled.

  "_Hiyu_ lich gal," Feng proceeded. "Have _hiyu_ dolla'. You bet. Sheone _hiyu_ dam' plitty gal, savvy?"

  "Hush!" Clyde whispered, as Casey would have put an end to this riskyeavesdropping. "I didn't think that Feng had such good taste. I'mgetting compliments from everybody to-night. I'm really flattered. Iwant to hear some more."

  "Better not," he advised apprehensively.

  "But I want to."

  "Ya-as," Simon drawled again. "_Hyas kloshe tenas klootchman_--ah-ha.What name you callum?"

  "Missee Clyde Bullaby," Feng replied, making a manful attempt atClyde's surname, which was quite beyond his lingual attainments.

  "Clyde!" Simon repeated, in accents of incredulity. "Me savvy 'Clyde.'Him big man-horse _hyas skookum_ man-horse. Him _mammook_ plow,_mammook_ haul wagon!"

  "You _hyas_ damfool Injun!" said his host politely. "Missee ClydeChlistian gal's name, catchum in Chlistian Bible; all same Swede Annie,all same Spokane Sue, all same Po'tland Lily."

  Simon digested this information with preternatural gravity. "Ya-as,"said he. "Casey like Clyde?"

  "Clyde likee Casey," Feng responded knowingly. "Casey call um womanfliend. L
ats! All same big Melican bluff, makee me sick. Bimeby sometime she makee mally him. Bimeby baby stop. Then me quit. Me go back toChina."

  The prophet's last words blurred in Clyde's ringing ears. The friendlydarkness hid her flaming cheeks. Why, oh why, had she listened? Shewas not even shocked by Casey's muttered curse. She felt his hand onher arm, drawing her gently back into the deeper shadows. In silenceshe followed.

  "I'll fire that infernal yellow scoundrel to-morrow," he growled.

  "No, no, it was my own fault," she declared. "Absolutely and entirelymy own. I--I----Oh, don't _look_ at me, please!"

  "I won't," he promised, but his voice shook slightly.

  "You're laughing!" she accused him tragically.

  "Indeed I'm not," he denied; but with the words came an involuntarysound strongly resembling a chuckle.

  "Shame!" she cried.

  "Yes, yes!" he gasped. "I know it. It's too bad. Ha-ha! I really begyour pardon. I----Oh, good Lord!"

  But Clyde gathered up her skirts and fled, whirling up the verandasteps and into the house like a small cyclone, never pausing until alocked door lay between her and a ribald, unfeeling world.