Keith of the Border: A Tale of the Plains

by Randall Parrish

  Let his future be what it might, Jack Keith would never again forgetthe girl who held the door open for his passage with one hand, her otherclasped in his. Interested before, yet forcing himself into indifferencenow that he knew who she really was, the man made full surrender. It wasa struggle that kept him from clasping the slender figure in his arms,and pouring forth the words of tenderness which he sternly choked back.This was neither the time, nor the place, yet his eyes must have spoken,for Hope's glance fell, and her cheeks grew crimson.

  "I do not need to pledge you to return this time, do I?" she questioned,her voice trembling.

  "No," he answered, "nor any time again."

  The hall was deserted, but a few men loitered in the office. Keithrecognized none of the faces, and did not stop to make any inquiries ofthe clerk. It was growing dark, the lights already burning, and fromthe plashing of drops on the window, it must be raining outside. Hawleywould surely have ended his call upon Miss Maclaire long before this,and left the hotel. However interesting his communication might haveproven, she must fill her evening engagement at the Trocadero, and wouldrequire time for supper and rest. As to the result of that interviewthere could be little doubt. Providing the gambler possessed the properpapers he would have small difficulty in convincing the girl that shewas indeed the one sought. Keith had probed sufficiently into her mindto feel assured that her inclination was to side with Hawley. Under allthe circumstances this was natural enough, and he did not blame her.

  He glanced into the bar-room as he passed, not in any anticipation, butmerely from the vigilance which becomes second nature upon the frontier.Hawley stood leaning against the bar, where he could see anyone passingthrough the hall. The eyes of the two men met, but the gambler nevermoved, never changed his attitude, although Keith noted that his righthand was hidden beneath the skirts of his long coat. The plainsman drewback, facing his enemy, until he reached the outer door. There was asneer on Hawley's dark sinister face like an invitation, but a memory ofthe girl he had just left, and her dependence upon him, caused Keith toavoid an encounter. He would fight this affair out in a different way.As the door opened and he slipped forth into the gloom, he brushedagainst a man apparently just entering. The gleam of light fell foran instant upon the face of the other--it was Scotty with the redmoustache.

  They had been watching for him then--what for? Hawley on the inside,and this man Scott without, were waiting to determine when he left thehotel; would probably dog his footsteps to discover where he went. Keithloosened his revolver, so as to be assured he could draw quickly, andslipped back into the shadow of the steps, his eyes on the door ofthe hotel. There was a cold, drizzly rain falling, the streets almostdeserted, appearing sodden and miserable where the lights shone forththrough saloon windows. One or two men, seeking supper, coat collarsturned up and hats drawn low over their eyes, climbed the rickety stepsand went in, but no one came out. Perhaps he was mistaken as to thepurpose of those fellows; they may have desired merely to know when heleft, or Scott's return just at that moment might have been an accident.To be sure, the hotel possessed a back exit, but he could not coverboth ends of the building, and must take his chances. It was too wet anddisagreeable to remain crouched there, now that it was evident therewas no intention of following him. With hand on the butt of his gun,suspicious and watchful, yet with scarcely a faster beat to his heart,Keith straightened up, and began splashing his way through the mud downthe street. He knew where Willoughby would be most likely found at thishour--with cronies at the "Tenderfoot"--and he meant to discover theboy, and make him confess to Hope the truth. Matters had now reached apoint where longer delay was dangerous.

  Sheridan was seemingly dead, the long street silent, gloomy, black,except for those streams of saloon light shining across pools of water.He stumbled over the irregular ground, occasionally striking patches ofwooden sidewalk or a strip of cinders. Here and there a tent flappedin the wind, which drove the drizzle into his face; somewhere ahead aswinging sign moaned as if in agony. A few wanderers ploughed throughthe muck, dim uncertain shapes appearing and vanishing in the gloom. Hehad gone a block and over, the struggle against the elements leaving himforgetful of all else, when a man reeled out of some dimly lit shackto his right, and staggered drunkenly forward a few feet in advance. Hecould barely distinguish the fellow's outlines, giving little thought tothe occurrence, for the way was unusually black along there, the saloonopposite having shades drawn. Suddenly a flash of red fire spurted intothe night, with a sharp report. It was so close at hand it blinded him,and he flung up one arm over his eyes, and yet, in that single instant,he perceived the whole picture as revealed by the red flame. He sawthe man in front go down in a heap, the projection of the building frombehind which the shot came, the end of a wagon sticking forth into thestreet which had concealed the assassin. The blinding flash, the shockof that sudden discharge, for a moment held him motionless; then heleaped forward, revolver in hand, sprang around the end of the wagon,and rushed down the dark alley between two buildings. He could seenothing, but someone was running recklessly ahead of him, and he firedin the direction of the sound, the leaping spurt of flame yielding a dimoutline of the fugitive. Three times he pressed the trigger; then therewas nothing to shoot at--the fellow had faded away into the black voidof prairie. Keith stood there baffled, staring about into the gloom, thesmoking revolver in his hand. The sound of men's voices behind was allthat reached him, and feeling the uselessness of further pursuit, heretraced his way back through the narrow passage.

  A group was gathered about the body in the rain, a single lanternglimmering. Two or three men had started down the passageway, and Keithmet them, revolvers drawn and suspicious.

  "Who are you?" snapped one sharply. "Were you doing all that shootingyonder?"

  Keith recognized the voice, thankful that he did so.

  "I fired at the fellow, but he got away onto the prairie. I reckon youcouldn't have done any better, Bill."

  "Jack Keith!" and Hickock's voice had a new tone, his hand dropping onthe other's shoulder. "Never was gladder to meet a fellow in my life.Boys, this is an old deputy of mine down in Dodge. When he gives upchasin' a murderer there isn't much use our tryin'. Let's go back, andfind out how bad the fellow is hurt. While we're feelin' our way, Jack,you might tell us what you know about this affair."

  "It was just the flash of a gun, and the man dropped," Keith explained,briefly. "I was ten or a dozen feet behind, and the fellow fired fromunder the wagon there. He must have been laying for some one--I reckon,maybe, it was me."

  "You? Then it's likely you have some notion who he was?"

  "Well, if I have, Bill," and Keith's lips were set tight, "I'm notliable to tell you. If it's the lad I think likely, I'll attend to thecase myself. You understand--this is my personal affair."

  Hickock nodded, his hand again pressing the other's shoulder

  "Sure, Jack, if you feel that way. There's enough in Sheridan to keep amarshal reasonably busy, without dippin' into private matters. I ratherreckon you can take care of yourself, but if you need me, old boy I'malways right here on the job. You know that."

  "I do, Bill, and appreciate it."

  The group about the motionless body fell away, and made room for themarshal, the last man to rise saying soberly:

  "He's dead all right, Hickock. I guess he never knew what hit him. Goodshootin', too, dark as it is here."

  "Had the range fixed, likely," returned the marshal. "That's what makesit look like it was arranged for."

  He bent down, striving to distinguish the dead man's features turned upto the drizzle, but the night revealed the faintest outline.

  "Anybody know him?" There was no response, only a shuffling of feet inthe mud. "Here you man with the lantern, hold it over where I can see.There, that is better. Now, you fellows take a look, and see if some ofyou can't name the poor devil."

  They glanced down, one after the other, over Bill's shoulder, shadingtheir eyes from the rain so as to see clearer. The l
ight of theflickering lantern streamed full on the ghastly face, but each man shookhis head, and passed on. Keith hung back, hoping some one would identifythe body, and not make it necessary for him to take part in the grewsometask. It was not likely to be any one he knew, and besides, he feltthe man had died in his stead, and he dreaded to look upon the strickenface. When the last of the group had drifted back out of the radius oflight, Hickock looked up, and saw him.

  "Here, Jack," he said, gravely, "you better try--you might know him."

  Keith bent over, and looked down. As he did so his heart seemed to risechoking into his throat, and a blur obscured his sight. He swept a handover his eyes and dropped on his knees into the mud beside the body,staring speechless into the white face, the sightless eyes. Hickockwatching him closely, and gripped his arm.

  "What is it? Do you know him?"

  "My God, yes; Fred Willoughby!"

  Chapter XXV. A Reappearance of the General