XVI
"SLIM'S SISTER"
Bruce Burt! the murderer! Of all things in the world that he should be"The Man from the Bitter Roots"--dining at the Strathmore--the guest ofWinfield Harrah! Weren't people punished for murder in the West?Sprudell had intimated that he would hang for it. Helen's grey eyes werebig with amazement and indignation while she watched him being seated.
She saw the widening of his eyes when he recognized Sprudell, the quickhardening of his features and the look that followed, which, if notexactly triumph, was certainly satisfaction. Involuntarily she glancedat Sprudell and the expression on his face held her eyes. It fascinatedher. For the moment she forgot Bruce Burt in studying him.
She thought she had read his real nature, had seen his dominantcharacteristic in the blatant egotism that had shown itself so stronglyin his elation. But this was different, so different that she had aqueer feeling of sitting opposite an utter stranger. It was not dislike,resentment, fear; it was rather a sly but savage vindictiveness, apurposeful malice that would stop at nothing. In the unguarded momentSprudell's passion for revenge was stamped upon his face like a brand.Helen had thought of him contemptuously as a bounder, a conceitedignoramus--he was more than these things, he was a dangerous man.
But why this intense antagonism? Why should they not speak? Sprudell hadnot told her of a quarrel.
"Who are those men!" he asked in an undertone, and she noticed that hewas breathing hard in an excitement he could not conceal.
As she named them in turn she saw that Bruce Burt was regarding her withthe puzzled, questioning look one gives to the person he is trying toplace.
The one stipulation which Bruce had made when he consented to meet the"Spanish Bull-dog" was that his name should not be known in the event ofthe match being mentioned in the papers; so Harrah had complied byintroducing him to his friends by any humorous appellation whichoccurred to him. It proved a wise precaution, since directly Bruce'schallenge had been sent and it was known that he was Harrah's protege,the papers had made much of it, publishing unflattering snapshots afterhe had steadily refused to let them take his picture.
It was true enough, as Helen had said, he had whipped the "SpanishBull-dog," loosened his tenacious grip in a feat of strength sosensational that the next morning he had found himself featured alongwith an elopement and a bank failure.
They called him "The Man from the Bitter Boots," and a staff artistdepicted him as a hairy aborigine that Winfield Harrah had had capturedto turn loose on the Spanish gladiator. Which humor Bruce did notrelish, for Sprudell's taunt that "muscle" was his only asset stillrankled.
The betting odds had been against him in the Athletic Club, for Bruce'ssize ofttimes made him look clumsy, but if Bruce had a bear's greatstrength he had also a bear's surprising quickness and agility. And itwas the combination which had won the victory for him. Unexpectedly, withone of the awkward but swift movements which was characteristicallybear-like, Bruce had swooped when he saw his opening and thrown the"Bull-dog" as he had thrown "Slim"--over his shoulder. Then he hadwhirled and pinned him--both shoulders and a hip touching squarely.There had been no room for dispute over the decision. Friends and foesalike had cheered in frenzy, but beyond the fact that the financial helpwhich Harrah promised was contingent upon his success, Bruce felt noelation. The whole thing was a humiliation to him.
But Harrah had been as good as his word. They had filed in to Bruce'stop floor room one evening--Harrah's friends headed by Harrah. They hadseemed to regard it as a lark, roosting on his bed and window-sill andtable, while Bruce dropped naturally to a seat on his heel, camp-firefashion, with his back against the wall, and to their amusement outlinedhis proposition and drew a map of the location of his ground on thecarpet with his finger.
But they had not taken much interest in detail, they were going into itchiefly to please Harrah. Bruce saw that clearly and it piqued him. Hefelt as though his proposition, his sincerity, counted for nothing, butwhile it nettled him more than ever, it put him on his mettle.
Bruce's brief acquaintance with Harrah already had opened up new vistas,shown him unknown possibilities in life. They were sport-loving,courteous, generous people that Harrah drew about him--merry-hearted asthose may be who are free from care--and Bruce found the inhabitants inthis new world eminently congenial. He never had realized before howmuch money meant in the world "outside." It was comfort, independence,and most of all the ability to choose, to a great extent, one's friendsinstead of being forced to accept such as circumstances may thrust uponone.
Bruce saw what anyone may see who looks facts in the face, namely, thatmoney is the greatest contributory factor to happiness, no matter howcomforting it may be to those who have none to assure themselves to thecontrary. There may even be doubts as to whether the majority of richinvalids would exchange their check-books for the privilege of beinghusky paupers in spite of the time-honored platitude concerning health.
Yet Bruce could not help a certain soreness that all he had fought forso doggedly and so unavailingly came so easily as the result of a richman's whim.
Laughingly, with much good-humored jest, they had made up the $25,000between them and then trailed off to Harrah's box at the opera, takingBruce with them, where he contributed his share to the gaiety of theevening by observing quite seriously that the famous tenor sounded tohim like nothing so much as a bull-elk bugling.
Harrah's subscription which had headed the list had been half of hiswinnings and the other half had gone to his favorite charity--The HomeFor Crippled Children. "If you get in a hole and need a little more Imight dig up a few thousand," he told Bruce privately, but the othersstated plainly that they would not commit themselves to further sums orbe liable for assessments.
Bruce had gone about with Harrah since then and with so notable asponsor the world became suddenly a pleasant, friendly place and lifeplain sailing; but now every detail had been attended to, and, eager tobegin, Bruce was leaving on the morrow, this dinner being in the natureof a farewell party.
To see Bruce in the East and in the company of these men on top ofDill's telegram was a culminating blow to Sprudell, as effective asthough it had been planned. Stunned at first by the loss of thewater-right which made the ground valueless, then startled, andastonished by Bruce's unexpected appearance, all his thoughts finallyresolved themselves into a furious, overmastering desire to defeat him.Revenge, always his first impulse when injured, was to become anobsession. Whatever there was of magnanimity, of justice, or of honor,in Sprudell's nature was to become poisoned by the venom of hisvindictive malice where it concerned Bruce Burt.
Bruce had altered materially in appearance since that one occasion inhis life, in Sprudell's office, when he had been conscious of hisclothes. Those he now wore were not expensive but they fitted him andfor the first time in many years he had something on his feet other thanhob-nailed miner's shoes. Also he laid aside his stetson because, as heexplained when Harrah deplored the change, he thought "it made folkslook at him." "Folks" still looked at him for even in the correcthabiliments of civilization he somehow looked picturesque and alien.Powerfully built, tanned, with his wide, forceful gestures, his utterlack of self-consciousness, there was stamped upon him indelibly thefreedom and broadness of the great outdoors.
He was the last person, even in that group, all of whose members weremore or less notable, who would have been suspected of a cold-bloodedmurder.
Against her will Helen found herself looking at him. It seemedunnatural; she was shocked at herself, but he attracted herirresistibly. Her brother's murderer was handsome in a dark, serious,unsmiling way which appealed to her strongly.
She tried to fix her attention upon the food before her, to keep up aconversation with Sprudell, who made no pretense of listening; but justso often as she resolved not to look again, just so often she foundherself returning Bruce Burt's questioning but respectful stare.
Helen took it for granted that his object in coming East was to meet the"Spanish
Bull-dog," but Sprudell knew better. He had seen enough ofBruce to guess something of his fixity of purpose when aroused andDill's telegram confirmed it. But he had thought that, naturally, Brucewould return to the West at once from Bartlesville to try and hold hisclaims, from which, when he was ready, through a due process of law, ifnecessary, Sprudell would eject him.
To find him here, perhaps already with formidable backing, for themoment scattered Sprudell's wits, upset him; the only thing in his mindwhich was fixed and real was the determination somehow to block him.
A vaguely defined plan was already forming in his mind, and he wanted tobe alone to perfect it and put it into immediate execution. Besides, hewas far from comfortable in the presence of the man who, temporarily atleast, had outwitted him, nor was he too preoccupied to observe Bruce'sobvious interest in Helen. He made the motion to go as soon as possibleand in spite of his best efforts to appear deliberate his movements wereprecipitate.
Bruce found it impossible to keep his attention upon the conversation athis own table. After his first surprise at seeing Sprudell his mind andeyes persisted in fixing themselves upon Sprudell's companion. He couldnot rid himself of the notion that somewhere he had seen her, or was itonly a resemblance? Yet surely if he ever had known a girl with aprofile like that--such hair, such eyes, such a perfect manner--he wouldnot have forgotten her! Was it the face of some dream-girl that hadlingered in his memory? It was puzzling, most extraordinary, but whoevershe was she looked far too nice to be dining with that--that--. Hisblack brows met in a frown and unconsciously his hands became fistsunder the table.
He felt a sharp pang when he saw that they were preparing to go. Whycouldn't it be his luck to know a girl like that? He wondered how itwould seem to be sitting across the table from her, talking intimately.And he found considerable satisfaction in the fact that she had notsmiled once at Sprudell during the conversation. He would not have saidthat she was enjoying herself particularly.
Then she arose and the gloves in her lap fell to the floor. He had animpulse to jump and slide for them but the waiter was ahead of him.Sprudell looked back impatiently.
"Thank you so much." She smiled at the waiter-fellow and Bruce knew her.
Slim's sister! There was no mistaking the sweetly serious eyes, thesmiling lips with which he had grown familiar in the yellowish picture.She was older, thinner, the youthful roundness was gone, but beyondquestion she was Slim's sister!
She passed the table without a glance and in something like a panic hewatched her leave the room. He would never see her again! This was theonly chance he'd ever have. Should he sit there calmly and let it pass!He laid his napkin on the table, and explained as he rose hastily:
"There's someone out there I must see. I'll be back, but don't wait forme."
He did not know himself what he meant to say or do, beyond the fact thathe would speak to her even if she snubbed him.
She had stepped into the cloak room for her wrap and Sprudell waswaiting in the corridor. Immediately when he saw Bruce he guessed hispurpose and the full significance of a meeting between them rushed uponhim. He was bent desperately upon preventing it. Sprudell took theinitiative and advanced to meet him.
"If you've anything to say to me, Bruce, I'll meet you to-morrow."
"I've nothing at all to say to you except to repeat what I said to youin Bartlesville. I told you then I thought you'd lied and now I know it.That's Slim's sister."
"That is Miss Dunbar."
"I don't believe you."
"I'll prove it."
"Introduce me."
"It isn't necessary; besides," he sneered, "she's particular who sheknows."
"Not very," Bruce drawled, "or she wouldn't be here with you." He addedobstinately: "That's Slim's sister."
Helen came from the cloak room and stopped short at seeing Bruce andSprudell in conversation. Certainly this was an evening of surprises.
"Are you ready, Miss Dunbar?" Sprudell placed loud emphasis upon thename.
She nodded.
Sprudell, who was walking to meet her, glanced back at Bruce with asmile of malice but it was wasted upon Bruce, who was looking at thegirl. Why should there be that lurking horror and hostility in her eyes?What had Sprudell told her? On a sudden desperate impulse and beforeSprudell could stop him, he walked up to her and asked doggedly, thoughhis temerity made him hot and cold:
"Why do you look at me as if I were an enemy? What has Sprudell beentelling you?"
"I forbid you to answer this fellow--" Sprudell's voice shook and hispink face had again taken on the curious chalkiness of color which itbecame under stress of feeling. Forgetting prudence, his deferentialpose, forgetting everything that he should have remembered in his rageat Bruce's hardihood, and the fear of exposure, he shook his fingerthreateningly before Helen's face.
On the instant her chin went haughtily in the air and there was adangerous sparkle in her eyes as she replied:
"You are presumptuous, Mr. Sprudell. Your manner is offensive--_very_."
He ignored her resentment and laid his hand none too gently upon herarm, as though he would have turned her forcibly toward the door. Theaction, the familiarity it implied, incensed her.
"Take your hand away," Helen said quietly but tensely.
"I tell you not to talk to him!" But he obeyed.
"I intend to hear what Mr. Burt has to say."
"You mean that?"
"I do."
"Then you'll listen alone," he threatened. "You can get home the bestyou can."
"Suit yourself about that," Helen replied coolly. "There are taxicabs atthe door and the cars run every six minutes."
Bruce contributed cordially:
"Sprudell, you just dust along whenever you get ready."
"You'll repent this--both of you!" His voice shook with chagrin andfury--"I'll see to that if it takes the rest of my life and my lastdollar."
Bruce warned in mock solicitude:
"Don't excite yourself, it's bad for your heart; I can tell that fromyour color."
Sprudell's answer was a malignant look from one to the other.
"On the square," said Bruce ruefully when the last turn of the revolvingdoor had shut Sprudell into the street, "I hadn't an idea of stirring upanything like this when I spoke to you."
"It doesn't matter," Helen answered coldly. "It will disabuse his mindof the notion that he has any claim on me."
"It did look as though he wanted to give that impression."
Bruce was absurdly pleased to find himself alone with her, but Helen'seyes did not soften and her voice was distant as she said, moving towardthe nearest parlor:
"If you have anything to say to me, please be brief. I must be going."
"I want to know what Sprudell has told you that you should look at mealmost as if you hated me?"
"How else would I look at the man who murdered my brother incold-blood."
He stared at her blankly in an astonishment too genuine to be feigned.
"I murdered your brother in cold-blood! You _are_ Slim's sister, then?"
"I'm Frederic Naudain's sister, if that's what you mean--hishalf-sister."
The light of understanding grew slowly on Bruce's face. The revelationmade many things plain. The difference in the name accounted for hisinability to trace her. It was easy enough now to account for Sprudell'sviolent opposition to their meeting.
"He told you that it was a premeditated murder?"
Watching him closely Helen saw that his tanned skin changed color.
She nodded.
"Why, I came East on purpose to find you!" he exclaimed. "To makeamends--"
"Amends!" she interrupted, and the cold scorn in her voice made theperspiration start out on his forehead.
"Yes, amends," he reiterated. "I was to blame in a way, but notentirely. Don't be any harder on me than you can help; it's not any easything to talk about to--his sister."
She did not make it easier, but sat waiting in silence while hehesitated. He was won
dering how he could tell her so she wouldunderstand, how not to shock her with the grewsome details of the story.Through the wide archway with its draperies of gold thread and royalpurple velvet a procession of bare-shouldered, exquisitely dressed womenwas passing and Bruce became suddenly conscious of the music of thedistant orchestra, of the faint odor of flowers and perfume, ofeverything about him that stood for culture and civilization. How at theantipodes was the picture he was seeing! For the moment it seemed asthough that lonely, primitive life on the river must be only a memory ofsome previous existence. Then the unforgettable scene in the cabin cameback vividly and he almost shuddered, for he felt again the warm gushover his hand and saw plainly the snarling madman striking, kicking,while he fought to save him. He had meant to tell her delicately andinstead he blurted it out brutally.
"I made him mad and he went crazy. He came at me with the axe and Ithrew him over my shoulder. He fell on the blade and cut an artery. Slimbled to death on the floor of the cabin."
"Ugh--how horrible!" Bruce imagined she shrank from him. "But why didyou quarrel--what started it?"
Bruce hesitated; it sounded so petty--so ridiculous. He thought of thetwo old partners he had known who had three bloody fights over the mostdesirable place to hang a haunch of venison. "Salt," he finally forcedhimself to answer.
"Sprudell told me that and I could not believe it."
She looked at him incredulously.
"We were down to a handful, and I fed it to a band of mountain-sheepthat came to the cabin. I had no business to do it."
"You said that he went crazy--do you mean actually?"
"Actually--a maniac--raving."
"Then why do you blame yourself so much?"
"Because I should have pulled out when I saw how things were going. Wehad quarrelled before over trifles and I knew he would be furious. Youcan't blame me more than I blame myself, Miss Dunbar. I suppose youthink they should hang me?" There was a pleading note in the questionand he wiped the perspiration from his forehead while he waited for heranswer.
She did not reply immediately but when she finally looked him squarelyin the eyes and said quietly: "No, because I believe you," Bruce thoughthis heart turned over with relief and joy.
"What you have told me shows merely that he had not changed--that myhopes for him were quite without foundation. Even as a child he had adisposition--a temper, that was little short of diabolical. We have allbeen the victims of it. I should not want to see another. He disgracedand ruined us financially. Now," Helen said rising, "you must go back toyour friends. I'll take a taxicab home--"
"Please let me go with you. They can wait for me--or something," headded vaguely. The thought of losing sight of her frightened him.
She shook her head.
"No--no; I won't listen to it." She gave him her hand: "I must thank youfor sending back my letter and picture."
"Sprudell gave them to you!"
"Yes, and the money."
"Money?"
"Why, yes." She looked at him inquiringly.
Just in time Bruce caught and stopped a grin that was appearing at thethought that Sprudell had had to "dig up" the money he had returned tohim out of his own pocket.
"That's so," he agreed. "I had forgotten. But Miss Dunbar," eagerly. "Imust see you on business. Your brother left property that _may_ bevaluable."
"Property? Mr. Sprudell did not mention it."
"I suppose it slipped his mind," Bruce answered drily. "You'll give meyour address and let me come to-morrow?"
"Will you mind coming early--at nine in the morning?"
"Mind! I'll be sitting on the steps at sunrise if you say so," Bruceanswered heartily.
How young she looked--how like the little girl of the picture when shelaughed! Bruce looked at his watch as he returned to his party to seehow many hours it would be before nine in the morning.
* * * * *
The shabbiness of the hotel where Helen lived surprised him. It wasworse than his own. She had looked so exceptionally well-dressed theprevious evening he had supposed that what she called ruin wascomparative affluence, for Bruce had not yet learned that clothes areunsafe standards by which to judge the resources of city folks, just ason the plains and in the mountains faded overalls and a ragged shirt areequally untrustworthy guides to a man's financial rating. And the mustyodor that met him in the gloomy hallway--he felt how she must loathe it.He had wondered at the early hour she'd set but when Helen came down shequickly explained.
"I must leave here at half past and if you have not finished what youhave to say I thought you might walk with me to the office."
"The office?" It shocked him that she should have to go to an _office_,that she had hours, that anybody should have a claim upon her time bypaying for it.
Quizzically:
"Did you think I was an heiress!"
"Last night you looked as though you might be." His tone told her of hisadmiration.
"Relics of past greatness," Helen replied smiling. "A remodelled gownthat was my mother's. One good street suit at a time and a blouse or twois the best I can do. I am merely a wonderful bluff in the evening."
Bruce felt that it was a sore spot although she was smiling, and hecould not help being glad, for it meant she needed him. If he had foundher in prosperous circumstances the success or failure of the placerwould have meant very little to her. He _must_ succeed, he told himselfexuberantly; his incentive now was to make her life happier and easier.
"If everything goes this summer as I hope--and expect--" he said slowly,"you need not be a 'bluff' at any hour of the day."
Her eyes widened.
"What do you mean?"
Then Bruce described the ground that he and Slim had located. He told ofhis confidence in it, of his efforts to raise the money to develop it,and the means by which he had accomplished it. Encouraged by herintelligent interest he talked with eager enthusiasm of his plans forworking it, describing mercury traps, and undercurrents, discussing thecomparative merits of pole and block, Hungarian and caribou rifles. Oncehe was well started it seemed to him that he must have been saving upthings all his life to tell to this girl. He talked almost breathlesslyas though he had much to say and an appallingly short time to say it in.
He told her about his friend, Old Felix, and about the "sassy" blue-jaysand the darting kingfisher that nested in the cut-bank where he worked,of the bush-birds that shared his sour-dough bread. He tried to pictureto her the black bear lumbering over the river bowlders to the serviceberry bush across the river, where he stood on his hind legs, cramminghis mouth and watching over his shoulder, looking like a funny littleman in baggy trousers. He told her of his hero, the great Agassiz, ofhis mother, of whom even yet he could not speak without a break in hisvoice, and of his father, as he remembered him, harsh, silent,interested only in his cattle.
It dawned upon Bruce suddenly that he had been talking abouthimself--babbling for nearly an hour.
"Why haven't you stopped me?" he demanded, pausing in the middle of asentence and coloring to his hair. "I've been prattling like an oldsoldier, telling war stories in a Home. What's got into me?"
Helen laughed aloud at his dismay.
"Honest," he assured her ruefully, "I never broke out like this before.And the worst of it is that I know with the least encouragement from youI'll start again. I never wanted to talk so much in my life. I'mransacking my brain this very minute to see if there's anything else Iknow that I haven't told you. Oh, yes, there is," he exclaimed puttinghis hand inside his coat, "there's some more money coming to you fromSlim--I forgot to tell you. It isn't a great deal but--" he laid in herhand the bank-notes Sprudell had been obliged to give him inBartlesville after having denied finding her.
Helen looked from the money to Bruce in surprised inquiry:
"But Mr. Sprudell has already given me what Freddie left."
"Oh, this is another matter--a collection I made for him after Sprudellleft," he replied glib
ly. It was considerable satisfaction to think thatSprudell had had to pay for his perfidy and she would benefit by it.
The last thing that Helen had expected to do was to cry, but the moneymeant so much to her just then; her relief was so great that the tearswelled into her eyes. She bit her lip hard but they kept coming, and,mortified at such an exhibition, she laid her arm on the back of theworn plush sofa and hid her face.
Tears, however embarrassing, have a way of breaking down barriers andBruce impulsively took in his the other hand that lay in her lap.
"What is it, Miss Dunbar? Won't you tell me? If you only knew how proudand happy I should be to have you talk to me frankly. You can't imaginehow I've looked forward to being allowed to do something for you. Itmeans everything to me--far more than to you."
Bruce remembered having seen his mother cry, through homesickness andloneliness, softly, uncomplainingly, as she went about her work in theugly frame house back there on the bleak prairie. And he remembered theroars of rage in which Peroxide Louise had voiced her jealousy. But hehad seen few women cry, and now he was so sorry for her that it hurthim--he felt as though someone had laid a hand upon his heart andsqueezed it.
"It's relief, I suppose," she said brokenly. "It's disgusting that moneyshould be so important."
"And do you need it so badly?" Bruce asked gravely.
"I need it if I am to go on living." And she told him of the doctor'swarning.
"You must go away at once." Brace's voice was sharp with anxiety. "Iwish you could come West," he added wistfully.
"I'd love it, but it is out of the question; it's too far--tooexpensive."
Bruce's black eyebrows came together. His poverty had never seemed sogalling, so humiliating.
"I must go." She got up quickly. "I'm late. Do my eyes look very badly?"
"They're all right." He turned abruptly for his hat. He knew that if helooked an instant longer he should kiss her! What was the matter withhim anyhow? he asked himself for the second time. Was he gettingmaudlin? Not content with talking a strange girl to death he would puton the finishing touch by kissing her. It was high time he was gettingback to the mountains!
He walked with her to the office, wishing with all his heart that theblocks were each a mile long, and in his fear lest he miss a single wordshe had to say he pushed divers pedestrians out of his way with solittle ceremony that only his size saved him from unpleasantconsequences.
It was incredible and absurd that he should find it so hard to saygood-bye to a girl he had just met, but when they reached the steps itwas not until he had exhausted every infantile excuse he could think offor detaining her just an instant longer that he finally saidreluctantly:
"I suppose you must go, but--" he hesitated; it seemed a tremendousthing to ask of her because it meant so much to him--"I'd like to writeto you if you'd answer my letter. Pardners always write to each other,you know." He was smiling, but Helen was almost startled by the wistfulearnestness in his eyes. "I'd like to know how it feels," he added, "todraw something in the mail besides a mail-order catalogue--to havesomething to look forward to."
"To be sure--we _are_ partners, aren't we?"
"I've had a good many but I never had one I liked better." Bruce repliedwith such fervor that Helen felt herself coloring.
"I don't like being a _silent_ partner," she returned lightly. "I wish Icould do my share. I'm even afraid to say I'll pray for your successfor, to the present, I've never made a prayer that's been answered.But," and she sobered, "I want to tell you I _do_ believe in you. It'slike a fairy tale--too wonderful and good to be true--but I'm going tobank on it and whatever happens now--no matter how disagreeable--I shallbe telling myself that it is of no importance for in a few months myhard times will all be done."
Bruce took the hand she gave him and looked deep into her eyes.
"I'll try--with all my might," he said huskily, and in his heart thesimple promise was a vow.
He watched her as she ran up the steps and disappeared inside the widedoors of the office building--resenting again the thought that she had"hours"--that she had to work for pay. If all went well--if there wereno accidents or miscalculations--he should be able to see her againby--certainly by October. What a long time half a year was when a personcame to think of it! What a lot of hours there were in six months! Brucesighed as he turned away.
He looked up to meet the vacant gaze of a nondescript person lounging onthe curbing. It was the fourth or fifth time that morning he thought hehad seen that same blank face.
"Is this town full of twins and triplets in battered derbies?" Bruceasked himself, eying the idler sharply as he passed, "or is that hombretagging me around?"
The Man from the Bitter Roots Page 16