"Besides," concluded Kirk, "I'm on my feet completely and ready for harness; your father is getting nervous — everything is set for us to call in the minister and jog back north."
"Why," said the girl, "you're not nearly your old self, Will!"
"Near enough to marry you, dear," he answered, "and get back to some man-sized
work. I'm sick of this dreamy life, sitting about chattering. Not cut out for that sort of thing. Can't do it decoratively the way Ring can."
"Where is Ring now?" asked the girl.
"Where he always is during the bright part of the day — inside, sitting in a dark corner looking at the pictures in some old fool book. But that isn't answering me, Winifred."
She said gravely: "I'll tell you frankly, Will, that I don't feel like answering today. I'm tired — somehow."
"Confound it!" he said, with some heat. "You've been this way ever since Ring appeared!"
She answered without smiling: "Now, that's the silliest thing you've said for a long time, isn't it?"
"It is foolish," he admitted, "but that chap — damn it! — I know he's not one of us — I know I owe him a lot —" "Everything," she said coolly. "Everything, I suppose, but at the same time he makes me uneasy. By the way, who the devil is he, where does he come from, where is he going? Do you know?"
"Yes."
"The deuce you do! Let's have it." "I'll tell you just what he told me. He came from there" — she waved a hand towards half the points of the compass towards the south — "he is going there" — she waved the other hand at the other points of the compass to the north — "and he is just a man."
"Sounds like Ring, all right. I never knew the fellow to answer a question the way any other man would. Personally I have very grave doubts about him."
"What sort of doubts, Will?"
"But let's get back to the important thing: Winifred, I wish awfully that you’d shake off your weariness and tell me I can bring out a minister and have the thing finished up."
"Somehow," she answered, "I like to have it kept in suspense for a while."
"But we can't go on drifting like this — besides, my business will go smash if I don't get back into harness."
"I think the drifting," she said, "is rather pleasant. It's nice to sit here — and not talk — and not think — in the warmth."
"That," he said angrily, "is a transcript from Ring!"
"I suppose it is."
This startled him erect in his chair.
"Winifred," he said, "I don't want to make a complete ass of myself, but I'd like to know just what you think of Ring."
"Ask him," she said. "He can tell you better than I can."
"There you go again! There isn't the slightest emotion in your voice — you talk exactly the way Ring talks — damn it! I beg your pardon, Winifred."
"Don't; but go ahead. Tell me how Ring talks. I like to hear about him."
"You ought to know how he talks; he’s with you enough."
"Altogether," she said thoughtfully, "I think he’s averaged about twenty words a day since he came. Most of the time he simply sits and looks."
"I know. He looks as if he were listening to you talking hard and fast when you're saying nothing at all. Confound him; he worries me. I’ll be frank. I wish you’d tell me exactly how you feel about him."
"I don't mind in the least."
She leaned back in the chair, half closing her eyes, and smiling. Kirk swore softly, for it was Ring's expression made delicately beautiful on her face.
"I think I know," he murmured, "but go ahead."
She said: "Most of us live rather ugly lives, don't we, Will? We're pretty much discontented with today, we despise yesterday, and we only drag ourselves along through a hope of what a brave tomorrow may bring. That's the way it has been with me at least, and I'm sure that's the way it is with most of the people I know. Do you agree?"
"Yes, I suppose life is pretty rotten if you take it cold-bloodedly like this. But this isn't an age of romance, Winifred. People are looking for action — and they're finding it."
"They are. My life has been filled by people who are leading lives of action; I really began to think them the only people in the world who amounted to anything. I was like a person going down a straight and narrow corridor with monotonous walls on either side and no prospect except the same dull passage to the end, and then — darkness. Now suppose a door suddenly opens on the side of that corridor and I pass through the door and find a world of wonderful beauty — flowers — rare perfumes — a garden filled with exquisite things perfectly arranged. That is what Ring did for me —"
"As much as that — are you serious, Winifred?"
She went on as though she had not heard him: "He taught me how to enjoy living for its own sake — taught me how to revel in every day as it comes. He is still teaching, and I — well, he'll be out here in a moment, and then you'll see. He always comes when the color of the evening starts. Before that he has no interest in the day."
Kirk stood up. He seemed very large., outlined against the growing color of the west. Those strong hands, too, were filling out, hands that could have crushed the slender wrists of Clung with a single pressure.
"You're quite sure of all this, Winifred?" he asked tensely.
"What is there to be tragic about?"
"Don't you see that if you feel that way about him there's no room for me?"
"But I feel for you in such a different way — I — "
"How much do you feel?"
She frowned at the floor.
"Will," she said, "if you really care very much, don't press me for an answer just now."
"I was right about it. You cared for me only as long as I was sick; I was just something to mother, Winifred, wasn't that it?" "Do you insist on an answer now?" "No — for God's sake! Not a word!" He slumped into a chair, breathing hard. Then: "I'll tell you what I think Ring is — for various reasons. No, it would be easier to show you than tell you. He's inside — in the front room. Go to the window and watch him. I'm going to enter that room and say something."
She obeyed him, wondering, smiling faintly in expectation of the game to follow. Kirk stole to the inner door of the front room, and she saw him press it cautiously ajar. It made not a sound, and John Ring, sitting with his back to the door, in a corner, slowly turned the pages of a large book, poring over the illustrations. There was not a sound from the entrance of Kirk, that she could have sworn, but suddenly Ring sat erect, stiffening in his chair — the pages lay unstirred before him.
"Hands up!" called Kirk.
It was as if a gun-shot precipitated John Ring from his chair. One instant he sat there motionless; the next he was prone on the floor behind the chair. By magic, as if conjured from the thin air, a revolver was in his hand and leveled at the form of Kirk.
Chapter 9
"Come, come," called Kirk cheerily, though he had shrunk back against the wall, "only a jest, my dear Ring. Gad! looks as if it nearly turned out serious for me, eh? Pardon!" He retreated through the doorway and rejoined Winifred on the porch.
"You saw?"
"He is a Westerner," she answered, "born with a gun in his hand. It was only natural for him to draw a gun."
"Don't you see?" smiled Kirk. "The worst law-abiding Westerner knows the game is up when he hears that: 'Hands up! and he puts his fists high over his head. But a man to whom arrest is the same as death will fight it out even if he;s cornered."
"You mean that Ring is an outlaw?"
"That's plain."
"I wonder!"
"Seems to please you, Winifred."
"I think it does. "
"Good heavens, my dear, why?"
"My only doubt of Ring has been that he’s too nearly effeminate. If he’s an outlaw — well, you removed my only objection to him, Will."
"Winifred, did you see his face when he lay there on the floor with that gun pointed?"
"Yes. It looked like murder, didn't it?"
"And y
ou can smile at such a thing?"
"Nonsense. Nothing happened."
"But suppose, to complete my jest, I had had a gun in my hand and leveled at him."
"Then I suppose, Will, that I would now be closing your eyes and bidding you a long goodnight. Something about our friend Ring makes me feel that he seldom misses."
The big man answered: "And I begin to think that it's time something were done —"
"About what, Will?"
"I'll tell you after it's happened. Here comes your outlaw."
He stood in the doorway, perfectly serene, smiling at them in his own peculiar way. They had provided him with white clothes and now he came with small, slow steps across the verandah, seeming to luxuriate in the straightness of the creases in his trousers, and revelling in the neat coolness of his costume. Kirk turned on his heel and strode into the house.
He went on through until he reached the barn behind. There he said to one of the men who cared for the horses: "How long will it take you to reach Mortimer?"
"About fifteen hours of ordinary riding. Make it eleven on a hell of a rush."
"This," said Kirk, "is a hell of a rush. Ride for Mortimer and see that man you spend so much time talking about — the gunman — I mean Marshal Clauson. Tell him that on this ranch there is a man of medium height and of a very slender build, brown eyes — deep black hair — handsome — under thirty in age — hands as small as a woman's — and very quick with weapons. Ask him if that man is wanted in Arizona by the law. Now ride like the devil."
He waited until the messenger was out of sight on the southern trail. Then he went back to the house. The voice of conscience, which speaks so small and carries so far, was beginning to trouble him; but when he came again, softly, to the front of the house, and looked out on the verandah, he saw the man called John Ring sitting near Winifred with his head tilted back, his eyes half closed, and a faint smile as of mockery on his lips. Beyond them the Western sky was a riot of deepening colors, and towards this the girl was looking, but John Ring gave it not a glance. His eyes were fixed steadily on his companion. Kirk turned away. The voice of conscience troubled him no more.
Early the next morning, Winifred sent one of the servants to tell him that she wished to speak with him. He sent back a note:
"I think I know what you want to say. Fm asking you for your own sake, just as much as for mine, to wait until tomorrow noon at the least before you say it. Will you wait?"
She did not send a written answer to the note, but when she saw him later in the day she said: "Of course I'll wait — as long as you want me to. And I know you're not going to be foolish, Will?"
"I'm glad you're confident in me,” he answered drily.
She said with a sudden concern: "What is it, Will? You act like a little boy with a surprise to spring on the family. “
"To tell you the truth,” he said, "I have a surprise, and a corker. That is, I think I have. I ought to know by tomorrow morning. Will you wait?”
"Of course. I’ll ask John Ring. He ought to be good at riddles.”
"At this riddle,” said Kirk, "he ought to be very good.”
"There's something nasty behind that, Will?”
"Only a riddle.”
And so he left her, and spent the rest of the day by himself; but in the evening the man called John Ring came to his room. He spoke simply and to the point.
"We have been friends. We are friends no more. Is it because of the woman — your woman? Tell me, is it because of your woman?”
The face of William Kirk contorted with pain, and a perverse desire to torture himself made him spring to his feet and fairly shout: "Damn your eyes, don't you see that she's no longer 'my woman’? I don't know whose woman she is — maybe yours. And you and I? No, we're no longer friends. Now get the devil out of my room!"
"A loud voice,” answered Clung, "says foolish things.”
But he was smiling as he left the room, and Kirk knew with a cold falling of the heart that the stranger had gone straight to the girl. What would happen he could not well guess, but he knew her to be honorable as a man. She had given her word to wait until the next day, and he felt fairly confident that not even John Ring and his silence could make her speak before that time. Yet it was a night of no sleep for him. He went to bed late and tossed about for a while. At length he rose and began to walk up and down in the dark room. A low, orange-colored moon caught his eye, and he went to the window to watch its setting. Just before it sank out of sight, two figures walked across its image, a man and a woman, close together. Right before that moon they paused. The woman was looking up, and now she threw up both her arms. The man stood with folded arms and his head was bent. The moon rolled down below the hill-top; the two figures melted again into the dark from which they had come; and Kirk kneeled by the window and buried his face in his hands.
He went down to a late breakfast the next morning, hollow-eyed, nervous, his hands twitching violently so that he could hardly eat. There was such a growing weakness that he began to fear a relapse. He had barely finished his grapefruit when the two entered — John Ring and the girl. They had been through the garden, gathering flowers, and now they spilled a rich tide of color across the table, and stood there on either side of him, the girl laughing. He knew that Ring stood with his head back, smiling faintly; but he dared not look up and make sure. If he had been right, he would have had to jump at the man's throat.
"Look!" cried the girl, "sunlight outside and sunlight inside!"
She raised a double handful of yellow blossoms and let them shower down upon the table.
"Clung!” called a voice from the kitchen.
He dropped to the floor, a gun in either hand.
"Clung!” called a voice from the other side of the room.
"Clung! Clung!” they were all around him.
"We've got you, my boy,” called the voice of Marshal Clauson, "are you going to let us take you, or do we have to make a killing here?”
And Clung, thinking swiftly, thought of the fusillade of bullets — some of them going wild, perhaps — the girl — bloodshed — horror! He rose and tossed his guns upon the table. He pulled another six-shooter from the front of his white trousers; he threw a long knife after the rest. Then he folded his arms.
"I am ready,” said Clung.
Marshal Clauson appeared at the door of the kitchen. His eyes were narrowed, like those of a man prepared to do a desperate deed. He held two revolvers poised.
"Get your hands over your head, Clung!” he ordered; "come in behind him, boys, and shoot if he bats an eye.”
"I will not make trouble,” said Clung.
The Marshal, still white faced and narrow eyed, got between his victim and the table where Clung’s weapons lay.
"I begin to think you won't — and Fm damned glad of it, Clung. For a Chink you show an amazing pile of sense.”
There were six other men entering the room from various angles, each with leveled guns, yet even those who approached Clung from behind came softly, stealthily, as if each man was attempting a desperate deed alone.
“Get the irons on him,” ordered Marshal Clauson.
They were produced, a new, glittering pair; Clung held his arms patiently in position, and the manacles snapped shut.
"It was you?" smiled Clung to Kirk.
Chapter 10
But Kirk turned from those eyes as if he found them difficult to bear. He ran to Clauson and touched him on the shoulder.
"What d'you mean by 'Chink'?" he asked.
"What I say. This gent looks white, don't he? Well, he ain't. This, ladies and gents, is Clung of Mortimer. Half-breed Chinaman — son of old Li Clung — same town."
The hands of Winifred, as if frozen in place, had held the last of the yellow blossoms. Now the fingers curled over it, crushed it shapeless, colorless — a bruised, ugly mass, which dropped now unheeded to the floor.
"Who sent the word?" asked Clauson. "He gets half the reward."
"
I don't want the — the blood money," said Kirk.
"Wash your hands of the business, eh?" grinned the marshal. "Well, if you know
He passed a large silken bandana across his forehead.
"It's the cool of the morning all right, but I don't mind saying that I've been feeling some warm. Yep, even when we had the drop on this bird I wasn't particular happy. I tell you, I've seen this same Chink — well, why talk about what's done? We've got him. That's all. And he'll be hung nice and regular if I can keep the crowd from lynching him at Mortimer. What's the matter, lady, you look sick?"
A sickly pallor, indeed, had swept over her face, and now she moved for the door leading to the front part of the house. The course brought her unavoidably close to Clung, who stood with his head high, tilting back, eyes half closed, smiling faintly. One instant she paused, near him, and surveyed him from head to foot. Then an uncontrollable shudder swept over her; she covered her face with her hands and ran from the room.
"Makes her sick to know she's been in the same room with Clung, eh?" said the marshal easily — it was a great day for him. "But I tell you, gents, this Clung ain't so bad — for a Chink. Only one white notch in his record. And that was the fault of old Boyce, I guess. Lead him out, lads."
"One minute,” said Kirk, and he approached Clung and touched him on the shoulder; the other writhed suddenly away.
"Listen,” said Kirk, speaking so softly that no one else might hear, "I'm sorry, but I had to do it. I suspected something was wrong. I didn't dream it was as bad as this. For what you've done for me, I'm grateful. Tell me what I can do to make your last days happy, and —"
"Wash the thought of what I have done away," said Clung.
"Let me pay you for the medicine you used, at least."
"The medicine was common leaves dipped in tea. Half a cent would more than pay the cost. I healed your mind, not your body."
"Making a fool out of me from the first, eh? Still, I feel like a dog about this — er — Clung."
"It was not you," said the other. "It was fate. I have forgotten you already."
Brand, Max - 1924 Page 4