VI.
There was a general movement towards the bar when the fair proprietressof The Polka, who had lingered longer than usual in her little cabin ontop of the mountain, breezily entered the place by the main door. In acoarse, blue skirt, and rough, white flannel blouse, cut away and heldin place at the throat by a crimson ribbon, the Girl made a prettypicture; it was not difficult to see why the boys of Cloudy MountainCamp had a feeling which fell little short of adoration for thissun-browned maid, with the spirit of the mountain in her eyes. Thateach in his own way had given her to understand that he was desperatelysmitten with her, goes without saying. But, although she accepted theirrough homage as a matter of course, such a thought as falling in lovewith anyone of them had never entered her mind.
As far back, almost, as she could remember, the Girl had lived amongthem and had ever been a true comrade, sharing their disappointments andthrilling with their successes. Of a nature pure and simple, she was,nevertheless, frank and outspoken. Moreover, she knew to a dot what wasmeant when someone--bolder than his mates--stretched out his arms toher. One such exhibition on a man's part she was likely to forgive andforget, but the wrath and scorn that had blazed forth from her blueeyes on such an occasion had been sufficient to prevent a repetition ofthe offence. In short, unspoiled by their coarse flattery, and, to allappearances, happy and care-free, she attended to the running of ThePolka wholly unsmirched by her environment.
But a keen observer would not have failed to detect that the Girl tooka little less pleasure in her surroundings than she had taken in thembefore she had made the trip to Monterey. Downright glad, to use her ownexpression, as she had been on her return to see the boys of the campand hear their boisterous shouts of welcome when the stage drew up infront of The Polka, she had to acknowledge that her home-coming was notquite what she expected. It was as if she had suddenly been startled outof a beautiful dream wherein she had been listening to the soft music ofher lover's voice and brought face to face with the actualities of life,which, in her case, to say the least, were very real.
For hours after leaving her admirer sitting motionless on his horse onthe great highway between Monterey and Sacramento, the Girl had indulgedin some pertinent thoughts which, if the truth were known, were anythingbut complimentary to her behaviour. And, however successful she waslater on in persuading herself that he would eventually seek her out,there was no question that at first she felt that the chances of herever setting eyes on him again were almost negligible. All the morebitterly, therefore, did she regret her folly in not having told himwhere she lived; particularly so since she assured herself that not onlywas he the handsomest man that she had ever seen, but that he was theonly one who had ever succeeded in chaining her attention. That he hadbeen making love to her with his eyes, if not with words, she knewonly too well--a fact that had been anything but displeasing to her.Indeed, far from having felt sorry that she had encouraged him, she,unblushingly, acknowledged to herself that, if she had the thing to doover again, she would encourage him still more.
Was she then a flirt? Not at all, in the common acceptation of the word.All her knowledge of the ways of the world had been derived from MotherNature, who had supplied her with a quick and ready wit to turn aside,with a smile, the protestations of the boys; had taught her how to liveon intimate terms with them and yet not be intimate; but when it cameto playing at love, which every city maid of the same age is an adeptat, she was strangely ignorant. Of a truth, then, it was somethingfar broader and deeper that had entered into her heart--love. Notinfrequently love comes as suddenly as this to young women who livein small mining camps or out-of-the-way places where the men arepractically of a type; it is their unfamiliarity with the class whicha stranger represents when he makes his appearance in their midst thatis responsible, fully as much as his own personality, for their beingattracted to him. It is not impossible, of course, that if the Girl hadmet him in Cloudy,--say as a miner there,--the result would have beenprecisely the same. But it is much more likely that the attendantconditions of their meeting aided him in appealing to her imagination,and in touching a chord in her nature which, under other circumstances,would not have responded in as many months as there were minutes on thateventful day.
Little wonder then, that as each succeeding mile travelled by the stagetook her further and further away from him, something which, as yet, shedid not dare to name, kept tugging at her heartstrings and which sheendeavoured to overcome by listening to the stage driver's long-windedreminiscences and anecdotes concerning the country through whichthey were passing. But, although she made a brave effort to appearinterested, it did not take him long to realise that something was onhis passenger's mind and, being a wise man, he gradually relapsed intosilence, with the result that, before the long journey ended at CloudyMountain, she had deceived herself into believing that she was certainto see her admirer again.
But as the days grew into weeks, the weeks into months, and the Girlneither saw nor heard anything of him, it was inevitable that thepicture that he had left on her mind should begin to grow dim.Nevertheless, it was surprising what a knack his figure had of appearingbefore her at various times of the day and night, when she never failedto compare him with the miners in the camp, and, needless to say,unflatteringly to them. There came a time, it is true, when she wassorely tempted to tell one of them something of this new-found friend ofhers; but rightly surmising the effect that her praising of her paragonwould have upon the recipient of her confidences, she wisely resolved tolock up his image in her heart.
Of course, there were moments, too, when the Girl regretted that therewas no other woman--some friend of her own sex in the camp--to whom shecould confide her little romance. But since that boon was denied her,she took to seeking out the most solitary places to dream of him. Insuch moods she would climb to a high crag, a few feet from her cabin,and with a reminiscent and far-away look in her eyes she would sit forhours gazing at the great canyons and gorges, the broad forests andwooded hillsides, the waterfalls flashing silver in the distance, and,above all, at the wonderously-grand and snow-capped peaks of the mainrange.
At other times she would take the trail leading from the camp to thecountry below, and after wandering about aimlessly in the beautiful andmysterious forests, she would select some little glen through whicha brook trickled and murmured underneath the ferns into a pool, andseating herself on a clump of velvet moss, the great sugar pines andfirs forming a canopy over her head, she would whisper her secretthoughts and wild hopes to the gorgeously-plumed birds and saucysquirrels scampering all about her. The hours spent thus were as oasesin her otherwise practical existence, and after a while she wouldreturn laden down with great bunches of ferns and wild flowers which,eventually, found a place on the walls of The Polka.
* * * * * *
Glancing at the bar to see that everything was to her satisfaction, theGirl greeted the boys warmly, almost rapturously with:
"Hello, boys! How's everythin'? Gettin' taken care of?"
"Hello, Girl!" sang out Sonora in what he considered was his mostfetching manner. He had been the first to reach the coveted positionopposite the Girl, although Handsome, who had followed her in, wasleaning at the end of the bar nearest to the dance-hall.
"Hello, Sonora!" returned the Girl with an amused smile, for it wasimpossible with her keen sense of humour not to see Sonora's attemptsto make himself irresistible to her. Nor did she fail to observe thatTrinidad, likewise, had spruced himself up a little more than usual,with the same purpose in mind.
"Hello, Girl!" he said, strolling up to her with a ludicrous swagger.
"Hello, Trin!" came from the Girl, smilingly.
There was an awkward pause in which both Sonora and Trinidad flounderedabout in their minds for something to say; at length, a brilliantinspiration came to the former, and he asked:
"Say, Girl, make me a prairie oyster, will you?"
"All, right, Sonora, I'll fix you right up," returned the
Girl, smilingto herself at his effort. But at the moment that she was reaching for abottle back of the bar, a terrific whoop came from the dance-hall, andever-watchful lest the boys' fun should get beyond her control, shecalled to her factotum to quiet things down in the next room, concludingwarningly:
"They've had about enough."
When the barkeeper had gone to do her bidding, the Girl picked up anegg, and, poising it over a glass, she went on:
"Say, look 'ere, Sonora, before I crack this 'ere egg, I'd like to statethat eggs is four bits apiece. Only two hens left--" She broke offshort, and turning upon Handsome, who had been gradually sidlingup until his elbows almost touched hers, she repulsed him a trifleimpatiently:
"Oh, run away, Handsome!"
A flush of pleasure at Handsome's evident discomfiture spread overSonora's countenance, and comical, indeed, to the Girl, was the majesticair he took on when he ordered recklessly:
"Oh, crack the egg--I'll stand for it."
But Sonora's fancied advantage over the others was of short duration,for the next instant Nick, stepping quickly forward with a drink, handedit to the Girl with the words:
"Regards of Blonde Harry."
Again Sonora experienced a feeling akin to jealousy at what he termedBlonde Harry's impudence. It almost immediately gave way to a paroxysmof chuckling; for, the Girl, quickly taking the glass from Nick's hand,flung its contents into a nearby receptacle.
"There--tell 'im that it hit the spot!" She laughed.
Nick roared with the others, but on the threshold of the dance-hall hepaused, hesitated, and finally came back, and advised in a low tone:
"Throw around a few kind words, Girl--good for the bar."
The Girl surveyed the barkeeper with playful disapproval in her eye.However advantageous might be his method of working up trade, shedisdained to follow his advice, and her laughing answer was:
"Oh, you Nick!"
The peal of laughter that rung in Nick's ears as he disappeared throughthe door, awakened Ashby and brought him instantly to his feet. Despitehis size, he was remarkably quick in his movements, and in no time atall he was standing before the bar with a glass, which he had filledfrom the bottle that had stood in front of him on the table, and wassaying:
"Compliments of Wells Fargo."
"Thank you," returned the Girl; and then while she shook the prairieoyster: "You see we live high-shouldered here."
"That's what!" put in Sonora with a broad grin.
"What cigars have you?" asked Ashby, at the conclusion of his round ofdrinks.
"Regalias, Auroras and Eurekas," reeled off the Girl with her eye uponBilly Jackrabbit, who had quietly come in and was sneaking about in anendeavour to find something worth pilfering.
"Oh, any will do," Ashby told her, with a smile; and while he washelping himself from a box of Regalias, Nick suddenly appeared, callingout excitedly:
"Man jest come in threatenin' to shoot up the furniture!"
"Who is it?" calmly inquired the Girl, returning the cigar-box to itsplace on the shelf.
"Old man Watson!"
"Leave 'im shoot,--he's good for it!"
"Nick! Nick!" yelled several voices in the dance-hall where old manWatson was surely having the time of his life.
And still the Girl paid not the slightest attention to the shooting orthe cries of the men; what did concern her, however, was the fact thatthe Indian was drinking up the dregs in the whisky glasses on the farotable.
"Here, you, Billy Jackrabbit! What are you doin' here?" she exclaimedsharply, causing that generally imperturbable redskin to startperceptibly. "Did you marry my squaw yet?"
Billy Jackrabbit's face wore as stolid an expression as ever, when heanswered:
"Not so much married squaw--yet."
"Not so much married . . ." repeated the Girl when the merriment, whichhis words provoked, had subsided. "Come 'ere, you thievin' redskin!" Andwhen he had slid up to the bar, and she had extracted from his pockets anumber of cigars which she knew had been pilfered, she added: "You gitup to my cabin an' marry my squaw before I git there." And at anotheremphatic "Git!" the Indian, much to the amusement of all, started forthe Girl's cabin.
"Here--here's your prairie oyster, Sonora," at last said the Girl; andthen turning to the Sheriff and speaking to him for the first time, shecalled out gaily: "Hello, Rance!"
"Hello, Girl!" replied the Gambler without even a glance at her orceasing to shuffle the cards.
Presently, Sonora pulled out a bag of gold-dust and told the Girl toclear the slate out of it. She was in the act of taking the sack whenNick, rushing into the room and jerking his thumb over his shoulder,said:
"Say, Girl, there's a fellow in there wants to know if we can help outon provisions."
"Sure; what does he want?" returned the Girl with a show of willingnessto accommodate him.
"Bread."
"Bread? Does he think we're runnin' a bakery?"
"Then he asked for sardines."
"Sardines? Great Gilead! You tell 'im we have nothin' but straightprovisions here. We got pickled oysters, smokin' tobacco an' the bestwhisky he ever saw," rapped out the Girl, proudly, and turned herattention to the slate.
"You bet!" vouched Trinidad with a nod, as Nick departed on his errand.
Finally, the Girl, having made her calculations, opened the counterdrawer and brought forth some silver Mexican dollars, saying:
"Sonora, an' Mr. Ashby, your change!"
Ashby picked up his money, only to throw it instantly back on the bar,and say gallantly:
"Keep the change--buy a ribbon at The Ridge--compliments of WellsFargo."
"Thank you," smiled the Girl, sweeping the money into the drawer, buther manner showed plainly that it was not an unusual thing for thepatrons of The Polka to refuse to accept the change.
Not to be outdone, Sonora quickly arose and went over to the counterwhere, pointing to his stack of silver dollars, he said:
"Girl, buy two ribbons at The Ridge;" and then with a significant glancetowards Ashby, he added: "Fawn's my colour."
And again, as before, the voice that said, "Thank you," was colourless,while her eyes rested upon the ubiquitous Nick, who had entered with anarmful of wood and was intent upon making the room warmer.
Rance snorted disapprovingly at Sonora's prodigality. That he consideredthat both his and Ashby's attentions to the Girl had gone far enoughwas made apparent by the severe manner in which he envisaged them anddrawled out:
"Play cyards?"
But to that gentleman's surprise the men did not move. Instead, Ashbyraising a warning finger to the Girl, went on to advise that she shouldbank with them oftener, concluding with:
"And then if this road agent Ramerrez should drop in, you won't lose somuch--"
"The devil you say!" cut in Sonora; while Trinidad broke out into ascornful laugh.
"Oh, go on, Mr. Ashby!" smilingly scoffed the Girl. "I keep thespecie in an empty keg now. But I've took to bankin' personally in mystockin'," she confided without the slightest trace of embarrassment.
"But say, we've got an awful pile this month," observed Nick, anxiously,leaving the fireplace and joining the little ring of men about her. "Itmakes me sort o' nervous--why, Sonora's got ten thousand alone fer safekeepin' in that keg an'--"
"--Ramerrez' band's everywhere," completed Ashby with a start, his quickand trained ear having caught the sound of horses' hoofs.
"But if a road agent did come here, I could offer 'im a drink an' he'dtreat me like a perfect lady," contended the Girl, confidently.
"You bet he would, the durned old halibut!" was Sonora's comment, whileNick took occasion to ask the Girl for some tobacco.
"Solace or Honeydew?" she inquired, her hands already on the assortmentof tobacco underneath the bar.
"Dew," was Nick's laconic answer.
And then it was that the Girl heard for the first time the sound ofthe galloping hoofs; startled for the moment, she inquired somewhatuneasily:
&nb
sp; "Who's this, I wonder?"
But no sooner were the words spoken than a voice outside in the darknesssung out sharply:
"Hello!"
"Hello!" instantly returned another voice, which the Girl recognised atonce as being that of the Deputy.
"Big holdup last night at The Forks!" the first voice was now saying.
"Holdup!" repeated several voices outside in tones of excitement.
"Ramerrez--" went on the first voice, at which ominous word all,including Ashby, began to exchange significant glances as they echoed:
"Ramerrez!"
The name had barely died on their lips, however, than Nick precipitatedhimself into their midst and announced that The Pony Express hadarrived, handing up to the Girl, at the same time, a bundle of lettersand one paper.
"You see!" maintained Ashby, stoutly, as he watched her sort theletters; "I was right when I told you . . ."
"Look sharp! There's a greaser on the trail!" rang out warningly thevoice of The Pony Express.
"A greaser!" exclaimed Rance, for the first time showing any interest inthe proceedings; and then without looking up and after the manner of aman speaking to a good dog, he told the Deputy, who had followed Nickinto the room:
"Find him, Dep."
For some time the Girl occupied herself with cashing in the chips whichNick brought to her--a task which she performed with amazing correctnessand speed considering that her knowledge of the science of mathematicshad been derived solely from the handling of money at The Polka. Now shewent over to Sonora, who sat at a table reading.
"You got the newspaper, I see," she observed. "But you, Trin, I'm sorryyou ain't got nothin'," she added, with a sad, little smile.
"So long!" hollered The Pony Express at that moment; whereupon, Ashbyrushed over to the door and called after him:
"Pony Express, I want you!" Satisfied that his command had been heard heretraced his footsteps and found Handsome peering eagerly over Sonora'sshoulder.
"So, Sonora, you've got a newspaper," Handsome was saying.
"Yes, but the infernal thing's two months old," returned the otherdisgustedly.
Handsome laughed, and wheeling round was just in time to see the doorflung open and a young fellow advance towards Ashby.
The Pony Express was a young man of not more than twenty years ofage. He was smooth-faced and unshaven and, needless to say, was lightof build, for these riders were selected for their weight as wellas for their nerve. He wore a sombrero, a buckskin hunting-shirt,tight trousers tucked into high boots with spurs, all of which wereweather-beaten and faded by wind, rain, dust and alkali. A pair of Coltrevolvers could be seen in his holsters, and he carried in his hands,which were covered with heavy gloves, a mail pouch--it being thecompany's orders not to let his _muchilo_ of heavy leather out of hishands for a second.
"You drop mail at the greaser settlement?" inquired Ashby in hisperemptory and incisive manner.
"Yes, sir," quickly responded the young man; and then volunteered:"It's a tough place."
Ashby scrutinised the newcomer closely before going on with:
"Know a girl there named Nina Micheltorena?"
But before The Pony Express had time to reply the Girl interposedscornfully:
"Nina Micheltorena? Why, they all know 'er! She's one o' them Cachucagirls with droopy, Spanish eyes! Oh, ask the boys about 'er!" And withthat she started to leave the room, stopping on her way to clap bothTrinidad and Sonora playfully on the back. "Yes, ask the boys about 'er,they'll tell you!" And so saying she fled from the room, followed by themen she was poking fun at.
"Hold her letters, you understand?" instructed Ashby who, with theSheriff, was alone now with The Pony Express.
"Yes, sir," he replied earnestly. A moment later there being no furtherorders forthcoming he hastily took his leave.
Ashby now turned his attention to Rance.
"Sheriff," said he, "to-night I expect to see this Nina Micheltorenaeither here or at The Palmetto."
Rance never raised an eyebrow.
"You do?" he remarked a moment later with studied carelessness. "Well,the boys had better look to their watches. I met that lady once."
Ashby shot him a look of inquiry.
"She's looking to that five thousand reward for Ramerrez," he told him.
Rance's interest was growing by leaps and bounds though he continued toriffle the cards.
"What? She's after that?"
"Sure thing. She knows something . . ." And having delivered himselfof this Ashby strode over to the opposite side of the room where hiscoat and hat were hanging upon an elk horn. While putting them on hecame face to face with the Girl who, having merely glanced in at thedance-hall, was returning to take up her duties behind the bar. "Well,I'll have a look at that greaser up the road," he said, addressing her,and then went on half-jocularly, half-seriously: "He may have his eye onthe find in that stocking."
"You be darned!" was the Girl's parting shot at him as he went out intothe night.
There was a long and impressive pause in which, apparently, the Sheriffwas making up his mind to speak of matters scarcely incident to thesituation that had gone before; while fully conscious that she was tobe asked to give him an answer--she whose answer had been given manytimes--the Girl stood at the bar in an attitude of amused expectancy,and fussing with things there. At length, Rance, glancing shyly over hisshoulder to make sure that they were alone, became all at once grave andhis voice fell soft and almost caressingly.
"Say, Girl!"
The young woman addressed stole a look at him from under her lashes, allthe while smiling a wise, little smile to herself, but not a word didshe vouchsafe in reply.
Again Rance called to her over his shoulder:
"I say, Girl!"
The Girl took up a glass and began to polish it. At last she deigned tofavour him with "Hm?" which, apparently, he did not hear, for again asilence fell upon them. Finally, unable to bear the suspense any longer,the Sheriff threw down his cards on the table, and facing her he said:
"Say, Girl, will you marry me?"
"Nope," returned the Girl with a saucy toss of the head.
Rance rose and strode over to the bar. Looking fixedly at her with hissteely grey eyes he demanded the reason.
"'Cause you got a wife in Noo Orleans--or so the mountain breezes say,"was her ready answer.
Rance gave no sign of having heard her. Throwing away the cigar he wassmoking he asked in the most nonchalant manner:
"Give me some of them cigars--my kind."
Reaching for a box behind her the Girl placed it before him.
"Them's your kind, Jack."
From an inside pocket of his broadcloth coat Rance took out an elaboratecigar-case, filled it slowly, leaving out one cigar which he placedbetween his lips. When he had this one going satisfactorily he restedboth elbows on the edge of the bar, and said bluntly:
"I'm stuck on you."
The Girl's lips parted a little mockingly.
"Thank you."
Rance puffed away for a moment or two in silence, and then with suddendetermination he went on:
"I'm going to marry you."
"Think so?" questioned the Girl, drawing herself up proudly. And whileRance proceeded to relight his cigar, it having gone out, she plumpedboth elbows on the bar and looked him straight in the eye, andannounced: "They ain't a man here goin' to marry me."
The scene had precisely the appearance of a struggle between twopowerful wills. How long they would have remained with elbows almosttouching and looking into each other's eyes it is difficult todetermine; but an interruption came in the person of the barkeeper,who darted in, calling: "One good cigar!"
Instantly the Girl reached behind her for the box containing thechoicest cigars, and handing one to Nick, she said:
"Here's your poison--three bits. Why look at 'em," she went on inthe next breath to Rance; "there's Handsome with two wives I know ofsomewhere East. And--" She broke off short and ended with: "Nick,
who'sthat cigar for?"
"Tommy," he told her.
"Here, give that back!" she cried quickly putting out her hand for it."Tommy don't know a good cigar when he's smokin' it." And so saying sheput the choice cigar back in its place among its fellows and handed himone from another box with the remark: "Same price, Nick."
Nick chuckled and went out.
"An' look at Trin with a widow in Sacramento. An' you--" The Girl brokeoff short and laughed in his face. "Oh, not one o' you travellin' underyour own name!"
"One whisky!" ordered Nick, coming into the room with a rush. Withouta word the Girl took down a bottle and poured it out for him while hestood quietly looking on, grinning from ear to ear. For Rance's weaknesswas known to him as it was to every other man in Manzaneta County, andhe believed that the Sheriff had taken advantage of his absence to presshis hopeless suit.
"Here you be!" sang out the Girl, and passed the glass over to him.
"He wants it with water," returned Nick, with a snicker.
With a contemptuous gesture the Girl put the bottle back on the shelf.
"No--no you don't; no fancy drinks here!" she objected.
"But he says he won't take it without water," protested Nick, thoughthere was a twinkle in his eye. "He's a fellow that's jest rode in fromThe Crossin', so he says."
The Girl folded her arms and declared in a tone of finality:
"He'll take it straight or git."
"But he won't git," contended Nick chuckling. There was an ominoussilence. Such behaviour was without a parallel in the annals of Cloudy.For much less than this, as the little barkeeper very well knew, many aman had been disciplined by the Girl. So, with his eyes fixed upon herface, he was already revelling in the situation by way of anticipation,and rejoicing in the coming requital for his own rebuff when thestranger had declined to leave as ordered. It was merely a question ofhis waiting for the words which would, as he put it, "take the fellowdown a peg." They were soon forthcoming.
"You jest send 'im to me," commanded the Girl. "I'll curl his hair forhim!"
Nick's face showed that the message was to his liking. It was evident,also, that he meant to lose no time in delivering it. A moment after hedisappeared, Rance, who had been toying with a twenty dollar gold piecewhich he took from his pocket, turned to the Girl and said with greatearnestness:
"Girl, I'll give you a thousand dollars on the spot for a kiss," whichoffer met with no response other than a nervous little laugh and thewords:
"Some men invite bein' played."
The gambler shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, what are men made for?" said he, flinging the gold piece down onthe bar in payment for the cigar.
"That's true," placidly commented the Girl, making the change.
Rance tried another tack.
"You can't keep on running this place alone; it's getting too big foryou; too much money circulating through The Polka. You need a man behindyou." All this was said in short, jerky sentences; moreover, when sheplaced his change in front of him he pushed it back almost angrily.
"Come now, marry me," again he pleaded.
"Nope."
"My wife won't know it."
"Nope."
"Now, see here, there's just one--"
"Nope--take it straight, Jack, nope . . ." interrupted the Girl. She hadmade up her mind that he had gone far enough; and firmly grabbing hishand she slipped his change into it.
Without a word the Sheriff dropped the coins into the cuspidor. TheGirl saw the action and her eyes flashed with anger. The next moment,however, she looked up at him and said more gently than any time yet:
"No, Jack, I can't marry you. Ah, come along--start your game again--goon, Jack." And so saying she came out from behind the bar and went overto the faro table with: "Whoop la! Mula! Go! Good Lord, look at thatfaro table!"
But Rance was on the verge of losing control of himself. There waspassion in his steely grey eyes when he advanced towards her, butalthough the Girl saw the look she did not flinch, and met it in aclear, straight glance.
"Look here, Jack Rance," she said, "let's have it out right now. I runThe Polka 'cause I like it. My father taught me the business an', well,don't you worry 'bout me--I can look after m'self. I carry my littlewepping"--and with that she touched significantly the little pocket ofher dress. "I'm independent, I'm happy, The Polka's payin', an' it'sbully!" she wound up, laughing. Then, with one of her quick changes ofmood, she turned upon him angrily and demanded: "Say, what the devil doyou mean by proposin' to me with a wife in Noo Orleans? Now, this is arespectable saloon, an' I don't want no more of it."
A look of gloom came into Rance's eyes.
"I didn't say anything--" he began.
"Push me that Queen," interrupted the Girl, sharply, gathering up thecards at the faro table, and pointing to one that was just beyond herreach. But when Rance handed it to her and was moving silently away, sheadded: "Ah, no offence, Jack, but I got other idees o' married life fromwhat you have."
"Aw, nonsense!" came from the Sheriff in a voice that was not free fromirritation.
The Girl glanced up at him quickly. Her mind was not the abode ofhardened convictions, but was tender to sentiment, and something in hismanner at once softening her, she said:
"Nonsense? I dunno 'bout that. You see--" and her eyes took on a faraway look--"I had a home once an' I ain't forgot it--a home up over ourlittle saloon down in Soledad. I ain't forgot my father an' my motheran' what a happy kepple they were. Lord, how they loved each other--itwas beautiful!"
Despite his seemingly callous exterior, there was a soft spot in thegambler's heart. Every word that the Girl uttered had its effect on him.Now his hands, which had been clenched, opened out and a new light cameinto his eyes. Suddenly, however, it was replaced by one of anger, forthe door, at that moment, was hesitatingly pushed open, and The SidneyDuck stood with his hand on the knob, snivelling:
"Oh, Miss, I--"
The Girl fairly flew over to him.
"Say, I've heard about you! You git!" she cried; and when she wascertain that he was gone she came back and took a seat at the tablewhere she continued, in the same reminiscent vein as before: "I cansee mother now fussin' over father an' pettin' 'im, an' father dealin'faro--Ah, he was square! An' me a kid, as little as a kitten, under thetable sneakin' chips for candy. Talk 'bout married life--that was alittle heaven! Why, mother tho't so much o' that man, she was so muchheart an' soul with 'im that she learned to be the best case-keeper youever saw. Many a sleeper she caught! You see, when she played, she wasplayin' for the ol' man." She stopped as if overcome with emotion, andthen added with great feeling: "I guess everybody's got some remembranceo' their mother tucked away. I always see mine at the faro table withher foot snuggled up to Dad's, an' the light o' lovin' in her eyes. Ah,she was a lady . . .!" Impulsively she rose and walked over to the bar."No," she went on, when behind it once more, "I couldn't share thattable an' The Polka with any man--unless there was a heap o' carin' backof it. No, I couldn't, Jack, I couldn't . . ."
By this time the Sheriff's anger had completely vanished; dejection wasplainly written on every line of his face.
"Well, I guess the boys were right; I am a Chinaman," he drawled out.
At once the Girl was all sympathy.
"Oh, no you're not, Jack!" she protested, speaking as tenderly as shedared without encouraging him.
Rance was quick to detect the change in her voice. Now he leaned overthe end of the bar and said in tones that still held hope:
"Once when I rode in here it was nothing but Jack, Jack, Jack Rance. Bythe Eternal, I nearly got you then!"
"Did you?" The Girl was her saucy self again.
Rance ignored her manner, and went on:
"Then you went on that trip to Sacramento and Monterey and you weredifferent."
In spite of herself the Girl started, which Rance's quick eye did notfail to note.
"Who's the man?" he blazed.
For answer the Girl bu
rst out into a peal of laughter. It was forced,and the man knew it.
"I suppose he's one o' them high-toned, Sacramento shrimps!" he burstout gruffly; then he added meaningly: "Do you think he'd have you?"
At those words a wondering look shone in the Girl's eyes, and she askedin all seriousness:
"What's the matter with me? Is there anythin' 'bout me a high-toned gentwould object to?" And then as the full force of the insult was borne inupon her she stepped out from behind the bar, and demanded: "Look here,Jack Rance, ain't I always been a perfect lady?"
Rance laughed discordantly.
"Oh, heaven knows your character's all right!" And so saying he seatedhimself again at the table.
The girl flared up still more at this; she retorted:
"Well, that ain't your fault, Jack Rance!" But the words were hardly outof her mouth than she regretted having spoken them. She waited a moment,and then as he did not speak she murmured an "Adios, Jack," and took upher position behind the bar where, if Rance had been looking, he wouldhave seen her start on hearing a voice in the next room and fix her eyesin a sort of fascinated wonder, on a man who, after parting the peltcurtain, came into the saloon with just a suggestion of swagger in hisbearing.
The Girl of the Golden West Page 6