VII.
"Where's the man who wanted to curl my hair?"
Incisive and harsh, with scarcely a trace of the musical tones sherecollected so well, as was Johnson's voice, it deceived the Girl not aninstant. Even before she was able to get a glimpse of his face it didnot fail to tell her that the handsome _caballero_, with whom she hadridden on that never-to-be-forgotten day on the Monterey road, wasstanding before her. That his attire now, as might be expected, waswholly different from what it had been then, it never occurred to her tonote; for, to tell the truth, she was vainly struggling to suppress thejoy that she felt at seeing him again, and before she was aware of itthere slipped through her lips:
"Why, howdy do, stranger!"
At the sound of her voice Johnson wheeled round in glad surprise andamazement; but the quick look of recognition that he flashed upon herwholly escaped the Sheriff whose attitude was indicative of keenresentment at this intrusion, and whose eyes were taking in the newcomerfrom head to foot.
"We're not much on strangers here," he blurted out at last.
Johnson turned on his heel and faced the speaker. An angry retort roseto his lips, but he checked it. Although, perhaps, not fullyappreciating his action, he was, nevertheless, not unaware that, fromthe point of view of the Polka, his refusal to take his whisky straightmight be regarded as nothing less than an insult. And now that it wastoo late he was inclined, however much he resented an attempt tointerfere in a matter which he believed concerned himself solely, toregret the provocation and challenging words of his entrance if onlybecause of a realisation that a quarrel would be likely to upset hisplans. On the other hand, with every fraction of a second that passed hewas conscious of becoming more and more desirous of humbling the manstanding before him and scrutinising him so insolently; moreover, hefelt intuitively that the eyes of the Girl were on him as well as on theother principal to this silent but no less ominous conflict going on,and such being the case it was obviously impossible for him to withdrawfrom the position he had taken. As a sort of compromise, therefore, hesaid, tentatively:
"I'm the man who wanted water in his whisky."
"You!" exclaimed the Girl; and then added reprovingly: "Oh, Nick, thisgentleman takes his whisky as he likes it!"
And this from the Girl! The little barkeeper had all the appearance of aman who thought the world was coming to an end. He did not accept theGirl's ultimatum until he had drawn down his face into an expression ofmock solemnity and ejaculated half-aloud:
"Moses, what's come over 'er!"
Johnson took a few steps nearer the Girl and bowed low.
"In the presence of a lady I will take nothing," he said impressively."But pardon me, you seem to be almost at home here."
The girl leaned her elbows on the bar and her chin in her hands, andanswered with a tantalising little laugh:
"Who--me?"
After a loud guffaw Nick took it upon himself to explain matters;turning to Johnson he said:
"Why, she's the Girl who runs The Polka!"
Johnson's face wore a look of puzzled consternation; he saw no reasonfor levity.
"You . . .?"
"Yep," nodded the Girl with a merry twinkle in her eyes.
Johnson's face fell.
"She runs The Polka," he murmured to himself. Of all places to havechosen--this! So the thing he had dreaded had happened!
For odd as it unquestionably seemed to him that she should turn up asthe proprietress of a saloon after months of searching high and low forher, it was not this reflection that was uppermost in his mind; on thecontrary, it was the deeply humiliating thought that he had come uponher when about to ply his vocation. Regret came swiftly that he had notthought to inquire who was the owner of The Polka Saloon. Bitterly hecursed himself for his dense stupidity. And yet, it was doubtful whetherany of his band could have informed him. All that they knew of the placewas that the miners of Cloudy Mountain Camp were said to keep a largeamount of placer gold there; all that he had done was to acquainthimself with the best means of getting it. But his ruminations were soondissipated by Rance, who had come so close that their feet almosttouched, and was speaking in a voice that showed the quarrelsome frameof mind that he was in.
"You're from The Crossing, the barkeeper said--" he began, and thenadded pointedly: "I don't remember you."
Johnson slowly turned from the Girl to the speaker and calmly corrected:
"You're mistaken; I said I rode over from The Crossing." And turning hisback on the man he faced the Girl with: "So, you run The Polka?"
"I'm the Girl--the girl that runs The Polka," she said, and to hisastonishment seemed to glory in her occupation.
Presently, much to their delight, an opportunity came to them toexchange a word or two with each other without interruption. For, Rance,as if revolving some plan of action in his mind, had turned on his heeland walked off a little way. A moment more, however, and he was backagain and more malevolently aggressive than ever.
"No strangers are allowed in this camp," he said, glowering at Johnson;and then, his remark having passed unheeded by the other, he sneered:"Perhaps you're off the road; men often get mixed up when they'revisiting Nina Micheltorena on the back trail."
"Oh, Rance!" protested the Girl.
But Johnson, though angered, let the insinuation pass unnoticed, andwent on to say that he had stopped in to rest his horse and, perhaps, ifinvited, try his luck at a game of cards. And with this intimation hecrossed over to the poker table where he picked up the deck that Rancehad been using.
Rance hesitated, and finally followed up the stranger until he broughtup face to face with him.
"You want a game, eh?" he drawled, coolly impudent. "I haven't heardyour name, young man."
"Name," echoed the Girl with a cynical laugh. "Oh, names out here--"
"My name's Johnson--" spoke up the man, throwing down the cards on thetable.
"Is what?" laughed the Girl, saucily, and, apparently, trying to relievethe strained situation by her bantering tone.
"--Of Sacramento," he finished easily.
"Of Sacramento," repeated the Girl in the same jesting manner as before;then, quickly coming out from behind the bar, she went over to him andput out her hand, saying:
"I admire to know you, Mr. Johnson o' Sacramento."
Johnson bowed low over her hand.
"Thank you," he said simply.
"Say, Girl, I--" began Rance, fuming at her behaviour.
"Oh, sit down, Rance!" The interruption came from the Girl as she pushedhim lightly out of her way; then, perching herself up on one end of thefaro table, at which Johnson had taken a seat, she ventured:
"Say, Mr. Johnson, do you know what I think o' you?"
Johnson eyed her uncertainly, while Rance's eyes blazed as she blurtedout:
"Well, I think you staked out a claim in a etiquette book." And thenbefore Johnson could answer her, she went on to say: "So you think youcan play poker?"
"That's my conviction," Johnson told her, smilingly.
"Out o' every fifty men who think they can play poker one ain'tmistaken," was the Girl's caustic observation. The next instant,however, she jumped down from the table and was back at her post, where,fearful lest he should think her wanting in hospitality, she proposed:"Try a cigar, Mr. Johnson?"
"Thank you," he said, rising, and following her to the bar.
"Best in the house--my compliments."
"You're very kind," said Johnson, taking the candle that she had lightedfor him; then, when his cigar was going, and in a voice that wasintended for her alone, he went on: "So you remember me?"
"If you remember me," returned the Girl, likewise in a low tone.
"What the devil are they talking about anyway?" muttered Rance tohimself as he stole a glance at them over his shoulder, though he kepton shuffling the cards.
"I met you on the road to Monterey," said Johnson with a smile.
"Yes, comin' an' goin'," smiled back the Girl. "You passed me a bunch o'w
ild syringa over the wheel; you also asked me to go a-berryin'--" andhere she paused long enough to glance up at him coquettishly beforeadding: "But I didn't see it, Mr. Johnson."
"I noticed that," observed Johnson, laughing.
"An' when you went away you said--" The Girl broke off abruptly andreplaced the candle on the bar; then with a shy, embarrassed look on herface she ended with: "Oh, I dunno."
"Yes, you do, yes, you do," maintained Johnson. "I said I'll think ofyou all the time--well, I've thought of you ever since."
There was a moment of embarrassment. Then:
"Somehow I kind o' tho't you might drop in," she said with averted eyes."But as you didn't--" She paused and summoned to her face a look whichshe believed would adequately reflect a knowledge of the proprieties."O' course," she tittered out, "it wa'n't my place to rememberyou--first."
"But I didn't know where you lived--you never told me, you know,"contended the road agent, which contention so satisfied the Girl--forshe remembered only too well that she had not told him--that shedetermined to show him further evidences of her regard.
Say, I got a special bottle here--best in the house. Will you . . .?"
"Why--"
The girl did not wait for him to finish his sentence, but quickly placeda bottle and glass before him.
"My compliments," she whispered, smiling.
"You're very kind--thanks," returned the road agent, and proceeded topour out a drink.
Meanwhile, little of what was taking place had been lost on Jack Rance.As the whispered conversation continued, he grew more and more jealous,and at the moment that Johnson was on the point of putting the glass tohis lips, Rance, rising quickly, went over to him and deliberatelyknocked the glass out of his hand.
With a crash it fell to the floor.
"Look here, Mr. Johnson, your ways are offensive to me!" he cried;"damned offensive! My name is Rance--Jack Rance. Your businesshere--your business?" And without waiting for the other's reply hecalled out huskily: "Boys! Boys! Come in here!"
At this sudden and unexpected summons in the Sheriff's well-known voicethere was a rush from the dance-hall; in an instant the good-natured,roistering crowd, nosing a fight, crowded to the bar, where the two menstood glaring at each other in suppressed excitement.
"Boys," declared the Sheriff, his eye never leaving Johnson's face,"there's a man here who won't explain his business. He won't tell--"
"Won't he?" cut in Sonora, blusteringly. "Well, we'll see--we'll make'im!"
There was a howl of execration from the bar. It moved the Girl toinstant action. Quick as thought she turned and strode to where thecries were the most menacing--towards the boys who knew her best andever obeyed her unquestioningly.
"Wait a minute!" she cried, holding up her hand authoritatively. "I knowthe gent!"
The men exchanged incredulous glances; from all sides came the explosivecries:
"What's that? You know him?"
"Yes," she affirmed dramatically; and turning now to Rance with a swiftchange of manner, she confessed: "I didn't tell you--but I know 'im."
The Sheriff started as if struck.
"The Sacramento shrimp by all that is holy!" he muttered between histeeth as the truth slowly dawned upon him.
"Yes, boys, this is Mr. Johnson o' Sacramento," announced the Girl witha simple and unconscious dignity that did not fail to impress allpresent. "I vouch to Cloudy for Mr. Johnson!"
Consternation!
And then the situation vaguely dawning upon them there ensued anoutburst of cheering compared to which the previous howl of execrationwas silence.
Johnson smiled pleasantly at the Girl in acknowledgment of herconfirmation of him, then shot a half-curious, half-amused look at thecrowd surrounding him and regarding him with a new interest. Apparentlywhat he saw was to his liking, for his manner was most friendly whenbowing politely, he said:
"How are you, boys?"
At once the miners returned his salutation in true western fashion:every man in the place, save Rance, taking off his hat and sweeping itbefore him in an arc as they cried out in chorus:
"Hello, Johnson!"
"Boys, Rance ain't a-runnin' The Polka yet!" observed Sonora with amocking smile on his lips, and gloating over the opportunity to give theSheriff a dig.
The men shouted their approval of this jibe. Indeed, they might havegone just a little too far with their badgering of the Sheriff,considering the mood that he was in; so, perhaps, it was fortunate thatNick should break in upon them at this time with:
"Gents, the boys from The Ridge invites you to dance with them."
No great amount of enthusiasm was evinced at this. Nevertheless, it wasa distinct declaration of peace; and, taking advantage of it, Johnsonadvanced toward the Girl, bowed low, and asked with elaborate formality:
"May I have the honour of a waltz?"
Flabbergasted and awed to silence by what they termed Johnson's "style,"Happy and Handsome stood staring helplessly at one another; at lengthHappy broke out with:
"Say, Handsome, ain't he got a purty action? An' ornamental sort o'cuss, ain't he? But say, kind o' presumin' like, ain't it, for a fellowbreathin' the obscurity o' The Crossin' to learn gents like us how toketch the ladies pronto?"
"Which same," allowed Handsome, "shorely's a most painful, not to sayhumiliatin' state o' things." And then to the Girl he whispered: "It'sup to you--make a holy show of 'im."
The Girl laughed.
"Me waltz? Me?" she cried, answering Johnson at last. "Oh, I can't waltzbut I can polky."
Once more Johnson bent his tall figure to the ground, and said:
"Then may I have the pleasure of the next polka?"
By this time Sonora had recovered from his astonishment. After givingvent to a grunt expressive of his contempt, he blurted out:
"That fellow's too flip!"
But the idea had taken hold of the Girl, though she temporised shyly:
"Oh, I dunno! Makes me feel kind o' foolish, you know, kind o' retirin'like a elk in summer."
Johnson smiled in spite of himself.
"Elks are retiring," was his comment as he again advanced and offeredhis arm in an impressive and ceremonious manner.
"Well, I don't like everybody's hand on the back o' my waist," said theGirl, running her hands up and down her dress skirt. "But, somehow--"She stopped, and fixing her eyes recklessly on Rance, made a movement asif about to accept; but another look at Johnson's proffered arm soembarrassed her that she sent a look of appeal to the rough fellows, whostood watching her with grinning faces.
"Oh, Lord, must I?" she asked; then, hanging back no longer, shesuddenly flung herself into his arms with the cry: "Oh, come along!"
Promptly Johnson put his arm around the Girl's waist, and breaking intoa polka he swung her off to the dance-hall where their appearance wasgreeted with a succession of wild whoops from the men there, as well asfrom the hilarious boys, who had rushed pell-mell after them.
Left to himself and in a rage Rance began to pace the floor.
"Cleaned out--cleaned out for fair by a high-toned, fine-haired dognamed Johnson! Well, I'll be--" The sentence was never finished, hisattention being caught and held by something which Nick was carrying infrom the dance-hall.
"What's that?" he demanded brusquely.
Nick's eyes were twinkling when he answered:
"Johnson's saddle."
Rance could control himself no longer; with a sweep of his long arm heknocked the saddle out of the other's hand, saying:
"Nick, I've a great notion to walk out of this door and never step myfoot in here again."
Nick did not answer at once. While he did not especially care for Rancehe did not propose to let his patronage, which was not inconsiderable,go elsewhere without making an effort to hold it. Therefore, he thoughta moment before picking up the saddle and placing it in the corner ofthe room.
"Aw, what you givin' us, Rance! She's only a-kiddin' 'im," at last hesaid consolingly.
&
nbsp; The Sheriff was about to question this when a loud cry from outsidearrested him.
"What's that?" he asked with his eyes upon the door.
"Why that's--that's Ashby's voice," the barkeeper informed him; andgoing to the door, followed by Rance, as well as the men who, on hearingthe cry, had rushed in from the dance-hall, he opened it, and they heardagain the voice that they all recognised now as that of the Wells FargoAgent.
"Come on!" he was saying gruffly.
"What the deuce is up?" inquired Trinidad simultaneously with theDeputy's cry of "Bring him in!" And almost instantly the Deputy,followed by Ashby and others, entered, dragging along with him theunfortunate Jose Castro. The rough handling that he had received had notimproved his appearance. His clothing, half Mexican, the rest of oddsand ends, had been torn in several places. He looked oily, greasy andunwashed, while the eyes that looked around in affright had lost none oftheir habitual trickiness and sullenness.
And precisely as Castro appeared wholly different than when last seen inthe company of his master, so, too, was Ashby metamorphosed. His hat wason the back of his head; his coat looked as if he had been engaged insome kind of a struggle; his hair was ruffled and long locks straggleddown over his forehead; while his face wore a brutal, savage, pitiless,nasty look.
By this time all the regular habitues of the saloon had come in and werecrowding around the greaser with scowling, angry faces.
"The greaser on the trail!" gurgled Ashby in his glass, having left hisprisoner for a moment to fortify himself with a drink of whisky.
Whereupon, the Sheriff advanced and, with rough hands, jerked theprisoner's head brutally.
"Here you," he said, "give us a look at your face."
But the Sheriff had never seen him before. And in obedience to hiscommands to "Tie him up!" the Deputy and Billy Jackrabbit took a lariatfrom the wall and proceeded to bind their prisoner fast. When this wasdone Ashby called to Nick to serve him another drink, adding:
"Come on, boys!"
Instantly there was an exclamatory lining up at the bar, only Sonora,apparently, seeming disinclined to accept, which Ashby was quick tonote. Turning to him quickly, he inquired:
"Say, my friend, don't you drink?"
But no insult had been intended by Sonora's omission; it was merely mostinconsiderate on his part of the feelings of others; and, therefore,there was a note of apology in the voice that presently said:
"Oh, yes, Mr. Ashby, I'm with you all right."
During this conversation the eyes of the greaser had been wandering allover the room. But as the men moved away from him to take their drinkshe started violently and an expression of dismay crossed his features."Ramerrez' saddle!" he muttered to himself. "_The Maestro_--he istaken!"
Just then there came a particularly loud burst of approval from thespectators of the dancing going on in the adjoining room, andinstinctively the men at the bar half-turned towards the noise. Theprisoner's eyes followed their gaze and a fiendish grin replaced thelook of dismay on his face. "No, he is there dancing with a girl," hesaid under his breath. A moment later Nick let down the bearskincurtain, shutting off completely the Mexican's view of the dance-hall.
"Come, now, tell us what your name is?" The voice was Ashby's who,together with the others, now surrounded the prisoner. "Speak up--whoare you?"
"My name ees Jose Castro;" and then he added with a show of pride:"_Ex-padrona_ of the bull-fights."
"But the bull-fights are at Monterey! Why do you come to this place?"
All eyes instantly turned from the prisoner to Rance, who had asked thequestion while seated at the table, and from him they returned to theprisoner, most of the men giving vent to exclamations of anger in tonesthat made the greaser squirm, while Trinidad expressed the prevailingadmiration of the Sheriff's poser by crying out:
"That's the talk--you bet! Why do you come here?"
Castro's face wore an air of candour as he replied:
"To tell the Senor Sheriff I know where ees Ramerrez."
Rance turned on the prisoner a grim look.
"You lie!" he vociferated, at the same time raising his hand to checkthe angry mutterings of the men that boded ill for the greaser.
"Nay," denied Castro, strenuously, "pleanty Mexican _vaquero_--my friendPeralta, Weelejos all weeth Ramerrez--so I know where ees."
Rance advanced and shot a finger in his face.
"You're one of his men yourself!" he cried hotly. But if he had hoped byhis accusation to take the man off his guard, it was eminentlyunsuccessful, for the look on the greaser's face was innocence itselfwhen he declared:
"No, no, Senor Sheriff."
Rance reflected a moment; suddenly, then, he took another tack.
"You see that man there?" he queried, pointing to the Wells Fargo Agent."That is Ashby. He is the man that pays out that reward you've heardof." Then after a pause to let his words sink in, he demanded gruffly:"Where is Ramerrez' camp?"
At once the prisoner became voluble.
"Come with me one mile, Senor," he said, "and by the soul of my mother,the blessed Maria Saltaja, we weel put a knife into hees back."
"One mile, eh?" repeated Rance, coolly.
The miners looked incredulous.
"If I tho't--" began Sonora, but Rance rudely cut in with:
"Where is this trail?"
"Up the Madrona Canyada," was the greaser's instant reply.
At this juncture a Ridge boy, who had pushed aside the bear-skin curtainand was gazing with mouth wide open at the proceedings, suddenly criedout:
"Why, hello, boys! What's the--" He got no further. In a twinkling andwith cries of "Shut up! Git!" the men made for the intruder and bodilythrew him out of the room. When quiet was restored Rance motioned to theprisoner to proceed.
"Ramerrez can be taken--too well taken," declared the Mexican, gainingconfidence as he went on, "if many men come with me--in forty minutesthere--back."
Rance turned to Ashby and asked him what he thought about it.
"I don't know what to think," was the Wells Fargo Agent's reply. "But itcertainly is curious. This is the second warning--intimation that wehave had that he is somewhere in this vicinity."
"And this Nina Micheltorena--you say she is coming here to-night?"
Ashby nodded assent.
"All the same, Rance," he maintained, "I wouldn't go. Better drop in toThe Palmetto later."
"What? Risk losin' 'im?" exclaimed Sonora, who had been listeningintently to their conversation.
"We'll take the chance, boys, in spite of Ashby's advice," Rance saiddecisively. It was with not a little surprise that he heard the shoutswith which his words were approved by all save the Wells Fargo Agent.
Now the miners made a rush for their coats, hats and saddles, while fromall sides came the cries of, "Come on, boys! Careful--there!Ready--Sheriff!"
Gladly, cheerfully, Nick, too, did what he could to get the men startedby setting up the drinks for all hands, though he remarked as he did so:
"It's goin' to snow, boys; I don't like the sniff in the air."
But even the probability of encountering a storm--which in that altitudewas something decidedly to be reckoned with--did not deter the men fromproceeding to make ready for the road agent's capture. In an incrediblyshort space of time they had loaded up and got their horses together,and from the harmony in their ranks while carrying out orders, it wasevident that not a man there doubted the success of their undertaking.
"We'll git this road agent!" sung out Trinidad, going out through thedoor.
"Right you are, pard!" agreed Sonora; but at the door he called back tothe greaser: "Come on, you oily, garlic-eatin', red-peppery,dog-trottin', sunbaked son of a skunk!"
"Come on, you . . .!" came simultaneously from the Deputy, now untyingthe rope which bound the prisoner.
The greaser's teeth were chattering; he begged:
"One dreenk--I freeze . . ."
Turning to Nick the Deputy told him to give the man a drink, a
dding ashe left the room:
"Watch him--keep your eye on him a moment for me, will you?"
Nick nodded; and then regarding the Mexican with a contemptuous look, heasked:
"What'll you have?"
The Mexican rose to his feet and began hesitatingly:
"Geeve me--" He paused; and then, starting with the thought that hadcome to him, he shot a glance at the dance-hall and called out loudly,rolling his r's even more pronouncedly than is the custom with his race:"Aguardiente! Aguardiente!"
"Sit down!" ordered Nick, vaguely conscious that there was something inthe greaser's voice that was not there before.
The greaser obeyed, but not until he knew for a certainty that his voicehad been heard by his master.
"So you did bring in my saddle, eh, Nick?" asked the road agent, comingquickly, but unconcernedly into the room and standing behind his man.
Up to this time, Nick's eyes had not left the prisoner, but with theappearance on the scene of Johnson, he felt that his responsibilityceased in a measure. He turned and gave his attention to matterspertaining to the bar. As a consequence, he did not see the look ofrecognition that passed between the two men, nor did he hear thewhispered dialogue in Spanish that followed.
"_Maestro! Ramerrez!_" came in whispered tones from Castro.
"Speak quickly--go on," came likewise in whispered tones from the roadagent.
"I let them take me according to your bidding," went on Castro.
"Careful, Jose, careful," warned his master while stooping to pick uphis saddle, which he afterwards laid on the faro table. It was while hewas thus engaged that Nick came over to the prisoner with a glass ofliquor, which he handed to him gruffly with:
"Here!"
At that moment several voices from the dance-hail called somewhatimpatiently: "Nick, Nick!"
"Oh, The Ridge boys are goin'!" he said, and seeming intuitively to knowwhat was wanted he made for the bar. But before acceding to theirwishes, he turned to Johnson, took out his gun and offered it to himwith the words: "Say, watch this greaser for a moment, will you?"
"Certainly," responded Johnson, quickly, declining the other's pistol bytouching his own holster significantly. "Tell the Girl you pressed meinto service," he concluded with a smile.
"Sure." But on the point of going, the little barkeeper turned to himand confided: "Say, the Girl's taken an awful fancy to you."
"No?" deprecated the road agent.
"Yes," affirmed Nick. "Drop in often--great bar!"
Johnson smiled an assent as the other went out of the room leavingmaster and man together.
"Now, then, Jose, go on," he said, when they were alone."_Bueno!_ Our men await the signal in the bushes close by. I will leadthe Sheriff far off--then I will slip away. You quietly rob the placeand fly--it is death for you to linger--Ashby is here."
"Ashby!" The road agent started in alarm.
"Ashby--" reiterated Castro and stopped on seeing that Nick had returnedto see that all was well.
"All right, Nick, everything's all right," Johnson reassured him.
The outlaw's position remained unchanged until Nick had withdrawn. Fromwhere he stood he now saw for the first time the preparations that werebeing made for his capture: the red torchlights and white candle-lightedlanterns which were reflected through the windows; and a moment more heheard the shouts of the miners calling to one another. Of a sudden hewas aroused to a consciousness, at least, of their danger by Castro'swarning:
"By to-morrow's twilight you must be safe in your rancho."
The road agent shook his head determinedly.
"No, we raid on."
Castro was visibly excited.
"There are a hundred men on your track."
Johnson smiled.
"Oh, one minute's start of the devil does me, Jose."
"Ah, but I fear the woman--Nina Micheltorena--I fear her terribly. Sheis close at hand--knowing all, angry with you, and jealous--and stillloving you."
"Loving me? Oh, no, Jose! Nina, like you, loves the spoils, not me. No,I raid on . . ."
A silence fell upon the two men, which was broken by Sonora calling out:
"Bring along the greaser, Dep!"
"All right!" answered the loud voice of the Deputy.
"You hear--we start," whispered Castro to his master. "Give the signal."And notwithstanding, the miners were coming through the door for him andstood waiting, torches in hand, he contrived to finish: "Antonio awaitsfor it. Only the woman and her servant will stay behind here."
"Adios!" whispered the master.
"Adios!" returned his man simultaneously with the approach of the Deputytowards them.
It was then that the Girl's gay, happy voice floated in on them from thedance-hall; she cried out:
"Good-night, boys, good-night! Remember me to The Ridge!"
"You bet we will! So long! Whoop! Whooppee!" chorussed the men, whilethe Deputy, grabbing the Mexican by the collar, ordered him to, "Comeon!"
The situation was not without its humorous side to the road agent; hecould not resist following the crowd to the door where he stood andwatched his would-be captors silently mount; listened to the Sheriffgive the word, which was immediately followed by the sound of horsesgrunting as they sprang forward into the darkness in a desperate effortto escape the maddening pain of the descending quirts and cruel spurs.It was a scene to set the blood racing through the veins, viewed in anylight; and not until the yells of the men had grown indistinct, and allthat could be heard was the ever-decreasing sound of rushing hoofs, didthe outlaw turn back into the saloon over which there hung a silencewhich, by contrast, he found strangely depressing.
The Girl of the Golden West Page 7