The Girl of the Golden West
Page 9
IX.
Notwithstanding that The Palmetto was the most pretentious building inCloudy, and was the only rooming and eating house that outwardlyasserted its right to be called an hotel, its saloon contrastedunfavourably with its rival, The Polka. There was not the individualityof the Girl there to charm away the impress of coarseness settled uponit by the loafers, the habitual drunkards and the riffraff of the camp,who were not tolerated elsewhere. In short, it did not have that certainindefinable something which gave to The Polka Saloon an almost homelikeappearance, but was a drab, squalid, soulless place with nothing torecommend it but its size.
In a small parlour pungent at all times with the odour of liquor,--butused only on rare occasions, most of The Palmetto's patrons preferringthe even more stifling atmosphere of the bar-room,--the Wells FargoAgent had been watching and waiting ever since he had left The PolkaSaloon. On a table in front of him was a bottle, for it was a part ofAshby's scheme of things to solace thus all such weary hours.
Although a shrewd judge of women of the Nina Micheltorena type and by nomeans unmindful of their mercurial temperament, Ashby, nevertheless, hadfelt that she would keep her appointment with him. In the Mexican Camphe had read the wild jealousy in her eyes, and had assumed, notunnaturally, that there had been scarcely time for anything to occurwhich would cause a revulsion of feeling on her part. But as the momentswent by, and still she did not put in an appearance, an expression ofkeen disappointment showed itself on his face and, with mechanicalregularity, he carried out the liquid programme, shutting his eyes aftereach drink for moments at a time yet, apparently, in perfect control ofhis mind when he opened them again; and it was in one of these momentsthat he heard a step outside which he correctly surmised to be that ofthe Sheriff.
Without a word Rance walked into the room and over to the table andhelped himself to a drink from the bottle there, which action the WellsFargo Agent rightly interpreted as meaning that the posse had failed tocatch their quarry. At first a glint of satisfaction shone in Ashby'seyes: not that he disliked Rance, but rather that he resented hisegotistical manner and evident desire to overawe all who came in contactwith him; and it required, therefore, no little effort on his part tobanish this look from his face and make up his mind not to mention thesubject in any manner.
For some time, therefore, the two officers sat opposite to each otherinhaling the stale odour of tobacco and spirits peculiar to this room,with little or no ventilation. It was enough to sicken anyone, but bothmen, accustomed to such places in the pursuit of their calling,apparently thought nothing of it, the Sheriff seemingly absorbed incontemplating the long ash at the end of his cigar, but, in reality,turning over in his mind whether he should leave the room or not. Atlength, he inaugurated a little contest of opinion.
"This woman isn't coming, that's certain," he declared, impatiently.
"I rather think she will; she promised not to fail me," was the other'squiet answer; and he added: "In ten minutes you'll see her."
It was a rash remark and expressive of a confidence that he by no meansfelt. As a matter of fact, it was induced solely by the cynical smilewhich he perceived on the Sheriff's face.
"You, evidently, take no account of the fact that the lady may havechanged her mind," observed Rance, lighting a fresh cigar. "The NinaMicheltorenas are fully as privileged as others of their sex."
As he drained his glass Ashby gave the speaker a sharp glance; anotherside of Rance's character had cropped out. Moreover, Ashby's quickintuition told him that the other's failure to catch the outlaw was nottroubling him nearly as much as was the blow which his conceit hadprobably received at the hands of the Girl. It was, therefore, in anindulgent tone that he said:
"No, Rance, not this one nor this time. You mark my words, the woman isthrough with Ramerrez. At least, she is so jealous that she thinks sheis. She'll turn up here, never fear; she means business."
The shoulders of Mr. Jack Rance strongly suggested a shrug, but the manhimself said nothing. They were anything but sympathetic companions,these two officers, and in the silence that ensued Rance formulatedmentally more than one disparaging remark about the big man sittingopposite to him. It is possible, of course, that the Sheriff's rebuff bythe Girl, together with the wild goose chase which he had recently takenagainst his better judgment, had something to do with this bitterness;but it was none the less true that he found himself wondering how Ashbyhad succeeded in acquiring his great reputation. Among the things thathe held against him was his everlasting propensity to boast of hisachievements, to say nothing of the pedestal upon which the boysinsisted upon placing him. Was this Wells Fargo's most famous agent? Wasthis the man whose warnings were given such credence that they stirredeven the largest of the gold camps into a sense of insecurity? And atthis Rance indulged again in a fit of mental merriment at the other'sexpense.
But, although he would have denied it in toto, the truth of the matterwas that the Sheriff was jealous of Ashby. Witty, generous, and a highliver, the latter was generally regarded as a man who fascinated women;moreover, he was known to be a favourite--and here the shoepinched--with the Girl. True, the demands of his profession were such asto prevent his staying long in any camp. Nevertheless, it seemed toRance that he contrived frequently to turn up at The Polka when the boyswere at the diggings.
After Ashby's observation the conversation by mutual, if unspoken,consent, was switched into other channels. But it may be truthfully saidthat Rance did not wholly recover his mental equilibrium until a doorwas heard to open noiselessly and some whispered words in Spanish fellupon their ears.
Now the Sheriff, as well as Ashby, had the detective instinct fullydeveloped; moreover, both men knew a few words of that language and hadan extreme curiosity to hear the conversation going on between a man anda woman, who were standing just outside in a sort of hallway. As aresult, therefore, both officers sprang to the door with the hope--ifindeed it was Nina Micheltorena as they surmised--that they might catcha word or two which would give them a clue to what was likely to takeplace at the coming interview. It came sooner than they expected.
". . . Ramerrez--Five thousand dollars!" reached their ears in a soft,Spanish voice.
Ashby needed nothing more than this. In an instant, much to theSheriff's astonishment, and moving marvellously quick for a man of hisheavy build, he was out of the room, leaving Rance to face a woman witha black mantilla thrown over her head who, presently, entered by anotherdoor.
Nina Micheltorena, for it was she, did not favour him with as much as anicy look. Nor did the Sheriff give any sign of knowing her; a wiseproceeding as it turned out, for a quick turn of the head and a subtlemovement of the woman's shoulders told him that she was in anything buta quiet state of mind. One glance towards the door behind him, however,and the reason of her anger was all too plain: A Mexican was vainlystruggling in the clutches of Ashby.
"Why are you dragging him in?" Far from quailing before him as did herconfederate, she confronted Ashby with eyes that flashed fire. "He camewith me--"
Ashby cut her short.
"We don't allow greasers in this camp and--" he began in a throatyvoice.
"But he is waiting to take me back!" she objected, and then added: "Iwish him to wait for me outside, and unless you allow him to I'll go atonce." And with these words she made a movement towards the door.
Ashby laid one restraining hand upon her, while with the other he heldon to the Mexican. Of a sudden there had dawned upon him the convictionthat for once in his life he had made a grievous mistake. He hadthought, by the detention of her confederate, to have two strings to hisbow, but one glance at the sneeringly censorious expression on theSheriff's face convinced him that no information would be forthcomingfrom the woman while in her present rebellious mood.
"All right, my lady," he said, for the time being yielding to her will,"have your way." And turning now to the Mexican, he added none toogently:
"Here you, get out!"
Whereupon the Mexican slunk
out of the room.
"There's no use of your getting into a rage," went on Ashby, turning tothe woman in a slightly conciliatory manner. "I calculated that thegreaser would be in on the job, too."
All through this scene Rance had been sitting back in his chair chewinghis cigar in contemptuous silence, while his face wore a look of languidinsolence, a fact which, apparently, did not disturb the woman in theleast, for she ignored him completely.
"It was well for you, Senor Ashby, that you let him go. I tell youfrankly that in another moment I should have gone." And now throwingback her mantilla she took out a cigarette from a dainty, little caseand lit it and coolly blew a cloud of smoke in Rance's face, saying: "Itdepends on how you treat me--you, Mr. Jack Rance, as well as SenorAshby--whether we come to terms or not. Perhaps I had better go awayanyway," she concluded with a shrug of admirably simulated indifference.
This time Ashby sat perfectly still. It was not difficult to perceivethat her anger was decreasing with every word that she uttered; nor didhe fail to note how fluently she spoke English, a slight Spanish accentgiving added charm to her wonderfully soft and musical voice. Howgloriously beautiful, he told himself, she looked as she stood there,voluptuous, compelling, alluring, the expression that had been almostdiabolical, gradually fading from her face. Was it possible, he askedhimself, that all this loveliness was soiled forever? He felt that therewas something pitiful in the fact that the woman standing before himrepresented negotiable property which could be purchased by anypasser-by who had a few more nuggets in his possession than hisneighbour; and, perhaps, because of his knowledge of the piteous historyof this former belle of Monterey he put a little more consideration intothe voice that said:
"All right, Nina, we'll get down to business. What have you to say tous?"
By this time Nina's passionate anger had burned itself out. Inanticipation, perhaps, of what she was about to do, she looked straightahead of her into space. It was not because she was assailed by sometransient emotion to forswear her treacherous desire for vengeance; shehad no illusion of that kind. Too vividly she recalled the road agent'sindifferent manner at their last interview for any feeling to dwell inher heart other than hatred. It was that she was summoning to appear avision scarcely less attractive, however pregnant with tragedy, thanthat of seeing herself avenged: a gay, extravagant career in Mexico orSpain which the reward would procure for her. That was what she wasseeing, and with a pious wish for its confirmation she began to makeherself a fresh cigarette, rolling it dexterously with her white,delicate fingers, and not until her task was accomplished and her full,red lips were sending forth tiny clouds of smoke did she announce:
"Ramerrez was in Cloudy Mountain to-night."
But however much of a surprise this assertion was to both men, neithergave vent to an exclamation. Instead Rance regarded his elegantly bootedfeet; Ashby looked hard at the woman as if he would read the truth inher eyes; while as for Nina, she continued to puff away at her littlecigarette after the manner of one that has appealed not in vain to themagic power which can paint out the past and fill the blank with themost beautiful of dreams.
The Wells Fargo man was the first to make any comment; he asked:
"You know this?" And then as she surveyed them through a scented cloudand bowed her head, he added: "How do you know it?"
"That I shall not tell you," replied the woman, firmly.
Ashby made an impatient movement towards her with the question:
"Where was he?"
"Oh, come, Ashby!" put in Rance, speaking for the first time. "She'sputting up a game on us."
In a flash Nina wheeled around and with eyes that blazed advanced to thetable where the Sheriff was sitting. Indeed, there was something sotigerish about the woman that the Sheriff, in alarm, quickly pushed backhis chair.
"I am not lying, Jack Rance." There was an evil glitter in her eye asshe watched a sarcastic smile playing around his lips. "Oh, yes, I knowyou--you are the Sheriff," and so saying a peal of contemptuousmerriment burst from her, "and Ramerrez was in the camp not less thantwo hours ago."
Ashby could hardly restrain his excitement.
"And you saw him?" came from him.
"Yes," was her answer.
Both men sprang to their feet; it was impossible to doubt any longerthat she spoke the truth.
"What's his game?" demanded Rance.
The woman answered his question with a question.
"How about the reward, Senor Ashby?"
"You needn't worry about that--I'll see that you get what's coming toyou," replied the Wells Fargo Agent already getting into his coat.
"But how are we to know?" inquired Rance, likewise getting ready toleave. "Is he an American or a Mexican?"
"To-night he's an American, that is, he's dressed and looks like one.But the reward--you swear you're playing fair?"
"On my honour," Ashby assured her.
The woman's face stood clear--cruelly clear in the light of the kerosenelamp above her head. About her mouth and eyes there was a repellentexpression. Her mind, still working vividly, was reviewing the past; anda bitter memory prompted the words which were said however with a smilethat was still seductive:
"Try to recall, Senor Ashby, what strangers were in The Polka to-night?"
At these ominous words the men started and regarded each otherquestioningly. Their keen and trained intelligences were greatlydistressed at being so utterly in the dark. For an instant, it is true,the thought of the greaser that Ashby had brought in rose uppermost intheir minds, but only to be dismissed quickly when they recalled thewoman's words concerning the way that the road agent was dressed. Amoment more, however, and a strange thought had fastened itself on oneof their active minds--a thought which, although persisting in forcingitself upon the Sheriff's consideration, was in the end rejected aswholly improbable. But who was it then? In his intensity Rance let hiscigar go out.
"Ah!" at last he cried. "Johnson, by the eternal!"
"Johnson?" echoed Ashby, wholly at sea and surprised at the look ofcorroboration in Nina's eyes.
"Yes, Johnson," went on Rance, insistently. Why had he not seen at oncethat it was Johnson who was the road agent! There could be no mistake!"You weren't there," he explained hurriedly, "when he came in and beganflirting with the Girl and--"
"Ramerrez making love to the Girl?" broke in Ashby. "Ye Gods!"
"The Girl? So that's the woman he's after now!" Nina laughed bitterly."Well, she's not destined to have him for long, I can tell you!" Andwith that she reached out for the bottle on the table and poured herselfa small glass of whisky and swallowed it. When she turned her lips weretightly shut over her brilliant teeth, a thousand thoughts came rushinginto her brain. There was no longer any compunction--she would strikenow and deep. Through her efforts alone the man would be captured, andshe gloried in the thought.
"Here--here is something that will interest you!" she said; and puttingher hand in her bosom drew out a soiled, faded photograph. "There--thatwill settle him for good and all! Never again will he boast of triflingwith Nina Micheltorena--with me, a Micheltorena in whose veins runs thebest and proudest blood of California!"
Ashby fairly snatched the photograph out of her hand and, after one lookat it, passed it over to the Sheriff.
"Good of him, isn't it?" sneered Nina; and then seemingly trying by hervery vehemence to impress upon herself the impossibility of his everbeing anything but an episode in her life, she added: "I hate him!"
The picture was indeed an excellent one. It represented Ramerrez in thegorgeous dress of a _caballero_--and the outlaw was a fine specimen ofthat spectacular class of men. But Rance studied the photograph onlylong enough to be sure that no mistake was possible. With a quickmovement he put it away in his pocket and looked long and hard at thefigure of the degraded woman standing before him and revelling in hertreachery. In that time he forgot that anyone had ever entertained akind thought about her; he forgot that she once was respected as well asadmired; he was cons
cious only of regarding her with a far deeperdisgust and repugnance than he held towards others much her inferior inbirth and education. But, presently, his face grew a shade whiter, ifthat were possible, and he cursed himself for not having thought of thedanger to which the Girl might even now be exposed. In less than aminute, therefore, both men stood ready for the work before them. But onthe threshold just before going out into the fierce storm that had burstduring the last few minutes, he paused and called back:
"You Mexican devil! If any harm comes to the Girl, I'll strangle youwith my own hands!" And not waiting to hear the woman's mocking laughterhe passed out, followed by Ashby, into the storm.