CHAPTER IX
"AN OUT AND OUT ROTTER"
Jack strode through the young alders to his horse, swung to the saddlewithout touching the stirrups, and was off instantly at a canter. Herode fast, evidently with a direct driving purpose to reach a particulardestination. The trail was a rough and rocky one, but he took itrecklessly. His surefooted broncho scrambled catlike up steep inclinesand slid in clouds of dust down breakneck hillsides of loose rubble. Inand out he wound, across gulches and over passes, following always asnearly a bee line as was possible.
An hour of rapid travel brought him to the Gunnison road. He swung tothe ground and examined the dusty roadbed. Apparently he was satisfied,for he took his sweat-stained horse back into the brush and tied it to acottonwood. From its case beside the saddle he drew a rifle. He retracedhis own steps and selected carefully a place among the thick bushes bythe roadside. With his pocketknife he cut eye-holes in the bandannahandkerchief that had been round his neck and tied it over his face insuch a way as to conceal his features entirely. Then he carefullyemptied from the rifle all the cartridges it contained and dropped theminto his pocket.
These preparations made, he sat down and waited. There came to him verysoon the rumble of wheels. Presently a one-horse trap appeared at acurve of the road. Captain Kilmeny was the driver.
Jack rose noiselessly and thrust the barrel of his rifle through thebushes. He was within six feet of the road and he waited until hiscousin was almost abreast of him.
"Throw up your hands!"
The captain knew in an instant what he was up against. A masked man witha rifle in his hands could mean only one thing. Ned Kilmeny was no fool.He knew when to fight and when to surrender. His hands went into theair.
"Kick that rifle into the road--with your foot, not with your hands."
The Englishman did as he was told.
"What do you want?" he demanded, looking sharply at the masked bandit.
"I want that satchel beside you. Drop it out."
Again the officer obeyed orders. He asked no questions and made nocomment.
"There's room to turn here by backing. Hit the grit for the Lodge."
After he had faced about, Ned Kilmeny had one word to say beforeleaving.
"I know who you are, and there's just one name for your kind--you're anout and out rotter."
"It's a difference of opinion that makes horse races, captain," answeredthe masked man promptly.
Ned Kilmeny, as he drove back to the Lodge, was sick at heart. He cameof a family of clean, honest gentlemen. Most of them had been soldiers.Occasionally one had gone to the devil as this young cousin of his haddone. But there was something in this whole affair so contemptible thatit hurt his pride. The theft itself was not the worst thing. The minerhad traded on their faith in him. He had lied to them, had made a mockof their friendly offers to help him. Even the elements of decencyseemed to be lacking in him.
India and Moya were on the veranda when the captain drove up. One glanceat his grim face told them something had gone wrong.
"I've been held up," he said simply.
"Held up!"
"Robbed--with a rifle within reach of my hand all the time."
"But--how?" gasped India.
Moya, white to the lips, said nothing. A premonition of the truthclutched icily at her heart.
"A masked man stopped me just as I swung round a bend about three milesfrom Gunnison. He ordered me to throw out the satchel with the money. Idid as I was told."
"He had you covered with a weapon?" asked India.
"With a rifle--yes."
"Did you--recognize him?" Moya's throat was dry, so that her questioncame almost in a whisper.
The captain's eyes met hers steadily. "He stayed in the bushes, so thatI didn't see his body well. He was masked."
"But you know who it was. Tell me."
Ned Kilmeny was morally certain of the identity of the robber. He couldall but swear to the voice, and surely there were not two men in thecounty with such a free and gallant poise of the head.
"I couldn't take oath to the man."
"It was your cousin." Moya was pale to the lips.
The officer hesitated. "I'm not prepared to say who the man was."
The pulse in her throat beat fast. Her hand was clutching the arm of achair so tightly that the knuckles stood out white and bloodless.
"You know better. It was Jack Kilmeny," she charged.
"I could tell you only my opinion," he insisted.
"And I know all about it." Moya came to time with her confessionpromptly, in the fearless fashion characteristic of her. "It was I thatsent him to you. It was I that betrayed you to him."
India set her lips to a soundless whistle. Her brother could not keepout of his brown face the amazement he felt.
"I don't wonder you look like that," Moya nodded, gulping down herdistress. "You can't think any worse of me than I do of myself."
"Nonsense! If you told him you had a reason. What was it?" India asked,a little sharply.
"No reason that justifies me. He took me by surprise. He had come to getthe stolen money and I told him we were returning it to the Fairassociation. He guessed the rest. Almost at once he left. I saw him takethe canon road for Gunnison."
"You weren't to blame at all," the captain assured her, adding with arueful smile: "He didn't take you any more by surprise than he did me. Ihadn't time to reach for the rifle."
India's Irish eyes glowed with contemptuous indignation. She used thesame expression that Ned had. "He must be an out and out rotter. Tothink he'd rob Ned after what he offered to do for him. I'm through withhim."
Her brother said nothing, but in his heart he agreed. There was nothingto be done for a fellow whose sense of decency was as far gone as that.
Moya too kept silence. Her heart was seething with scorn for thishandsome scamp who had put this outrage upon them all. It was bad enoughto be a thief, but to this he had added deception, falsehood, and grossingratitude. Nor did the girl's contempt spare herself. Neither warningnor advice--and Lady Jim had been prodigal of both--had availed to openher eyes about the Westerner. She had been as foolish over him as aschoolgirl in the matter of a matinee idol. That she would have to lashherself for her folly through many sleepless hours of the night was acertainty.
Meanwhile she went through the part required of her. At dinner shetossed the conversational ball back and forth as deftly as usual, andafterward she played her accustomed game of bridge. Fortunately, Kilmenywas her partner. Sometimes when her thoughts wandered the game suffered,but the captain covered her mistakes without comment. She could almosthave loved him for the gentle consideration he showed. Why must sheneeds be so willful? Why couldn't she have given her heart to thisgallant gentleman instead of to the reckless young scoundrel whom shehardly knew?
Before the party broke up a ride was arranged for next morning to theDevil's Slide, a great slab of rock some miles away. The young peoplewere to have an early breakfast and get started before the sun was hot.For this reason the sitting at auction was short.
But though Moya reached her room before midnight, it was not until daywas beginning to break that she fell into a troubled sleep. She tossedthrough the long hours and lived over every scene that had passedbetween her and Jack Kilmeny. It was at an end. She would never see himagain. She would ride with the others to the Devil's Slide and he wouldcome to the appointment he had made to find her not there. He would goaway, and next day she would leave with the rest of her party for theBig Bend mining country, where Verinder and Lord Farquhar were heavilyinterested in some large gold producers. That chapter of her life wouldbe closed. She told herself that it was best so. Her love for a man ofthis stamp could bring no happiness to her. Moreover, she had taken anirretrievable step in betrothing herself to Captain Kilmeny. Over andover again she went over the arguments that marshaled themselves sostrongly in favor of the loyal lover who had waited years to win her.Some day she would be glad of the course she had chosen.
She persuadedherself of this while she sobbed softly into the hot pillows.
When Fisher wakened her to dress in time for the early breakfast Moyafelt very reluctant to join the others. She would have to laugh and talkand make merry, and all the time she would be miserably unhappy. Itwould be impossible for her to stand Verinder to-day without screaming.A sheer physical lassitude weighted her limbs. In the end she went backto bed and sent for India.
"I'm not feeling fit, dear. Would you mind if I beg off?" she asked witha wan smile.
Her friend took in keenly the big deep-pupiled eyes ringed withweariness. "I don't believe you've slept a wink, Moya. Of course youneedn't go. Shall I stay with you? I don't really care about going. I'mabout fed up with Dobyans Verinder."
But Moya would not hear of this. She protested so much that India saw itwould be a greater kindness to leave her alone.
"You must try to sleep again, dear." India moved about, darkening thewindows and shaking up the pillows.
"Yes, I will. I'm all right, you know."
Left to herself, Moya tried to sleep. It was no use. She was wide awake,beyond hope of another nap. No sooner had the voices of the riders diedin the distance than she was dressing feverishly. She told herself thatshe would go outdoors somewhere with a book and rest. Otherwise LadyFarquhar would be asking questions.
Fisher brought her some fruit, a cup of coffee, and a roll. Moya drankthe coffee and ate the fruit, after which she went out into the crispColorado sunlight. By her watch it was now 9:50.
She made an elaborate pretense with herself of hesitating which way togo. Her thoughts, her eyes, and at last her footsteps turned toward thegrove where yesterday Jack Kilmeny had surprised her. But she was tooused to being honest with herself to keep up the farce. Stopping on thetrail, she brought herself to time.
"You're going to meet that outlaw, Moya Dwight. You said you wouldn't,but you are going. That's why you got out of that ride. No use fibbingto yourself. You've no more will power than a moth buzzing around acandle flame."
So she put it to herself, frankly and contemptuously. But no matter howshe scorned herself for it there was not in her the strength to turn herback on her temptation. She had always prided herself on knowing her ownmind and following it, but the longing in her to hear this man'sjustification was more potent than pride. Slowly her reluctant stepsmoved toward the grove.
Long slants of morning sunlight filtered through the leaves of thecottonwoods so that her figure was flaked with a shifting checkerboardof shadow and shine. She sauntered forward, looking neither to the rightnor the left, expecting every instant to hear his cheery impudentgreeting.
It did not come. She stole sidelong looks here and there through thedappled woods. They were empty of life save for the chipmunk sitting onits hind legs and watching her light approach. A breeze swept acrossthe river, caught her filmy skirts, and blew them about her ankles. Shefrowned, brushing down the wind-swept draperies with that instinct formodesty all women share. Shy and supple, elastic-heeled, in thatdiaphanous half light her slim long body might have been taken for thatof a wood nymph had there been eyes to follow her through the umbrageousglade.
Of human eyes there were none. She reached her flat rock and sank uponits moss ungreeted. Her disappointment was keen, even though reason hadtold her he dared not show himself here after adding a second crime tothe first, and this time against her friend, the man who had offered tostand by him in his trouble. An instinct deeper than logic--some sureunderstanding of the man's reckless courage--had made her feel certainthat he would be on the spot.
Mingled with her disappointment was a sharp sense of shame. He had toldher to come here and wait for him, as if she had been a countrymilk-maid--and here she was meekly waiting. Could degradation take herlower than this, that she should slip out alone to keep an assignationwith a thief and a liar who had not taken the trouble to come? At anyrate, she was spared one humiliation. He would never know she had goneto meet him.
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