CHAPTER VI
Donna sat there until sunrise, rocking back and forth, striving to weavean orderly pattern of reason out of the tangle of unreason in which shefound herself when, confronted by that look in Bob McGraw's brown eyes.She failed. She could not think calmly. She was conscious of but onesupreme emotion as she gazed at this man who had ridden into her life,gun in hand. She was happy. Heretofore her life had been quiet,even, unemotional, always the same--and now she was happy, riotously,deliriously happy; and it did not occur to her that Bob McGraw mightdie. She willed that he should live, for life was love, and love--whatwas love? Something that surged, a wave of exquisite tenderness, throughDonna's lonely heart, something that throbbed in the untouched recessesof her womanhood, arousing in her a fierce, almost primitive desire topossess this man, to fondle his auburn head, to caress him, to work forhim, slave for him, to show her gratitude and adoration by living forhim, and--if need be--by dying for him!
It occurred to her presently that there was nothing so very unmaidenlyin her action, after all. She felt no distinct loss of womanlyreserve--no crumbling of the foundations of dignity. She still had thoseattributes; to-morrow, when she returned to the cashier's counter at theeating-house, she would still have these defensive weapons against theinvasions of the sensual, smirking, patronizing male brutes withwhich every passing train appeared to be filled; the well-dressed,hard-finished city men, who held her cheap because she presided behindan eating-house cash-register. How well she knew their quick, boldstares, their so clumsy subterfuges to enter into conversation with her;and how different was Bob McGraw to such as they!
Here at last was the reason, unseen and unrecognized at first,manifesting itself merely in the spontaneous and unconscious shatteringof her maidenly reserve, but distinctly visible now. It was not that BobMcGraw had come to her out of the desert at a time when she needed himmost; it was not that he came in all the bravery and generous sacrificeof youth, shedding his blood that she might not shed tears; it was notthe service he had rendered her that made her love him, for San Pasqualwas "long" on mere animal courage. It was the adoration that gleamed inhis eyes--an adoring stare, revealing respect behind his love--that onequality without which love is a dead and withered thing.
She knew him now--the man he was. She saw the priceless pearl ofcharacter he possessed. Bob McGraw was a wild, reckless, unthinking,impulsive fellow, perhaps, but for all that he was the sort of man atwhose feet women, both good and bad, have laid their hearts since theworld began. He was kind. Harley P. Hennage was right. Bob McGraw wasa Desert Rat. But a Desert Rat lives close to the great heart of MotherNature, and his own heart is clean.
The dawn-light came filtering across the desert and lit up the roomwhere she sat. She turned to the bed and saw that Bob McGraw waswatching her again, and on his face was that little, cheerful, mocking,inscrutable smile.
Again Donna found herself powerless to resist the appeal in the man'seyes. She was crying a little as she slipped to her knees beside the bedand laid her cheek against his.
"I can't help it" she whispered. "I seem to have loved you always, andoh, Bob, dear, you'll be very, very good to me, won't you? You must bebrave and try to get well, for both our sakes. We need each other so."
Bob McGraw did not answer readily. He was too busy thanking God for thegreat gift of perfect understanding. Moreover, he had a perforated lungand a heart whose duties had suddenly been increased a thousand-fold,if it was to hold inviolate this sacred joy of possession which thrilledhim now. He was alert and conscious, despite the shock of his wound, andthe reserve strength in his six feet of splendid manhood was coming tohis aid. When he could trust himself to speak, he said:
"You're a very wonderful woman."
"But you were laughing at me--a little."
"Not at you, at Fate--the great, big, bugaboo Fate."
"Why?"
"Because I--can afford to. My luck's--turned."
"You dear, big, red-headed philosopher."
"And you--didn't you save my hat?"
"No, dear. Don't worry over such a trifle as a hat. I'll give you a--"
"But this was--a--good hat" he complained. "I paid twenty dollars--"
"Never mind your old hat. Don't talk. I'm selfish. I want to listen toyou, but for all that, you must be quiet."
He sighed. Forget all about that big, wide sombrero--genuinebeaver--that cost him twenty dollars only a week ago? His horse, hissaddle, his hat, his spurs, his gun--he was particular about thesepossessions, for in his way Mr. McGraw was something of a frontierdandy. His calm contempt of life and death amused Donna when shecompared it with his boyish concern for his dashing equipment. Hats,indeed! Worrying over a lost hat while a guest at the Hat Ranch! If BobMcGraw could only have understood Donna Corblay's contempt for hats hewould never have mentioned the matter twice.
She gauged the size of his red head with the practiced eye of one whohas sold many hats.
"Seven and a quarter" she mused fondly. "Wouldn't he look splendid inthat big new Stetson that blew in the day before yesterday! You greatbig man-baby. I'll save that one for you."
And having decided this momentous question of hats, she kissed himand went out to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for Doctor Taylor andHarley P. Hennage.
After having breakfasted at the Hat Ranch, Harley P. Hennage helpedhimself to Bob McGraw's automatic gun, reloaded it and walked back toSan Pasqual. He had never carried a gun before, but something seemed totell him that he might need one to-day. Borax O'Rourke generally carriedone and if Borax had talked, Mr. Hennage meant to chastise him. Inconsequence of which decision, Mr. Hennage, like a good gambler, decidedto fill his hand and not be caught bluffing.
Arrived outside the Silver Dollar, Harley P. immediately found himselfgreatly in demand. Borax O'Rourke, having told all he knew, which waslittle enough, and aching to supply further details, was the first manto accost him.
"Well, Hennage," he began, "what's the latest? Any more kissin' goin'on?"
Mr. Hennage's baleful eyes scouted the mule-skinner's personfor evidence of hardware. Observing none, he said fiercely "Youmutton-headed duffer!" and for the first time within the memory of thecitizens of San Pasqual he had recourse to his hands. He clasped Mr.O'Rourke fondly around the neck and choked him until his eyes threatenedto pop out, the while he shook O'Rourke as a terrier shakes a rat. Then,after two prodigious parting kicks, accurately gauged and delivered,the gambler crossed over to the hotel, leaving the garrulous one topick himself out of the dust, gasping like a chicken with the pip. It isworthy of remark that the discomfiture of Borax O'Rourke was observedby Mrs. Daniel Pennycook, who having noted from afar the approach of Mr.Hennage, had endeavored to intercept him first. Judging from his hastyaction that the gambler was not in that state of mind most propitiousto the dissemination of the information which she sought, Mrs. Pennycookdecided to bide her time and returned to her cottage and her neglectedhousework.
Mr. Hennage went at once to his room, where he lay down and went tosleep. Late in the afternoon he was awakened by a knocking at his door.He sprang out of bed and unlocked the door, and Dan Pennycook came intothe room.
"Hello, Dan" the gambler greeted him. "You look worried."
"You would too, if you knew what I know" replied Pennycook. He sat down."Harley, old man, you've laid violent hands on a mighty hard character."
"Well," retorted the gambler, "ain't that the kind to lay violent handson? You wouldn't expect me to choke old Judge Kenny, or that little Japlaundryman, would you?"
"But O'Rourke is dangerous. He's got two guns reachin' down to his hocksan' he's tellin' everybody he'll get you on sight."
"Barkin' dogs never bite, Dan. However, I wish you'd carry a message forme. Will you?"
"Who to?"
"The dangerous Mr. O'Rourke. Tell him from me he'd better go back to theborax works at Keeler, where he got his nickname, an' take up his oldjob o' skinnin' mules. Tell him I'll loan him that roan pony in thecorral, an' he can sa
ddle up an' git. Tell him to send the little horseback with the stage-driver. I want him to ride out tonight, Dan. Tellhim it's an order."
Pennycook nodded. "If I was you, though, Harley, I'd heel myself."
The gambler opened a bureau drawer and brought forth McGraw's automaticpistol. He smiled brightly.
"No use givin' orders unless a feller can back 'em up, Dan" he said."Thanks for the hint, though. Of course you'll tell Borax privately. Nouse arousin' his pride lettin' the whole town know he had to go. He'sa rat, but a rat'll fight when he's cornered--an' I don't want to killhim."
"I will" replied Mr. Pennycook. "I'd hate to see any more trouble inthis town."
"Thank you, Dan."
"Donna all right?"
"Yes."
"Who's the feller that interfered?"
"Stranger ridin' through."
"Hard hit?"
"Right lung. He'll pull through."
"Hope so" responded the amiable yardmaster, and left. Mr. Hennage gotback into bed and pulled the sheet over him again. But it was too hotto sleep, so he lay there, rubbing his chin and thinking. Late inthe afternoon he heard the sound of a horse loping through the streetbeneath his window. He sprang up and looked out, just in time to seeBorax O'Rourke riding out of town on Bob McGraw's roan bronco.
Mr. Hennage permitted himself a quiet little smile. "Now there goes thestar witness for the prosecution" he mused. "But I'll stay an' tell 'emBorax was mistaken. I guess, even if I ain't a gentleman, I can lie likeone."
He bathed and dressed and started over to the post-office--not becausehe expected any mail, for he did not. No one ever wrote to Mr. Hennage.But he had seen Mrs. Pennycook dodging into the post-office, and it washis intention to have a quiet little conversation with the lady.
When he arrived at the post-office, however, Mrs. Pennycook was not insight. Mr. Hennage stepped lightly inside, and at that moment he heardMiss Molly Pickett, the postmistress, exclaim: "Well, for the land'ssake!"
"It's a fact, Miss Pickett. She kissed him!"
The voices came from the inner office, behind the tier of lock boxes.Realizing that he was in a public place, Mr. Hennage did not feel itincumbent upon him to announce his presence by coughing or shufflinghis feet. He remained discreetly silent, therefore, and Mrs. Pennycook'svoice resumed:
"She had him taken right down to the Hat Ranch, of all places. Of courseit wouldn't do to bring him up town, where he could be looked after.Of course not! He might be sent to a hospital and she wouldn't have achance to look after him herself. I never heard of such carryings-on,Miss Pickett. It's so scandalous like."
Miss Pickett sighed. "Who is he?" she demanded.
"That's what nobody can find out. I told Dan to ask Harley Hennage, butyou know how stupid a man is. I don't suppose he even asked."
"Well, all I've got to say, Mrs. Pennycook, is that Donna Corblay'staking a mighty big interest in a man she's never even been introducedto. Still, I'm not surprised at anything she'd do, the stuck-up thing.She just thinks she's it, with her new hats and a different wash-dressevery week, and her high an' mighty way of looking at people. She couldhave been married long ago if she wasn't so stuck-up."
"Oh, nobody's good enough for _her_" sneered Mrs. Pennycook. "If a dookwas to ask her she wouldn't have him. She'd sooner make fools of halfthe married men in town."
"She thinks she's too good for San Pasqual" Miss Pickett supplemented.
"I suppose she imagines her grand airs make her a lady," Mrs. Pennycookdeprecated, "but for my part, I think it shows that she's kinder vulgarlike."
"Well, what do you think o' last night's performance?" Miss Pickettdemanded.
"I can't think, dearie" murmured Mrs. Pennycook weakly. "I'm so shockedlike. It's hard to believe. I know the girl for a sly, scheming,hoity-toity flirt, but to think that she'd act so low like! Who told_you_ she kissed him?"
"Borax O'Rourke."
"He told everybody."
"Well, then, if it's got around, public like, we can't shield her, MissPickett, an' I guess it's no use trying. Water will seek its own level,Miss Pickett. You remember her mother. Nobody ever knew a thing abouther, an' you remember the talk that used to be goin' around about_her._"
"The tree grows as the twig is bent" Miss Pickett murmured.
"I'll say this much, though, Miss Pickett" continued Mrs. Pennycook."You're a woman an' so'm I, an' you know, just as well as I do, that noman or set o' men ever looks twice at any respectable woman that goesright along tendin' to her business. You know that, Miss Pickett. Aman's got to have _some_ encouragement."
"Well" Miss Pickett was forced to remark. "I've been postmistressan' assistant postmistress here for fifteen years, an' nobody's everinsulted me, or tried to flirt with me. I can take my oath on that."
"I believe you, Miss Pickett" interrupted Harley P. Hennage serenely."Even in a tough town like San Pasqual human courage has itslimitations."
Miss Pickett flew to the delivery window and looked out. Harley P. waslooking in.
"Is that so!" sneered Miss Pickett.
"Looks like it" retorted the gambler. "You're Exhibit A to prove it,ain't you, Miss Pickett? I hope I see you well, Mrs. Pennycook" headded.
"So you're back, are you?" Mrs. Pennycook's voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Yes, I've been away three years, but I see time ain't softened thetongues nor sharpened the consciences o' some of my old lady friends.You're out late this afternoon, Mrs. P., with your scandal an' yourgossip."
"There ain't no mail for you, Mr. Card Sharp" Miss Pickett informed himacidly.
"I didn't call for any" the gambler replied, and eyed her sternly. Shequivered under his glance, and he turned to Mrs. Pennycook. "Wouldyou oblige me, Mrs. Pennycook, with a few minutes of your valuabletime--where Miss Pickett can't hear us talk? Miss Pickett, you can goright on readin' the postal cards."
"I'm a respectable woman--" Mrs. Pennycook began.
"Well, it ain't ketchin', I guess" he retorted. "I ain't afraid."
"What do you want? If you've got anything to say to me, speak right outin meeting."
"Not here" the gambler answered. "It'll keep."
He walked out of the post-office and waited until Mrs. Pennycook cameby.
"Mrs. Pennycook, ma'am."
She tilted her nose and glanced at him scornfully, but did not stop.
"It's about Joe" the gambler called after her.
If he had struck her she could not have stopped more quickly. Sheturned, facing him, her chin trembling.
"I thought you'd stop" he assured her. "Nothin' like shakin' the bonesof a family skeleton to bring down the mighty from their perch. Blessyou, Mrs. Pennycook, this thing o' bein' respectable must be hard onthe constitution. Havin' been low an' worthless all my life, I supposeI can't really appreciate what it means to a respectable lady with aangelic relative like your brother."
The drawling words fell on the gossip like a rain of blows. Her eyelidsgrew suddenly red and watery.
"It ain't a man's trick to hammer you like this, Mrs. Pennycook," thegambler continued, almost sadly, "but for a lady that's livin' in aglass house, you're too fond o' chuckin' stones, an' it's got to stop.Hereafter, if you've got somethin' to say about Donna Corblay you seethat it's somethin' nice. You gabbed about her mother when she wasalive, and the minute I saw you streakin' it over to Miss Pickett I knewyou were at it again. Now you do any more mud-slingin', Mrs. Pennycook,and I'll tell San Pasqual about that thug of a brother o' yours. He'sout o' San Quentin."
"But his time wasn't up, Mr. Hennage," wailed Mrs. Pennycook. "He gotfifteen years."
"He served half of it and was paroled."
Mrs. Pennycook bowed her head and quivered. "Then he'll be around hereagain, blackmailing poor Dan an' me out of our savings." She commencedto cry.
"No, he won't. I'll protect you from him, Mrs. Pennycook. I want to makea bargain with you. Every time you hear any of the long-tonguedpeople in this town takin' a crack at Donna Corblay because they do
n'tunderstand her and she won't tell 'em all her business, you speak a goodword for her. Understand? And the first thing tomorrow mornin' I wantyou to get out an' nail that lie that Donna Corblay kissed the fellerthat saved her from them tramps last night. It's a lie, Mrs. Pennycook.I was there, an' I know. I ordered O'Rourke out o' town for circulatin'that yarn. Suppose this town knew your twin brother was a murderer an' ahighwayman? Would they keep still about it?"
"No" faltered Mrs. Pennycook.
"I can keep Joe away from you, I have somethin' on him. You'll never seehim again. I'll save you from gossip an' blackmail, but you've got totake programme."
"I will" Mrs. Pennycook promised him fervently.
"Then it's a go" said Harley P. and walked away. He returned to theSilver Dollar saloon, smiling a little at the joke in which he hadindulged at the expense of Mrs. Pennycook. He had informed her that hehad "something on" her brother Joe, but he had neglected to inform herwhat the "something" was which he had "on" brother Joe. Mr. Hennagecould see no profit in telling her that it was a blood-stainedtarpaulin, under which Mrs. Pennycook's brother reposed, quite dead,in the back room of the stage stable, to which impromptu morgue Joseph,with his two companions, had been borne by the committee of citizensheaded by the constable, shortly after the elimination of the trio byMr. Bob McGraw.
No, Mr. Hennage, while a man of firmness and resource, was not brutal.He contrived, however, to avoid identification of the body by keepingDan Pennycook from attending the coroner's inquest, for he was a goodgambler and never wasted a trump.
"I never knew there was such fun at funerals" he soliloquized whilereturning from the cemetery. He bit a large piece out of his "chewing"and gazed around him. "Doggone it" he muttered, "if this ain't the worsttown in California for killin's. I never did see such a one-horse campwith such a big potter's field. If I wasn't a inquisitive old hunks I'dget out of such a pesky hole P. D. Q. I wouldn't a' come back in thefirst place if it hadn't a' been for that Joe person. Dog-gone him!"
This was quite true. For some months Mr. Hennage had been running agame in Bakersfield, which, at that time, was a wide open town, justbeginning to boom under the impetus of rich oil strikes. It had beenone of his diversions, outside of business hours, to walk down to thefreight yards once a week and fraternize with the railroad boys. Inthis way he managed to keep track of affairs in San Pasqual. Uponthe occasion of his last trip to the freight yards he had spied Mrs.Pennycook's brother dodging into an empty box-car. Mr. Hennage had seenthis worthy upon the occasion of his (Joe's) last visit to San Pasqual,the object of the said visit having been imparted to him by DanPennycook himself. Having no money available for the blackmailer, poorPennycook had come to Hennage to borrow it. Upon the occasion of thepayment of the loan, Pennycook informed Mr. Hennage joyfully that Joewas out of the way for fifteen years and Mr. Hennage had rejoiced withthe yardmaster. Hence, when Mr. Hennage observed Joe sneak into thebox-car, he at once surmised that Joe was broke and headed for SanPasqual to renew his fortunes. Having a warm spot in his heart forDan Pennycook, Mr. Hennage instantly decided to follow Joe in anotherbox-car, which, in brief, is the reason why he had returned to SanPasqual.
Presently Mr. Hennage paused and glanced across the blistering half-mileof desert, to where the sun glinted on the dun walls of the Hat Ranch.In the middle distance a dashing girlish figure in a blue dress waswalking up the tracks.
Mr. Hennage's three gold teeth flashed like heliographs.
"This world is so full o' a number o' things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings"
he quoted, and walked across to meet her.
The Long Chance Page 6