CHAPTER XIX
SIX FEET FOUR!
Winifred Waverly looked steadily into Buck Thornton's eyes, suddenlydetermined that she would see in them the guile which must be there.Surely a man could not do the things which this man so brazenly did, andnot show something of it! And she saw a glance as steady as her own,eyes as clear and filled with a very frank admiration. In spite of her,her color rose and her eyes wavered a little. Then she noticed that Mrs.Sturgis's keen eyes were upon her, and swiftly drove the expression fromher own eyes and returned Thornton's greeting indifferently. Some dayher uncle would accuse this man, but she did not care to give herpersonal affair over to the tongue of gossip, nor did she care to haveher name linked in any way with Buck Thornton's.
"May I have this dance, Miss Waverly?"
He had put out his arm as though her affirmative were a foregoneconclusion. She stared at him, wondering where were the limits to thisman's audacity. Then, before she could reply, Mrs. Sturgis had answeredfor her. For Mrs. Sturgis was a born match maker, Buck was like a son toher motherly heart, Winifred Waverly was the "sweetest little thing"she had ever seen, and they had in them the making of such a couple asMrs. Sturgis couldn't find every day of the week.
"Go 'long with you, Buck Thornton!" she cried, making a monumentalfailure of the frown with which she tried to draw her placid brows."Here I thought all the time you was goin' to ask me!"
Then she jerked him by the arm, dragging him nearer, playfully pushedthe girl toward him, and before she well knew what had happened Winifredfound herself in Thornton's arms, whirling with him to the merry-fiddledmusic, putting out her little slipper by the side of his big boot to thestep of the rye-waltz. And Mrs. Sturgis, drawing her twinkling eyes awayfrom them and turning upon Ben Broderick, who had arrived just too late,with as much malice in her smile as she knew how to put into it,remarked meaningly,
"A little slow, Mr. Broderick! You got to keep awake when there's a manlike Buck around."
And she seemed very much pleased with the look in Broderick's eyes, alook of blended surprise and irritation.
"Thornton and her uncle are not just exactly friends," he retortedcoolly.
"If they was," she flung back at him, "I'd think a heap sight more ofol' Ben Pollard!"
Mrs. Sturgis's manoeuvre had so completely taken the girl by surprisethat as she floated away in the cowboy's arms she was for a littleundecided what to do. She did not want to dance with Thornton; it hadbeen upon the tip of her tongue to make the old excuse and tell him thatshe was engaged for this waltz. In that way the whole episode would havepassed unnoticed. But now, if they stopped, if she had him take her toher seat and leave her, everybody would see, everybody would talk,gossip would remember that when she had first come to Hill's CornersJohn Smith had ridden with her as far as the Bar X, and that Smith hadtold there how Buck Thornton had ridden as far as his place with her;and then gossip would go on into endless speculation as to what hadhappened upon the trail which now made her refuse to dance with him.
That was why she hesitated, undecided, at first. Then Thornton began tospeak and she wanted to know what he was going to say. Besides, sheadmitted to herself, begrudgingly, that she had never known a man danceas this man danced, and the magic of the waltz was on her.
"I had to return something you left at Harte's Camp," were his firstwords. "That's the reason I rode over tonight."
"What is it?" she asked quickly.
Now suddenly there rose up into her heart a swift hope that after all hewas not entirely without principle, that he had grown ashamed of havingtaken from a girl the money with which she had been entrusted and thathe was bringing it back to her. If he were man enough to do this ... theblood ran up higher in her cheeks at the thought ... she could almostforgive him for that other thing he had done.
So they moved on in the dance, her hand resting lightly in his, hisfingers closing about it with no hint of a pressure to tell her thatagain he would take what small advantage he could, his eyes lookinggravely down into the eyes which flashed up at him with her question.
"Didn't you lose anything that night?" he countered. "In the cabin afterI went for the horses?"
"Well?" she countered, the quick hope leaping higher within her.
"You did?"
She wondered why his eyes were so grave, so stern now, why they hadceased to say flattering things of her and merely hinted of a mind atwork on a puzzle. How could she know that while she was thinking of ayellow, cloth lined envelope, he was thinking of a horse lamed with aknife, and hoping to learn from her something of the man who had woundedthe animal?
"Well?" she asked again, hardly above a whisper. Did he dare even talkof it here, among all these men and women? She glanced about heranxiously to see if Pollard were in the room. "You are going to give itback to me?"
Her wonderment was hardly more than Thornton's. Why should she show thiseager excitement, because of a lost spur rowel?
"I rode over to give it to you," he answered, swinging her clear of aneddy in the swirl of dancers and to the edge of the crowd. "First,though, I want you to tell me something. A man came into the cabin aboutthree minutes before you came out to the barn, didn't he?"
She had lowered her eyes, aware that people were noticing them, herlooking up so earnestly, him looking down into her face so gravely. Butnow, in spite of her, she looked up at him again.
"Why do you ask that?" she demanded with a flash of anger that he shouldcontinue this useless pretence. "Do you think I am a fool?"
"No. I am asking because I want to know. It's a safe gamble that the manyou had a tussel with is the man who lamed my horse."
"Is it?" she asked with cool sarcasm. "And it's just as safe a gamblethat he is a coward and a ... brute!"
"I don't know about his being a coward, and I don't care about his beinga brute," he told her steadily. "But I do want to know what he lookslike."
Again she called herself a little fool and bit her lip in the surge ofher vexation. She had been glad and over eager just now to restore herfaith to this big brut of a man; at a mere word from him she had beenready to condone a crime and forgive an insult.... She felt her facegrow hot; he had kissed her rudely and she had been willing to findexcuses, she had even felt as odd sort of thrill tingling through her.And now this eternal play-acting of his, this insane pretence....
"Mr. Thornton, this is getting us nowhere," she reminded him coldly. "Ifyou care to be told I can assure you that I know perfectly well who theman was who ... who came into the cabin that night. And I think that itwould be for the best if you returned ... my property!"
"I'm going to return it. Now, will you answer my question? Will you tellme who that man was?"
"Why do you pretend in this stupid way?" she demanded hotly.
"Why don't you tell me who he was?" he returned, frowning a little.
For a moment she did not answer. Then, her voice very low, she said,speaking slowly,
"I don't tell you, Mr. Thornton, because you know as well as I do!"
She saw nothing but blank amazement in his eyes.
"If I knew I wouldn't be asking you," he informed her.
Again she looked up at him, their eyes meeting steadily, searchingly.
"You say that you don't know who it was?" she challenged. And the eyesinto which she looked were as clear of guile as a mountain lake when heanswered:
"No. I don't know!"
Then through lips which were moulded to a passionate scorn no less ofself than of him, in a fierce whisper, she paid him in the coin of hercontempt with the one word: "_Liar_!"
She saw the anger leap up into his eyes and the red run into his bronzedskin, she felt the arm about her contract tensely until for one dizzysecond she thought that he would crush her. And then they were swingingon through the dance to the merry beat of the music and above the musicshe heard his soft laugh.
He did not look at her, nor did she again lift her eyes to his. But bothof them saw Broderick where he stood near the
door, his hands shoveddown into his pockets, his tall, gaunt form leaning against the wall.His eyes had been following them, and there was in them an expressionhard to read. It might have been anger or distrust or suspicion.
And both Thornton and Winifred as they turned in the dance caught aquick glimpse of the face of another man. It was Henry Pollard. He hadevidently just come in and as evidently had not seen Thornton and hisniece dancing together until this moment. And the look in his eyesspringing up naked and startled was a thing easy to read. For it was thelook of fear!
Winifred Waverly tried to tell herself that it was fear for her, atseeing her in Thornton's arms. But she knew that it was not. Nor was itfear for himself, not mere physical fear of Thornton. Already she knewof her uncle that the man was no coward. It was not that kind of fear;it was a fear that was apprehension, dread lest something might happen.What? "_Dread that something he did not want her to know might becomeknown to her in her talk with Buck Thornton!_"
It was as though a voice had shouted it in her ear. Where so many thingswere muddled in inexplicability this one matter seemed suddenlyperfectly clear to her. He had not wanted her to talk with BuckThornton! Why?
Thornton, with no further word to her, had bowed to her, his eyes hardand stern, and taking a paper-wrapped packet from his vest pocket hadgiven it to her, and had walked swiftly to the door near which Broderickstood. In spite of her her eyes had gone down the room after the tallfigure. And then something happened which could have meant nothing toany one else in the house, but which brought leaping up into the girl'sheart both fear and gladness. And, at last, understanding.
Broderick, smiling, had said some light word to Thornton, laying hishand upon the cowboy's shoulder. For a moment, just the fraction of asecond the two men stood side by side in the open doorway. Until theystood so, close together, a man would have said that they were of thesame height. Now Winifred marked that there was a full two-inchdifference and that Thornton was the taller.
Together they stepped out through the doorway. The door was low, Buckstooped his head a little, Broderick passed out without stooping! Itseemed only last night that she had made her supper in the Harte campwith Buck Thornton. She remembered so distinctly each little event. Shecould see him now as he had sat making his cigarette, could see himgoing to the door to look at the upclimbing moon. She had marked thenthe tall, wiry body that must stoop a little to stand in the lowdoorway. She had jested about his height; the six-feet-four of him, ashe called it....
She could see again the man who had come in, masked, the man whoseclothes were like the clothes of Buck Thornton even to the grey neckhandkerchief. She could remember that this man had stood in the samedoorway, that his eyes had gleamed at her through the slits in thehandkerchief,... that he had held his head thrown back, that he had notstooped!
"It wasn't Buck Thornton!" she whispered to herself, her hands goingwhite in their tense grip upon the parcel they held. "A man did lame hishorse, a man who wanted me to think all the time that it was BuckThornton. And that man," with swift certainty, "is Ben Broderick! UncleHenry's friend. And Uncle ... knows!"
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