But Bud did not notice Bill's remark. Impressively he said: "It was a
thirty-two. Now no man in this country ever carried a toy like that.
That's a woman's weapon." Then slowly pointing to the revolver in
Bill's hand, he said, "That gun of Nat-u-ritch's is a thirty-two."
If this was all the evidence that Bud had, the case was not so serious
after all, so, much relieved, Bill said, lightly: "Bud, you're a joke.
Because Nat-u-ritch happens to own a thirty-two--"
Bud maliciously interposed: "Don't be in such a hurry. The last time I
was over to Maverick I happens to ask Nick, the barkeep, for a light,
and he lets me help myself from a squaw's beaded match-safe." Bud
cautiously drew a tiny blue-and-green embroidered bag from his pocket.
"'Hello,' says I. 'Where did you get that?' 'Oh,' says he, 'I've had
that for years--ever since the day that Cash Hawkins was killed. Found
it in front of the side door down there.' And I bought it of him then
and there"--Bud looked straight into Bill's eyes as he finished--"cause
I recognized it as one I had tried to buy of Nat-u-ritch."
But even this statement apparently did not startle Bill, who met Bud's
glance squarely as he said, "And so you jump at the conclusion that--"
"Nat-u-ritch killed Cash Hawkins." Bud took him up. "There ain't a
doubt about it. You see that thirty-two is minus just the shot which
she done it with."
Bill paled a little. So Bud had noticed the missing bullet. He knew
that since her marriage Nat-u-ritch had never carried the revolver. It
had been put away on a shelf to be out of the child's way.
Bud reached his hand towards Bill. "I've shown you my hand fair and
square--man to man--now I'll thank you for that gun."
But Bill, who caught sight of Jim coming through the corral, said,
"That's up to Mr. Carston, and here he is."
Bud turned sharply. He would have preferred to meet Jim some other
time, but it was too late to retreat now.
Bill went to Jim. "Hello," he said. He decided to blurt out the whole
affair to Jim at once. He knew then that the squaw would be safe; the
boss would see to that. "Mr. Carston," he began, "our amusin' little
friend over there is a-contemplatin' of arrestin' Nat-u-ritch for the
killin' of Cash Hawkins."
"Oh no; you must be joking," Jim said to Bud, too worn out to give vent
to the anger that began to surge through him.
Bill was relieved at the light manner in which Jim seemed to take the
news. "Well, that's what I thought, but he takes himself kind of
serious."
Furiously came Bud's next words. "Anyway, I've got evidence to arrest
her."
Showing the revolver to Jim, Bill contemptuously added, "And which said
Sheriff steals out of the house of said trustin' and confidin' friend."
Jim stared in amazement at the revolver. Yes, it was Nat-u-ritch's. He
had never looked at it since that day at Maverick when her hand had
saved him from the cowardly attack of Cash Hawkins. He did not speak.
Bud moved closer to him. He pointed to Bill. "And which he said
belonged to Nat-u-ritch." Triumphantly he pointed also to Clarke to
indicate that he had him as a witness.
Jim motioned Bill to the house. "Put that revolver back where it
belongs," he said, and Bill obeyed.
Bud darted forward as though to stop Bill. "I demand the custody of
that myself, Mr. Carston."
"Let's understand each other, Sheriff." As he spoke, Jim deliberately
blocked Bud's way. "Nat-u-ritch is as innocent of wrong as a bird that
flies. It wouldn't do to confine her in that dirty little jail in
Jansen. It would be murder."
"You're a law-abiding citizen, Mr. Carston. You ain't agoin' to resist
the law?"
But Jim stood firm in front of the cabin door. "There are cases,
Sheriff, where justice is superior to the law, and the white man's court
is a bad place for justice to the Indian. Fortunately for all of us,
Nat-u-ritch has disappeared."
As Jim spoke, Bud realized that if the Indian woman were there Carston
would not be so calm.
"But you couldn't arrest her, Sheriff--not while I live. Bill"--he
turned to the foreman, who came out of the house--"I'm not in a mood to
discuss this with Sheriff Hardy, and I don't want to violate the laws of
hospitality. But just one word, Sheriff--you've eaten my bread, slept
under my roof, and now you sneak into my house to get evidence against
the mother of my boy." Jim hesitated, and then as he left them he
quietly finished, "Bill, I think you'd better see the Sheriff safely on
his way."
And Bud knew that for the time being he had lost his game.
*CHAPTER XXV*
"Carston's locoed. He's plumb crazy. There can't be a jail for whites
and a palace for Injins. He don't suppose he can stop me, does he?" Bud
began, excitedly.
Bill, encouraged by Jim's mastery of the situation, chaffingly answered:
"After you arrest Nat-u-ritch you'll never hold office, Bud. You may
hold a harp or a coal-shovel." Then he laughed.
"My! You're making a fuss over a squaw," said Bud, who could see no
humor in Bill's words.
But Bill replied, "Arrestin' the mother of innocent kids will not be
considered a popular form of amusement around here, Bud."
"Kids? What's that got to do with it?"
"Well," said Bill. "The kid's an influential citizen hereabouts. He's
our long suit, and there ain't a live thing on the ranch that would let
you arrest his rag doll. You couldn't get away with it, Bud." And as
though it were his final word on the subject, Bill said, conclusively,
"Better get elected some easier way."
A new idea fermented in Bud's brain. If he failed in his scheme to
bring to trial the murderer of Cash Hawkins, hundreds of men to whom he
had blustered and sworn that he would accomplish the deed would no
longer believe in him and he would probably lose the election. Why not
try to gain some compensation if this must be the case?
"Git our horses ready, Clarke," he said and watched his assistant leave
the yard. Slowly Bud hitched his foot on a log, and, as though he were
about to confer a favor upon Jim, spoke with condescension. "Mr. Carston
takes this too much to heart, Bill. Perhaps we can come to some
understanding."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, he's come into some money, ain't he? Of course I might lose this
match-safe crossing Red River." He lovingly fingered the little bag.
Bill drew nearer. "And I might"--Bud continued--"be made independent of
the job of sheriff, if it's worth the boss's while." There was no
mistaking the intention of his words.
"Bud!" For a moment Bill could say no more. In the past he and Bud had
been friends--bar-room friends, it was true--but lately he had begun to
suspect much about the Sheriff's career that was unsavory. Until
to-day, however, he had had no proof that Bud could behave like a
blackguard. "Bud," he rejoined, "you're goin' to make me lose my
temper, and I 'ain't done that for twenty years." As he spoke he raised
his foot on the log beside Bud's and in deliberate imitation of him
leaned his elbow on his knee while he stared straight into the Sheriff's
face.
"Don't be foolish," Bud began. "I can put you to a lot of trouble, and
I will. I'll arrest these English people and put 'em under bond to
appear as witnesses. They were at Maverick that day, and I got my posse
ready and waitin' to obey orders." This, he thought, was the final shot
to bring Bill to his senses. He waited.
With a tolerance that did not hide his contempt, Bill spoke. "Except
for Jim's orders, I'd throw you off the place. Get agoin', Bud--get
agoin'--and don't stop to pick flowers."
Bud knew that Bill was conveying a threat which, he felt, as he watched
his face, it were wiser not to disregard. He walked towards the barn,
stopped, ground his teeth, and looked back at Bill; but the big fellow
stood motionless and in supreme disgust watched the Sheriff. Bud uttered
a low oath, then hurried down to the corral.
Still, Bill did not move. He did not hear Diana as she opened the cabin
door and, drinking in the fresh morning air, said, "I feel as though I
should suffocate in there." Her looks told that something more than the
close air of the cabin room was stifling her. As she came from under the
porch she saw the immovable figure of the foreman leaning over the log
with his head on his hands, watching several men down the road who were
mounting horses and preparing to make a start.
"Oh, Mr.--" She paused.
Bill turned. He saw she had forgotten his name. "Bill, miss," he said.
"Mr. Bill--"
But Bill interrupted as he raised his hat. "Just plain Bill, if you
don't mind--and there ain't anything too good for you at Red Butte
ranch, lady."
Impulsively Diana held out her hand to Bill, who took it. "Thank you,
Bill. It's good to feel that I'm among friends, because I feel so
strange, so bewildered." She had learned of the foreman's devotion to
Jim and knew that she could trust him. "Bill," she asked, "what do they
mean by 'squaw-man'?" There was so much she could not say to Jim, so
much that had puzzled her, and she longed to unburden her heart to some
one. This faithful soul would understand her, and would, perhaps, help
her to learn more about Jim and the Indian woman, concerning whose fate
she was now growing anxious.
Bill seated himself. "Well, it's the name some people give a white man
who marries an Indian squaw." Then quickly he added: "But I want you to
understand, miss, Jim's respected in spite of the fact he's a squaw man.
He's lived that down."
"Of course it was a great surprise to us all at first."
"Natural it would be, miss. Of course no ordinary white man would have
done it. But you mustn't think any the less of Jim for that, miss."
Quickly Diana answered, in sympathetic accord with Bill's loyalty to his
master: "I think all the more of him, Bill. It's only another of Jim's
glorious mistakes." Then again she thought of the woman. "I wish I
could see her. What is she like?"
Bill could not understand this interest in Nat-u-ritch. "Just a squaw,"
he said, indifferently. "She's got two ideas, and I guess only two--Hal
and Jim."
He liked the little woman, but he could see where she had been a great
disadvantage to Jim.
But Diana's voice as she said, "A mother and a wife--that's a good deal,
Bill," made him realize that perhaps he was not doing the Indian girl
justice. He could see the tears in Diana's eyes as she spoke. "And her
boy goes back home with us."
Bill rose. "Kind of tough on yours truly, lady, bein' as Hal and me are
kind of side-partners, but then I got to recollect it's the best for the
kid. That's about the size of it, ain't it?" This time it was Bill who
solicited comfort from Diana. The thought of the child's leaving them
had been a difficult proposition for the boys, and they had discussed it
long and excitedly when Jim told them the plan the night before.
Diana understood. "It involves a lot of suffering all around, doesn't
it, Bill? But it seems to me Nat-u-ritch gets the worst of it."
True to his opinion of the red race, Bill answered, "She's an
Injin--used to takin' things as they come," and he hardly heard Diana's
words:
"Poor little savage!"
This lady had appealed to him--why shouldn't he ask her advice? It was
all very well for him to have frightened the Sheriff into leaving the
place, all very well to appear sanguine and hopeful while the boss stood
near him, but in his heart he knew he was afraid. Something in the
shifting, malicious look of Bud Hardy's eyes as he left the place told
Bill that there might still be trouble. Twisting the rim of his big hat
nervously, he said:
"Say, miss, you got a lawyer in your party, 'ain't you?" Diana turned
to listen to him. "Oh, but pshaw!" he went on, trying to reassure
himself even while he spoke the disquieting words. "It 'll never get to
the lawyer, cause Jim 'll never let him arrest her--never!"
"Arrest her!" Diana exclaimed, in surprise.
Bill explained. "Nat-u-ritch. The Sheriff thinks he can prove she
killed Cash Hawkins--that day you were at Maverick."
Jim had not recalled that incident to Diana last night. He had told her
he owed his life to the Indian girl--how and why he had not explained.
Eagerly she leaned towards Bill as she cautiously said, "Why did she
kill him?"
"Well, if"--and Bill dwelled on the word--"_if_ she killed him, she did
it to save Jim's life, and it stands to reason Jim ain't goin' to see
her suffer for it." Then as he saw a troubled look on Diana's face he
regretted the admission of his worries. "Say, miss, I'm awful glad that
you an' Hal are goin' to pull your freight, for there's goin' to be
merry hell around here."
He quickly begged her pardon for his involuntary slip, but Diana had
hardly noticed it. This would mean new worry for Jim. Then she
comforted herself with the thought that perhaps this kind-hearted soul
was exaggerating things. Surely, if there were cause for anxiety, Jim
would have spoken to her about it.
"Is there nothing that can be done, Bill?"
He shook his head.
"Well, is there anything that I can do?"
"Don't see how, except to git away as soon's you can." And then he told
her of Bud's proposition to obtain money from Jim, and that the Sheriff
was willing to sell his evidence against the Indian girl. "Why," he
added, "I 'most kicked him off the place; and Bud will fight, you know."
But Diana was only concerned to know whether the Sheriff was safely out
of the way. "You say the Sheriff's gone?"
"Thank Heaven!" Bill answered. "And, by-the-bye, just to be more
cantankerous, he threatened to hold up you and your party as witnesses;
but that wouldn't be legal, would it?" As he remembered the boys he
added, chuckling, "It certainly wouldn't be popular."
Before Diana could reply, Jim interrupted them. Like a restless spirit
he had been wandering over the place, from barn to cabin, from Hal's
sleeping-room to the boys' quarters; accomplishing little and vainly
trying to accept the events that had crowded into his life during the
last hours. The Sheriff, he felt sure, could easily be managed, but
Nat-u-ritch's disappearance was causing him anxiety. He knew it was a
trait in the Indian character to hide away and stoically endure its
grief in silence. Every moment he expected her to return. Stronger
than all these thoughts was the desire that Diana should go at once, and
little Hal with her. This speedy termination would make it easier for
them all, he told himself, and then there were matters enough to claim
his attention. So he reasoned as he came from the back of the house,
where he had been brooding over a valise containing the child's
belongings. As he saw Diana sitting there deep in conversation with
Bill, he stood amazed at the simple adaptability that made it possible
for her to adjust herself to these primitive belongings and people.
Bill was already regarding her as a friend. Then he remembered that he
must see Tabywana to tell him of Nat-u-ritch's disappearance, and
arrange a plan with him to help her to evade Bud for several days.
"Bill, I wish you would get Baco. I have sent for Tabywana, and want
Baco to interpret for me."
Bill's heavy boots creaked down the corral.
"I hope you've rested well, Diana," Jim said.
"I haven't been to bed, Jim. I've been trying to think it all out."
She rose and came to him. "Would she be quite impossible at Maudsley
Towers?"
Jim knew she wanted to take up their conversation where it had stopped
last night. They had discussed the subject already, and he felt the
futility of going over the same arguments. It only tormented him, so he
answered, "Quite."