It was with mixed feelings that Dr. Harpe saw Van Lennop ride briskly
from the livery stable leading a saddle horse behind his own. It was for
Essie Tisdale, she surmised, and her conjecture was confirmed when she
saw them gallop away.
While the sight galled her it pleased her, too, for it lent color to the
impression she was discreetly but persistently endeavoring to spread in
the community that the open rupture between herself and the girl was of
her making and was necessitated by reasons which she could but did not
care to make public. She made no definite charge, but with a deprecatory
shrug of her shoulder and a casual observation that "it was a pity Essie
Tisdale was making such a fool of herself and allowing a perfect
stranger to make such a fool of her" she was gradually achieving the
result she desired. The newcomers seized upon her insinuations with
avidity, but the old settlers were loath to believe, though upon each,
in the end, it had its effect, for Dr. Harpe was now firmly established
in Crowheart's esteem. She had, she felt sure, safeguarded herself so
far as Essie Tisdale was concerned, yet she was not satisfied, for she
seemed no nearer overcoming Van Lennop's prejudice than the day she had
aroused it. He distinctly avoided her, and she did not believe in
forcing issues. Time, she often averred, would bring nearly every
desired result, and she could wait; but she did not wait patiently,
fretting more and more as the days drifted by without bringing to her
the desired opportunity.
"I hate to be thwarted! I hate it! I hate it!" she often said angrily to
herself, but she was helpless in the face of Van Lennop's cool
avoidance.
In the meantime the bugbear of her existence was making history in his
own way. The Dago Duke was no inconspicuous figure in Crowheart, for his
daily life was punctuated with escapades which constantly furnished
fresh topics of conversation to the populace. He fluctuated between
periods of abject poverty and briefer periods of princely affluence, the
latter seldom lasting longer than a night. He engaged in disputes over
money where the sum involved rarely exceeded a dollar, with a night in
the calaboose and a fine as a result, after which it was his wont to
present his disfigured opponent with a munificent gift as a token of his
esteem. Who or what he was and why he chose to honor Crowheart with his
presence were questions which he showed no desire to answer. He was duly
considered as a social possibility by Andy P. Symes, but rejected owing
to the fact that he was seldom if ever sober, and, furthermore, in spite
of his undeniably polished manners, showed a marked preference for the
companionship of the element who were unmistakably goats in the social
division.
At last there came a time when the Dago Duke was unable to raise a cup
of coffee to his lips without scalding himself. He had no desire for
food, his eyes were bloodshot, and his favorite bartender tied his scarf
for him mornings. He moved from saloon to saloon haranguing the patrons
upon the curse of wealth, encouraged in his socialistic views by the
professional gamblers who presided over the poker games and roulette
wheels. In view of their interest there seemed no likelihood that the
curse would rest upon him long.
Then one night, or morning, to be exact, after the Dago Duke had been
assisted to retire by his friend the bartender, and the washstand by
actual count had chased the bureau sixty-two times around the room, the
Dago Duke noticed a lizard on the wall. He was not entirely convinced
that it was a lizard until he sat up in bed and noticed that there were
two lizards.
He crept out and picked up his shoe for a weapon.
"Now if I can paste that first one," he told himself optimistically, "I
know the other will leave."
He struck at it with the heel of his shoe, and it darted to the ceiling,
whence it looked down upon him with a peculiarly tantalizing smile.
The Dago Duke stood on the bureau and endeavored to reach it, but it was
surprisingly agile; besides other lizards were now appearing. They came
from every crack and corner. They swarmed. Lizards though harmless are
unpleasant and the perspiration stood out on the Dago Duke's brow as he
watched their number grow. He struck a mighty blow at the lizard on the
ceiling and the bureau toppled. He found himself uninjured, but the
breaking of the glass made something of a crash. The floor was all but
covered with lizards, so he decided to return to his bed before he was
obliged to step on them. He was shaking as with a chill and his teeth
clicked. They were on his bed! They were under his pillow! Then he
laughed aloud when he discovered it was only a roll of banknotes he had
placed there before his friend the bartender had blown out the light.
But the rest were lizards, there was no doubt about that, and he would
tell Terriberry in the morning what he thought of him and his hotel!
They were darting over the walls and ceiling and wiggling over the
floor.
"I can stand it to-night," he muttered, "but to-morrow----"
What was that in the corner? He had only to look twice to know. He had
seen Gila monsters in Arizona! He had seen a cowpuncher ride into town
with one biting his thumb in two. The puncher went crazy later. Yes, he
knew a Gila monster when he saw one and this was plain enough; there
were the orange and black markings, the wicked head, the beady, evil
eyes--and this one was growing! It would soon be as big as a sea-turtle
and it was blinking at him with malicious purpose in its fixed gaze.
The Dago Duke's hands and feet were like ice, while the cold sweat stood
in beads on his forehead. Then he screamed. He had not intended to
scream, but the monster had moved toward him, hypnotizing him with its
stare. He could see clearly the poisonous vapor which it was said to
exhale! He screamed again and a man's scream is a sound not to be
forgotten. The Dago Duke "had them," as Crowheart phrased it, and "had
them" right.
The bartender was the first to arrive and Van Lennop was not far behind,
while others, hastily dressed, followed.
The Dago Duke gripped Van Lennop's hand in dreadful terror.
"Don't let it come across that seam in the carpet! Don't let it come!"
"I'll not; it shan't touch you; don't be afraid, old man." There was
something wonderfully soothing in Van Lennop's quiet voice.
"I'll tell the lady doc to bounce out," said the bartender. "He's got
'em bad. I had 'em twict myself and took the cure. It's fierce. He's
gotta have some dope--a shot o' hop will fix him."
The bartender hurried away on his kindly mission, while the Dago Duke
clung to Van Lennop like a horrified child to its mother.
Dr. Harpe came quickly, her hair loose about her shoulders, looking
younger and more girlish in a soft negligee than Van Lennop had ever
seen her. She saw the faint shade of prejudice cross his face as she
entered, but satisfaction was in her own. Her chance had come at last in
this unexpected way.
"Snakes," she said laconically.
"Yes," Van Lennop replied with equal brevity.
"I'll have to quiet him. Will you stay with him?" She addressed Van
Lennop.
"Certainly."
"Look here," protested the bartender in an injured voice. "He's my best
friend and havin' had snakes myself----"
"Aw--clear out--all of you. We'll take care of him."
"Folks that has snakes likes their bes' friends around 'em," declared
the bartender stubbornly. "They has influence----"
"Get out," reiterated Dr. Harpe curtly, and he finally went with the
rest.
"I'll give him a hypodermic," she said when the room was cleared, and
hastened back to her office for the needle.
Together they watched the morphine do its work and sat in silence while
the wrecked and jangling nerves relaxed and sleep came to the
unregenerate Dago Duke.
Dr. Harpe's impassive face gave no indication of the activity of her
mind. Now that the opportunity to "square herself," to use her own
words, had arrived, she had no notion of letting it pass.
"He seems in a bad way," Van Lennop said at last in a formal tone.
"It had to come--the clip he was going," she replied, seating herself on
the edge of the bed and wiping the moisture from his forehead with the
corner of the sheet.
The action was womanly, she herself looked softer, more womanly, than
she had appeared to Van Lennop, yet he felt no relenting and wondered at
himself.
She ended another silence by turning to him suddenly and asking with
something of a child's blunt candor----
"You don't like me, do you?"
The awkward and unexpected question surprised him and he did not
immediately reply. His first impulse was to answer with a bluntness
equal to her own, but he checked it and said instead----
"One's first impressions are often lasting and you must admit, Dr.
Harpe, that my first knowledge of you----"
"Was extremely unfavorable," she finished for him. "I know it." She
laughed in embarrassment. "You thought, and still think, that I'm one of
these medicine sharks--a regular money grabber."