"Why, what do you mean?"
"You know perfectly well that I know you tripped me. You need not
pretend with me. Don't you think I know by this time that you would go
to any length to injure me--in any way--that you already have done so?"
"You flatter me; you overestimate my power."
"Not at all. How can I when I see the evidence of it every day? You have
left me practically without a friend; if that flatters you, enjoy it to
the utmost." The girl's eyes filled with tears.
"Not without _one_," she sneered significantly; "surely you don't mean
that?"
The peach-blow color rose in the girl's cheeks.
"No," she answered with a touch of defiance, "not without one, or two
when it comes to that."
"And who is--the other?"
"I can count on Mrs. Terriberry. Even you have no influence with her,
Dr. Harpe."
"You are very sure of your two friends." The woman slouching over the
table looked more than ever like a bird of prey.
"Very sure," Essie Tisdale answered, again in proud defiance.
"Then of course you know that Van Lennop left Crowheart this morning?"
She drawled the words in cruel enjoyment with her eyes fixed upon the
girl's face.
Her eyes shone malevolently as she saw it blanch.
"Didn't he tell you he was going? I'm amazed."
The girl stood in stunned silence.
"Yes, a telegram sent him to Mexico to look after some important
interests there. Quite unexpected. He left a letter for me saying
good-by and regretting that he would not be back. So you see, my dear
Essie, that when it comes to the actual count your friends have
simmered down to one." It was not enough that she should crush her, she
wanted somehow to wring from her a cry of pain.
"You made a fool of yourself over him, Ess! The whole town laughed at
you. You should have known that a man like Van Lennop, of his position,
doesn't take a biscuit-shooter seriously. Green as you are you should
have known that. You've ruined yourself in Crowheart, doggin' his
footsteps every time he turned and all that sort of thing; he simply
couldn't shake you. You're done for here; you're down and out and you
might as well quit the flat. It's the best thing you can do, or marry
the first man that asks you and settle down."
Essie Tisdale looked at her, speechless with pain and shock. She had no
reply; in the face of such a leave-taking there seemed nothing for her
to say. Every taunt was like a stab in her aching heart because she felt
they must be true. It _was_ true, else he would not have left her
without a word. What did it all mean? How could such sincerity be false!
Was no one true in all the world? Oh, the sickening misery of it all--of
life!
She turned away and left the dining-room, swaying a little as she
walked.
Dr. Harpe returned to her room with a smirk of deep satisfaction upon
her face.
"I soaked the knife home _that_ time," she murmured, pinning on her
stiff-brimmed Stetson before the mirror, but, mingled with her
gratification was a slight feeling of uneasiness because she had gone
farther than she had intended in mentioning Van Lennop's letter and
boasting that it had been left for her.
The pair of horses which she and Lamb owned in common was at the stable
already harnessed for their semi-weekly trip to the camps along the
Ditch, but Dr. Harpe turned their heads in the opposite direction and by
noon had reached the sheep-camp of old Edouard Dubois.
She hitched her horses to the shearing-pen and opened the unlocked door
of the cabin. A pan of freshly-made biscuit and a table covered with
unwashed breakfast dishes told her that the cabin was being occupied, so
she reasoned that it was safer to wait until some one returned than to
search the hills for Dubois.
A barking sheep-dog told her of some one's approach, and in relief she
went out to meet him, for she was restless and impatient of any delay.
But instead of the lumbering old French Canadian she saw the Dago Duke
coming leisurely from a near-by coulee, picturesque in the unpicturesque
garb of a sheep-herder.
If there was no welcoming smile upon her face the Dago Duke was the last
person to be embarrassed by the omission.
"Ah, 'Angels unawares' and so forth." The Dago Duke swept his hat from
his head in a low bow. "A rare pleasure, Doctor, to return and find a
lady----"
She flushed at the mocking emphasis.
"Cut that out; any fool can be sarcastic."
"You surprise and pain me. If it is sarcasm to refer to you as a
lady----?"
"Where's Dubois?"
He waved his hand toward the coulee and she walked away.
The Dago Duke looked after her with an expression of amused speculation
in his handsome eyes. What deviltry was she up to now?
"Addio, mia bella Napoli," he whistled. "Addio! addio!" What difference
did it make so long as she confined her activities to Dubois?--since he
had no more liking for one than the other.
The Dago Duke had applied to Dubois for work as a sheep-herder and got
it.
After the memorable midnight session with pink lizards and the Gila
monster, the Dago Duke applied for work as a sheep-herder and got it,
chiefly because of his indifference to the question of wages.
"I want to get away from the gilded palaces of vice and my solicitous
friends; I want to lead the simple, virtuous life of a sheep-herder
until my system recovers from a certain shock," explained the applicant
glibly, "and something within me tells me that you are not the man to
refuse a job to a youth filled with such a worthy ambition."
Dubois grinned understandingly and gave him work at half a
sheep-herder's usual pay.
Whatever the nature of Dr. Harpe's business with his employer, the
interview appeared to have been eminently satisfactory to them both, for
she was smiling broadly, while Dubois seemed not only excited but elated
when they returned together.