CONSOLLAS' ACCUSATION.
Bringing his thoroughbred to a stop as quickly as he could, Jesse shook
his feet clear of the stirrups, swung one leg over the saddle pommel
and slid to the ground, placing the limp form of the girl tenderly on
the grass.
In the belief that nothing could save her, the maiden had closed her
eyes to shut out the low gate that seemed to grin at her like some
hideous monster gloating over its victim. As she felt the strong arm
clasp her waist, then lift her in the air, the relief was more than her
overwrought nerves could bear and she had fainted.
Kneeling beside her, the great outlaw wet his kerchief with brandy from
his flask, moistened her lips and bathed her forehead.
"Don't let them crowd round her," he said to his companions as, looking
up, he caught sight of the excited crowd of men and women surging
toward them.
In obedience, Clell and Frank faced about, shouting:
"Keep back! Keep back! The girl wants air!"
But as well might they have commanded the sun to stand still for all
the effect their words had.
"_Make_ 'em stand back!" snapped the bandit-chief.
The meaning of his tone was obvious and, whipping out their guns, the
two desperadoes pointed them menacingly at the mob, crying:
"The girl _must_ have air! Stop where you are!"
Their respect for the business-like muzzles of the four guns, backed
by men whose faces were so calm and determined, was greater than their
curiosity and the crowd paused in their tracks.
One man, stout of figure, well-groomed and well-fed, with every
appearance of affluence, did not stop, however.
Ominously, the hammers of the pistols clicked.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I'm her father, Forman A. Rozier, of Ste.
Genevieve!" he gasped.
Recognizing his right, Clell and Frank bade him approach.
Arrived at the girl's side, the father dropped to his knees, seized her
in his arms and clutched her to his breast.
"Sally, my child, my darling! Are you hurt?" he asked, holding back her
head and looking at her ashen cheeks.
"I think she's only swooned," replied her rescuer. "If you'll force
some of this brandy down her throat, I fancy it'll revive her," and he
extended his flask.
But as her parent reached out his hand to take it, the girl opened her
eyes.
"Daddy! Daddy!" she murmured as she beheld her father's face, then,
turning her head, asked: "Where is the gentleman who saved my life?"
Before he could reply, however, his daughter had freed herself from his
embrace and, springing lightly to her feet, rushed to Jesse, taking
both his hands in hers, impulsively, while she exclaimed:
"How can I _ever_ thank you? If it hadn't been for you--ugh!" and
she shuddered, turning her head away that she might not see the low
lintelled gate that had come so near being her execution block.
As the bandit-chieftain had felt the touch of her hands, a thrill ran
through him and looking closely at her, he discovered that her face was
of unusual beauty.
Her skin was as the olive, the bloom of the rose glowed in her cheeks;
deep and limpid, black bottomless wells of love-joy were her eyes; her
lips seemed crimson Cupid's bows and in unruly ringlets, her wavy,
raven black hair fell about her full throat and shell-like ears.
"It is _I_ who should thank you for allowing me to save your life,"
returned Jesse in a low voice, his eyes uttering the admiration he
would not let his tongue.
Blushing at what she read in them, the girl's embarrassment was
relieved by her father, who approached, holding out his hand to the
outlaw.
"Whatever reward you wish for the great service you have rendered me
in snatching my child from death, you may ask. I am Forman A. Rozier,
president of the Savings Association Bank of Ste. Genevieve, and I can
afford to be gen--"
But the insulting sentence was never finished.
Drawing himself proudly to his full stature, the world-famous
desperado's eyes shone with the look his men had learned to fear and
his voice was cold and incisive as he snapped:
"Sirrah!"
While his daughter gasped, in amazement:
"Father!"
Staring from one to another, the banker, who worshipped money and felt
that his offer of reward was more than magnanimous, flushed hotly,
mumbling:
"No offence was intended. Come Sally, your mother will be frantic till
she sees you," and turned on his heel.
"_Please_ don't feel hurt," whispered the girl, "_he_ thinks money is
everything and he meant it to thank you."
"Don't men--" began Jesse.
But the girl interrupted:
"When we see each other again I can thank you better--I'm so upset now."
Noting that his daughter was not at his side, Mr. Rozier called,
peremptorily:
"Come this instant, Sally!"
Grabbing the skirt of her riding-habit, the girl breathed an _au
revoir_ to the bandit-chieftain and ran to her father.
As he followed her lithesome figure with his eyes, Jesse beheld the
pompous banker scowling at him, his expression indicating that he was
angry at the very natural gratitude his daughter evinced toward her
handsome rescuer.
And as he returned the stare, with interest, there flashed through
Jesse's mind an idea that would give him ample revenge for the public
insult.
By his arrogance, Banker Rozier had made a terrible enemy.
But though the contretemps would be food delicious for the
gossip-mongers who had witnessed it, there were men and women in the
crowd who were ashamed of the humiliating return for an act so brave,
and, in the endeavour to wipe out the unpleasant memory, they surged
about the three outlaws, expressing their admiration of their bravery
and congratulating them upon their horsemanship.
Stung to the quick by the undeserved treatment, however, the bandits
replied only in monosyllables, devoting their attention to staunching
the flow of blood from the gashes they had inflicted on their horses.
"We'll lead them to our tent," declared the great outlaw, "we can't
attend to them properly here." And quickly the heroes took their
departure.
Their advances repulsed, the spectators fell to discussing the incident
when suddenly they remembered that they had not learned the strangers'
names.
Quickly were husbands, brothers and sons commissioned to learn them and
eagerly they set out to the errand.
Arriving at the bandits' tents, they assisted in caring for the
thoroughbreds, adroitly interspersing their aid with questions to
which Jesse replied, goodnaturedly, endowing Clell with the alias
of Hal Prentiss, Frank with Sam Sloan and himself with Tom Howard,
volunteering that they were miners who had struck it rich in Colorado
and were on their way to New York to raise more capital to purchase
some valuable ore lands.
Like wild-fire the news was spread through the Springs and before
evening the three desperadoes were surrounded with the glamour of
fabulous wealth, in addition to their bravery.
One there was, however, among those who heard the imaginative rumors
who gnashed his teeth--the coarse, sensual-faced boy who had been
hailed by the crowd as Consollas when he had made his futile attempt to
overtake the runaway horse.
Only son of one of the shopkeepers at the Springs, the youth had taken
advantage of a business acquaintance between his father and Banker
Rozier to secure an introduction to the exquisite Sally--and with him
to see had been to love.
Morning, noon and night he pressed his suit, impervious to hints and
snubs alike.
In his turgid brain he had conceived the notion that he would marry
the beauty and when he suggested the plan to his father, the elder
Consollas, keenly alive to the benefits that would accrue from such an
alliance with a family both wealthy and of established social position,
bade him godspeed, offering to help him in any way that lay in his
power.
Sally loathed the man's repulsive appearance, only forcing herself
to treat the fellow, whom she dubbed "the toad," civilly because her
father had ordered her to do so to protect his business relations.
As her train of admirers increased day by day, Consollas became sulky
and morose, his churlishness casting a damper on the mirth of the young
people. But the lad continued to haunt the dainty creature, seldom
uttering a word, content to devour her with his eyes.
Finding it impossible to drive the boor away, the coterie of young
folks finally accepted his presence as a necessary evil and ignored
him altogether--a course that was much more to the liking of the
dull-witted youth than the thrusts and jests he had been too slow to
parry or return.
When the alarm had been raised, young Consollas' pony was tied to the
rail in front of his father's store.
Immediately upon learning its cause, the latter had whispered eagerly
to his son:
"Lively, Fred, onto your horse and stop the runaway! You'll never have
another such opportunity! You'll save her life, boy, and she'll be
grateful."
Slow of comprehension usually, in this instance the fellow was quick to
see the point and vaulted into the saddle--with what result the reader
already knows.
As he beheld the girl snatched from a terrible death by the hands of
another, a great rage burned in his heart. In his ears, the words of
his father, "you'll save her life and she'll be grateful" kept ringing.
But instead of being grateful to him she would be grateful to the
handsome stranger and his jealousy pictured the rest.
No incident of the scene between the rescued girl, her father and the
rescuers had escaped his eye. As he heard the banker's offer and the
stranger's retort, a malignant grin overspread his ugly countenance,
only to disappear the next instant at the expression on Sally's face as
she ran to join her father.
With a savage oath, Consollas wheeled his pony, rowelling the animal
viciously with his spurs, and dashed off to the store.
But his father had witnessed the abortive attempt of his son and when
the latter burst into his private office, he checked his wild words,
waving him to a chair.
"It's too bad, Fred, you didn't do better," he began, but the lad
blurted:
"Too bad? I'll be the laughing stock of the Springs and it'll be your
fault because you told me to get on my pony. The people have gone crazy
over those strangers."
Surprised at the vicious ring in his son's voice, the elder Consollas
watched him a few minutes before continuing:
"What I was going to say was that while it was too bad you couldn't
have saved the girl yourself, we can take the wind out of those men's
sails."
"How?" snapped the fellow, his dull eyes brightening.
"Just close the transom over my door and I'll tell you. That's it, now
draw your chair up closer to mine. What I'm going to say is for your
ears alone."
Wondering what scheme had been evolved in his father's brain, the youth
obeyed.
"Did you notice anything about the horse that brown bearded man rode?"
whispered the storekeeper.
"No," returned Fred, more mystified than ever.
"Where are your eyes, boy? _That horse is the living image of my roan
mare, Betty!_"
As the elder Consollas breathed the significant words, he scanned the
face of his son for some gleam of intelligence.
Several moments the youth blinked his eyes, then slowly they shone with
the light of understanding and excitedly he exclaimed:
"They stole the horse, you mean?"
"Good boy. We'll raise the cry that my mare has disappeared. While
you're riding to the pasture to drive Betty into the woods, I'll drop
down to the tent where the strangers are, look at their ponies and
swear that the roan is mine.
"The people will do the rest. There's only one end for horse thieves
and that's the hangman's noose.
"The rescue will be forgotten when your rival is dangling from a tree."
The plot met with the unqualified approval of the lad and his toad-like
body quivered with excitement.
"Now be off to the pasture," commanded his father. And as Fred galloped
away to drive the mare into the woods, the storekeeper picked up his
hat and set forth to attend to his part of the dirty business.
Around the unsuspecting outlaws was an admiring gallery of men and
women, the latter predominating.
Forcing his way through them till he reached the horses, the elder
Consollas approached Jesse's, eyeing the splendid creature critically.
Several acquaintances spoke to him, but without noticing them, he
opened the mare's mouth and looked at her teeth.
Summoning an angry expression, the storekeeper turned to the bandits
and demanded:
"Where did you get that roan?"
Taken aback by the abruptness of the question, the great outlaw stared
at his interrogator blankly.
"Afraid to tell, eh?" snarled the storekeeper. "I don't wonder."
Amazed at the words, three or four of the onlookers asked:
"What's the trouble? Anything wrong?"
"_Wrong?_ Well, rather. That's my roan mare, Betty! She was stolen from
my pasture last night!"