The wind beat the windows and screamed like a living thing in maniacal
rage; it struck the door and whipped the trees, tearing away branches
and throwing them down the canyon. One crash barely died in the distant
rumble when another crash succeeded. A cloud-burst added to the wildness
of the scene.
The flashes that lit the huge cliffs about the Circle Cross, revealed a
rain-sodden figure mounted on an exhausted, stumbling horse back of the
little ranch-house. The horse picked its way uncertainly until it
reached the shelter of the stable shed. Glendon slipped stiffly from its
back and opening the door, led the animal into an empty stall. The horse
stumbled and Glendon gave it a vicious kick as he cursed it.
Fox stopped munching his hay to poke an inquisitive nose across at the
stranger, while Glendon started to unbuckle the saddle-bags. As he
lifted them, he saw a saddled horse in the stall on the opposite side of
Fox. Cursing his luck, the man tossed the saddle-bags back on the horse
he had ridden, and adjusted them hastily. Then he reached up behind the
hay at the end of the stable and extracted a bottle of whiskey which he
had put there just before his arrest. After taking a couple of copious
drinks, he thrust the bottle into his coat pocket and mounted the horse
whose stiffened movements told that it was badly foundered. Glendon dug
his heels into the heaving sides, and the animal with low hanging head,
stumbled wearily through the trees directly back of the house.
Glendon checked the horse at a point where the dense undergrowth
protected him, yet allowed a view of the house and stables in the
flashes of lightning. He wondered who could be there at that hour,
unless Chappo were visiting old Juan. Had the unknown rider intended to
remain all night, the strange horse would have been unsaddled. Glendon
sat shivering until overcome with curiosity and the knowledge that each
moment's delay was dangerous, he dismounted, tied his horse and crept
cautiously to the side of the house where he peered through the crevice
of a broken window shutter. Possibly some one had already reached the
Circle Cross from Willcox, and was now waiting to catch him if he
appeared.
Through the shutter he saw Powell and Katherine. The noise of the storm
deafened their voices, but the man outside read the story in their
faces. He saw Powell lift Katherine's hand to his lips.
Glendon started in fury. He reached for the pistol he had taken from the
jail; but remembering that he needed his wife's assistance, decided that
his vengeance could wait. He would let the man go, but the woman should
pay for both. Later Powell should know of it. Glendon's lips twisted in
a vicious smile.
When Powell started toward the door, Glendon shrank against the adobe
wall where the chimney jutted out. The doctor passed him, entered the
stable, then Glendon watched him ride swiftly toward the Hot Springs.
Feeling secure from other intruders, Glendon returned to the horse and
led it to the stable where he unsaddled it. He made his plans. Fox had
never been branded, so would not be easily identified, and with his own
saddle he would be fairly safe, once he reached the Mexican border.
No one would ever suspect Katherine of having the gold, and when he felt
safe, she could come to him with it. It was a good thing Panchita was
out of the way, now.
He grasped the heavy saddlebags and staggered to the dark and silent
house. Tatters, hearing the approaching steps, barked fiercely. Glendon
twisted the knob, but the door was locked. He knocked sharply.
"One minute," he heard Katherine call. "Is that you, Juan?"
Glendon did not reply. Then the door opened and Katherine, with a
bathrobe over her thin white gown and her bare feet thrust into a pair
of shabby little kid slippers, saw her husband, dripping from the rain,
brush past her into the room. Tatters ran up but received a kick, while
Glendon dropped the gold-laden bags with a dull thud on the floor.
"Damn that brute!" he snarled. "Make him quit his noise and keep out of
my way if you don't want him killed!"
The collie crept under the bed and Glendon threw off his streaming coat.
"God! What a night!"
Katherine stared at him, dazed and uncomprehending. He regarded her with
a nasty smile.
"Well, you don't seem overjoyed to see me," he sneered. "Nice wifely
reception I get. Thought I was locked up for good, I suppose. Didn't
expect any visitors tonight, eh?"
The significance of his remark did not penetrate her thoughts. She stood
silently looking at him, trying to understand how he was here, waiting
his explanation.
Glendon turned in rage. "What do you mean standing there staring like an
idiot?" he demanded. "This is no time to waste. Get a move on you. I
want some grub and dry clothes."
Mechanically, dumbly, she hastened to obey him. Glendon ate the food
that she set before him, then he finished with several drinks from the
bottle in his pocket. The warmth of the room began to effect his head,
after drinking; it loosened his tongue. The woman who watched him with
dead eyes, made no comment.
"Wentz knocked the deputy over and tied him and opened the jail doors,"
he bragged as he ate. "They didn't find it out for some time, and when
they saw us it was so dark they could not keep track of me among the
rocks. They shot Wentz's horse and he killed himself. Damn him! It
served him right. If he had held his tongue at the trial, Alpaugh and I
would have escaped conviction. Then we could have helped them all as we
promised to do. Alpaugh and Bravo Juan kept together. I've got to keep
moving. They got me in the leg, it's only a scratch."
He limped across the room and dragged the saddlebags to the table. With
trembling hands he unfastened the straps and let the gold flow out in a
dull, glowing stream, fingering it caressingly. "Take care of this money
until I write to or send word where you can join me with it;" he
ordered. "I'm going to cut across to the Mexican border; then work my
way down to South America. Any man speaking Spanish can get along there.
It's a country where they don't ask too many questions. There's ten
thousand dollars," he ran his hands over the coins. "That will give me a
good start down there. I'll write you under the name of Reese, but not
for five or six months. I'll have to cover my tracks pretty well, or the
Federal officers will locate me. I'll take Fox and my own saddle. I
don't want Juan to know I'm here tonight; but after I leave, you must
start him out to the Rim Rock with the horse I rode tonight. Tell him to
hide the saddle and shoot the horse and skin it, and bury the hide.
He'll do anything that you ask him, and won't talk."
"Juan sold your saddle after the trial. We needed money so badly," said
the woman slowly.
"Then I'll take Juan's. I dare not risk using the one I rode tonight,
nor the horse, either."
"Juan is riding his own saddle. He won't be back for several days. He is
trying to trade some colts."
Glendon paced the room cursing his ill-luck as he saw his carefully
formed plans disintegrate. He bit his knuckles nervously as he tried to
decide what to do. Katherine leaned across the table as Glendon paused
and once more ran his fingers through the coins. She looked up and his
eyes met hers.
"Where did you get that gold, Jim?" she asked quietly.
"None of your business," he retorted, deceived by her even tones. "It's
mine--do you hear? Mine! No one else can claim it!"
"No one else can claim it," she echoed. Then her eyes widened. "It is
Paddy's money!" she cried.
Glendon shrugged his shoulders. "What of it? He buried his money and
every one knew it. He had no one belonging to him. It is Paddy's money!
Now, what have you got to say about it?"
"You found that money first and killed him afterwards," she said
tensely. "Oh! I knew there was something wrong when you killed him." She
recoiled in horror.
"I was acquitted," he faced her like a trapped coyote. "No one can prove
it wasn't self-defence! You're my wife and you've got to hold your
tongue!"
Possibly the repugnance in her face stung, for he reeled to her side
with an oath. She looked at him unafraid and the knowledge that he had
no more power over her goaded him to frenzy.
His clenched fist was lifted and brought down with a crashing blow in
her face. She fell against the sharp edge of the window-ledge, clinging
blindly as she struggled to her feet, but he knew she was unconquered.
Dragging the pistol from his belt, he hurled the loaded weapon at her.
It struck the window casing a few inches above her head, then dropped to
the floor, the black composition handle shattered, leaving only the
steel rim, but the cartridges failed to explode.
Glendon glared at her as she stood panting against the wall, her white
face contrasting vividly with the blood that oozed from cuts on cheek
and lip--the eyes that regarded him held no fear. She knew that death
was standing beside her, but it seemed a welcome friend, with
outstretched, sheltering arms.
"I'll make you understand that you are my wife," the man started
threateningly toward her, his hand reaching down to pick up the pistol
on the floor. Neither of them saw the dog which had been watching from
beneath the bed, and now was dragging itself stealthily forth, its lips
twitching, its eyes blazing in fury. With a sudden spring, it caught
Glendon's hand in its strong, gleaming teeth.
The man's curses mingled with deep-throated growls, and as they fought,
the woman stood dumb, unable to move. The blood on her face dripped
slowly on the white gown. There was a shot, and Glendon rose to his
feet, kicking the dog that lay dying on the floor.
With a cry of pity, Katherine stooped, and the brute that had given its
life in an effort to protect her, lifted its head feebly and licked her
hand. Then with its eyes on her face, it gave a convulsive shudder. With
quivering lips and trembling hand she laid it down on the floor, rose
and faced her husband.
"Will you do what I tell you?" he demanded.
"No! You can kill me as you have killed Tatters, but I will not touch
that money!"
He leaped at her, caught her by the throat and flung her violently to
the floor. Weak, voiceless, still unconquered, he watched her drag
herself again to her feet. He levelled the pistol at her head. She did
not flinch as she faced it.
Glendon thrust it back into the holster. "Damn you! I'll get along
without you; but I won't kill you. I'm going to kill that dude doctor
and see how you like that to remember me by!"
He poured more liquor, then bending under the weight of the saddle bags,
he strode through the door.
Katherine stood dazed, staring down at the dead dog on the floor, as
though her brain had ceased working. Outside, in a lull of the storm,
sounded the sharp beat of hoofs. Glendon was riding past the house.
"He is taking the road to the Springs, Tatters," she said slowly, her
eyes on the dead dog as she spoke to it. There were chains on her
brain;--it could not think; chains on her hands and feet--she could not
move.
A tiny red stream was creeping over the wooden floor toward her and she
wondered what she would do when it reached her. Fascinated she watched
it, then when it touched the hem of her gown making a stain like those
above it, she woke in a wild frenzy of despair.
"No! No!" she cried flinging the door open. "I will do anything you
wish, Jim! Come back! Come back!"
But Glendon was gone. The wind tore and lashed the curtains with the gay
cretonne bands. It blew out the flame of the lamp and the rain beat down
on the bright Navajo rugs and the dead dog lying on the floor.
The woman ran to the stable. The heavy door banged on broken hinges. She
clung to the empty stall and thought she saw her husband riding up to
the Hot Springs Ranch. She saw him jump from his horse and knock at the
door--Saw Powell open that door, and then--she saw a tiny red stream
trickling across the wooden floor.
Without stopping to reason that she had no chance against a man on a
horse, she turned and faced the storm. The wind whipped her long, dark
hair across her face and tore the robe back from the thin white gown.
Her slippers, rain-soaked, dropped from her bare feet, and the sharp
stones cut the tender flesh. She ran on, unconscious of everything
except the knowledge that Powell--the man she loved--was in danger.
Slowly and more slowly she ran, her breath coming in sharp little gasps
that hurt. She staggered a few more feet, then with a tired sigh, sank
to the ground, trying with her last conscious thought to remember
whether it was Tatters or Doctor Powell lying dead, where the little
scarlet thread kept creeping--creeping--creeping--.