STRAIGHT TALK
Johnny had immediate cause to regret his melodramatic words.
“Give me his name! Tell me who he was!” the old man shouted.
And obviously Johnny could not answer truthfully. He pondered lie
after lie without finding one to pass muster. Kent saw his
helplessness.
“You can’t answer, eh? Well, maybe you can tell me what you’re doin’
here in this room.”
“Tony and I came to git our stuff,” Johnny replied.
“Your stuff? It ain’t in here, is it?”
“I had a little present for Miss Molly. I wanted to leave it where
she’d git it. I reckoned I’d not be seein’ her again, soon.”
“Present?” Old Jackson’s lips curled contemptuously. “I’ll bring all
the presents she needs. You been treated most like one of the family
round here, so you show your gratitude by shinin’ up to my girl,
eh?”
“You know that ain’t so,” Johnny answered miserably. “Hobe and me
has been bringin’ her little things nigh ten years.”
“She was a child then. And you carryin’ her picture around. I won’t
have it! Damn it, I won’t! My girl ain’t intended for no
forty-dollar-a-month cowpunch. I want that picture.”
Johnny shook his head. Less angry than he had been, he said:
“I can’t give it to you. If Molly says she wants it, all right. I’ll
give it to her. Ain’t no talk goin’ to make me change my mind about
that.”
“She’ll tell you quick enough.” Kent raised his voice to cry out her
name.
“No good doin’ that,” Johnny advised. “She ain’t here.”
“I’ll find out whether she is or not. You git your stuff now. Take
your presents with you, too.”
Johnny had never been dismissed in this fashion. Tight-lipped,
cheeks burning, he shook his head. “No,” he muttered, “I’d not do
that.”
“Well, I’ll take care of it, then.”
And he caught up the harmonica and hurled it through the open
window. “You git your stuff,” he thundered.
The lust to tear this old man’s body with his hands surged in Johnny
Dice. And yet, Molly was his daughter! The thought struck Johnny
with a double significance. Jackson Kent had identified the dead
man’s treasured keepsake. But why had that man carried Molly Kent’s
photograph? Questions began stabbing at Johnny’s brain.
Molly had had nothing to do with the man’s death. Hobe had given the
old man an alibi. But there was a draw to this affair which could
not be argued into nothingness. Molly was mysteriously away from
home; Jackson here when he had left for Winnemucca, and always that
picture of the girl in the dead man’s wallet to be explained.
In a sort of daze Johnny got his blankets and other gear and placed
them upon his saddle.
Kent had roused Charlie Sam and set him to ringing the ranch-house
bell. Only little Hughie answered the bell’s imperative summons.
“Where’s Molly?” the girl’s father demanded.
“Now, that’s a hard question to answer,” Hughie replied. “Never a
word did she say to me. She got her horse herself this mornin’.
’Twa’n’t later than eight when she rode off. Charlie, here, must
have talked to her.”
“No talk,” squint-eyed Charlie Sam declared. “Me pack lunch. She
damn big hurry.”
“One of you must have seen whicha-way she went.”
“Left here headin’ for Argenta,” Hughie exclaimed. “I was over there
last night for the mail. Brought a letter for her. Mayhap she’s
ridden out with the answer.”
“She ain’t been in Argenta,” Kent said positively. “I—got off there
myself, and borrowed a horse from Matt Pease. I’d ’a’ passed her on
the road if she’d been headin’ there.”
Argenta is a flag station half-way between Standing Rock and
Winnemucca. The old man could easily enough have done as he claimed.
But where could Molly have gone? If she had gone south, she must
have come to the railroad. Surely she would not have bothered with
lunch had she set out for Argenta or any neighboring ranch.
Beyond question she had not gone to Standing Rock or else Johnny and
Tony would have passed her. That left only Winnemucca as a possible
destination. Hughie’s observation that she had been “all dressed up”
only added to Johnny’s conviction that he would find her there. But
why had she left without leaving a note for her father? And why the
long ride when she might have caught a train at Argenta or Standing
Rock? Wasn’t it plain that she hoped to go unquestioned? But what
had she to conceal? Could the letter which Hughie had brought be the
answer?
Johnny glanced at the old man, who was pacing back and forth,
mumbling to himself. His concern for his girl swept away some of the
boy’s angry feelings. Old tyrant that he was, no one could deny his
love for Molly.
“She shouldn’t do these fool things,” Johnny heard him say. “Runnin’
off without a word! She’s only a girl; only a child.” He stopped to
catch Johnny’s eye. “You come in here a minute,” he ordered.
Tony sighed impatiently as Johnny and the old man went inside.
When the two men reached the office Kent shot his demand at the boy
without a second’s delay:
“I want that picture!”
“I told you I’d give it to Molly if she won’t let me keep it. That’s
my answer. I never knew till an hour ago what she meant to me. I’m
tellin’ you fair, now, that I’m takin’ my orders from her.”
“Well, you’re armed, and so is the Basque, but I’ll have my say
before very long. You stay ’way from my daughter. You’re a fool if
you’re countin’ on puttin’ her between us. She’s my girl! Keep your
picture! She’ll be askin’ for it quick enough. Don’t let me hear
that you’re showin’ it round, makin’ talk. By God, there won’t be
room enough in this State for you if you do.”
“Your opinion of me does credit to you, don’t it?” the boy snapped
back. “Funny you didn’t find me out long ago.”
“You keep your back talk,” Kent roared. “Where you goin’ when you
leave here?”
Johnny smiled enigmatically.
“That’s a fair question. I’ll ask you one, and we’ll be
even-Stephen. When you left Standing Rock this mornin’ you told Hobe
you were off for Winnemuc. I’d admire to know what made you change
your mind.”
“What do you mean?” gasped the old man. “My comin’s and goin’s are
my own business. Are you hintin’ at somethin’?
“No, I ain’t hintin’. But I’m doin’ some tall thinkin’.”
“You can give it a name if you’re half a man.”
Johnny turned away sadly.
“I guess I don’t measure up,” he said slowly. “And, besides, I’d
hate to give tongue to it. But I’ll say this much”—and he wheeled on
old Kent again—“I’ll answer your first question. I’m goin’ and goin’
when I leave here. And I’m goin’ to keep on movin’ till I find out
who killed that man in Standing Rock. Till I do, my address is in my
hat. I know you’ve got the low-down on me. Well, let it ride. No
matter what you think, I shoot square. You’re rich, you’ve got big
friends; I know what you can do to me. Hop to it! But don’t you ever
forgit that while I live I love your daughter. And if I ever amount
to anythin’, and she’ll have me, I’ll come back and marry her. And
you can please go to hell!”