Blinded by the light, Keith stood for a barely appreciable moment in
the wrecked doorway. Sansome, startled by the crash, relaxed his
efforts. Nan thrust him from her so strongly that he staggered back.
Keith's vision cleared. He appreciated the meaning of the tableau,
uttered a choked growl, and advanced.
Immediately Sansome drew and presented his weapon. He was shocked far
toward sobriety, but the residue of the whiskey fumes in combination
with a sudden sick and guilty panic imbued him with a sort of
desperation. Sansome was a bold and dashing villain only as long as
things came his way. His amours had always been of the safe rather than
the wildly adventurous sort. Sansome had no morals; but being found out
produced effects so closely resembling those of conscience that they
could not be distinguished. In the chaotic collapse of this heroic
episode he managed to cling to but one thing. That was Morrell's often
reiterated warning: "Don't let Keith get his hands on you!"
At the sight of his levelled weapon, Nan, who was nearest, uttered a
stifled cry and made as though to throw herself on him.
"Stop!" commanded Keith, without looking toward her. But so quietly
authoritative was his voice and manner that in spite of herself her
impulse was checked. She remained rigid.
Keith advanced steadily on Sansome, his hands clenched at his side, his
eye's fixed frowningly and contemptuously on those of the other man.
The pistol barrel was held on his breast. Sansome fully intended to
shoot, but found himself unable to pull the trigger. This is a
condition every rifleman knows well by experience; he calls it being
"frozen on the bull's eye," when, the alignment perfect, his rifle
steady as a rock, he nevertheless cannot transmit just the little nerve
power necessary to crook the forefinger. Three times Sansome sent the
message to his trigger finger; three times the impulse died before it
had compassed the distance between his brain and his hand. This was
partly because his correlations had been weakened by the drink; partly
because his fuddled mind was divided between fear, guilt, despair, and
a rage at himself for having got into such a mess; but principally
because he was hypnotically dominated by the other man's stronger
personality.
So evident was this that a sudden feeling of confidence replaced in Nan
the sick terror at the sight of the weapon. She seemed to know
positively that here was no real peril. A wave of contempt for Sansome,
even as a dangerous creature, mingled with a passionate admiration for
the man who thus dominated him unarmed.
Sansome's nerve broke. He dropped his hand, looked to right and left
frantically like a rat in a corner, uttered a very ratty squeak.
Suddenly he hurled the loaded pistol blindly at Keith, and plunged
bodily, with an immense crash of breaking glass, through the closed
window. Keith, with a snarl of baffled rage, dashed forward.
The sight seemed to touch Nan's sense of humour. She laughed at the
picture, caught her breath, gasped. Keith whirled and snatched her
fiercely in his arms.
"Nan!" he cried in an agony, "are you all right? What did that beast--"
She clung to him, still choking, on the edge of hysterics. In a moment
of illumination she realized that the intangible barrier these past
years had so slowly built between them had gone crashing down before
the assault of the old love triumphant.
"I'm all right, dear," she gasped; "really all right. And I never was
so happy in my life!"
They clung together frantically, he patting her shoulder, her cheek
against his own, murmuring broken, soothing little phrases. The time
and the place did not exist for them.
A scuffle outside, which they had only vaguely sensed, and which had
not at all penetrated to their understandings, came to an end. Mrs.
Sherwood appeared in the doorway. Her dress was torn and dishevelled, a
strand of her smooth hair had fallen across her forehead, an angry red
mark showed on one cheek. But she was in high spirits. Her customary
quiet poise had given place to a vibrant, birdlike, vital, quivering
eagerness. To the two in the centre of the room, still clasped in each
other's arms, came the same thought: that never, in spite of her
ruffled plumes, in spite of the cheek already beginning to swell, had
this extraordinary woman looked so beautiful! Then Keith realized that
she was panting heavily, and was clinging to the doorway. He sprang to
her assistance.
"What is it? Where is Krafft?" he asked.
She laughed a little, and permitted him to help her to an armchair into
which she sank. She waved aside Keith's attempts to find a whole glass
in the wreckage of the table.
"I'm all right," she said, "and isn't this a nice little party?"
"What has happened? Where is Krafft?" repeated Keith.
"I sent him to the stable for help. There didn't seem to be anybody
about the place."
"But what happened to you? Did that brute Sansome--"
"Sansome? was that Sansome? the one who came through the window?" She
dabbed at her cheek. "You might wet me a handkerchief or a towel or
something," she suggested. "No, he didn't stop!" she laughed again.
"Are you all right?" she asked anxiously of Nan.
"Yes. But tell us--"
"Well, children, I was waiting on the veranda, obeying orders like a
good girl, when, in the dim light I saw a man mount a stool and look
into the room. He was very much interested. I crept up quite close to
him without his knowing it. I heard him mutter to himself something
about a 'weak kneed fool.' Then he drew a revolver. He looked quite
determined and heroic"--she giggled reminiscently--"so I kicked the
stool out from under him! About that time there was a most terrific
crash, and somebody came out through the window."
"But your cheek, your hair--"
"I tried to hold him, but he was too strong for me. He hit me in the
face, wrenched himself free, and ran. That was all; except that he
dropped the pistol, and I'm going to keep it as a trophy."
Keith was looking at her, deep in thought.
"I don't understand," he said slowly. "Who could it have been?"
Mrs. Sherwood shook her head.
"Somebody about to shoot a pistol; that's all I know. I couldn't see
his face."
"Whoever it was, you saved one or both of us," said Keith, "there's no
doubt in my mind of that. Let's see the pistol."
It proved to be one of the smaller Colt's models, about 31 calibre, cap
and ball, silver plated, with polished rosewood handles, and heavily
engraved with scrollwork. Turning it over, Keith finally discovered on
the bottom of the butt frame two letters scratched rudely, apparently
with the point of a knife. He took it closer to the light.
"I have it," said he. "Here are the letters C.M."
"Charles Morrell!" cried both women in a breath.
At this moment appeared Krafft, somewhat out of wind, followed by the
surly and reluctant proprietor from whom the place took its name. Jake
had been liberally paid to keep himself and his staff out of the way.
Now finding that he was not wanted, he promptly disappeared.
"Let's get to the bottom of this thing," said Keith decisively. "If
those are really meant for Morrell's initials, what was he doing here?"
"Mrs. Morrell came out with me," put in Nan.
"Jake told me there was to be a supper party later," said Krafft.
"It's clear enough," contributed Mrs. Sherwood. "The whole thing is a
plot to murder or do worse. I've been through '50 and '51, and I know."
"I can't believe yet that Sansome--" said Keith doubtfully.
"Oh, Sansome is merely a tool, I don't doubt," replied Mrs. Sherwood.
"I can find out to-morrow from Mex Ryan who sent the note," said Krafft.
"Let's get out of this horrible place!" cried Nan with a convulsive
shiver.
Again they had great difficulty in finding any one to get their rigs,
but finally repeated calls brought the hostler and Jake himself. The
latter made some growl about payment for the entertainment, but at this
Keith turned on him with such concentrated fury that he muttered
something and slouched away. It was agreed that Krafft should conduct
Mrs. Sherwood. They clambered into the two buggies and drove away.