With her heart throbbing fiercely, Hope clung to the outer door of the
vestibule endeavoring to see a little of what was transpiring without.
About her was dense darkness, and she dare not explore the surroundings.
Behind could be heard, through what must have been a thin partition, the
various distractions of the stage, shifting scenery, music, shuffling
feet, voices, and the occasional sound of applause. The girl had nerved
herself to the encounter with Hawley but this waiting here in darkness
and uncertainty tried her to the uttermost. If some one should venture
out that way how could she excuse her presence or explain her purpose?
She found herself trembling in every limb from nervous fear, startled by
every strange sound. Would the man never come? Surely Christie herself
must be ready to depart by this time.
Almost prepared to flee before the terrors thus conjured up within
her mind, they left her as if by magic the moment her straining eyes
distinguished the approach of a dim figure without. She could not tell
who it was, only that it was the unmistakable form of a man, and that he
was whistling softly to himself. It might not prove to be the gambler,
but she must accept the chance, for flesh and blood could stand the
strain of waiting no longer. Yet she was not conscious of fear, only
of exultation, as she stepped forth into the open, her blood again
circulating freely in her veins. At the slight creak of the door the man
saw her, his whistle ceasing, his hat lifted. Instantly she recognized
him as Hawley, her heart leaping with the excitement of encounter.
“Why, hullo, Christie,” he said familiarly, “I thought I was early, and
expected a ten minutes' wait. I came out as soon as you left the stage.”
“Oh, I can dress in a jiffy when there is any cause for hurry,” Hope
responded, permitting herself to drift under his guidance. “Are you
disappointed? Would you prefer to commune with nature?”
“Well, I should say not,” drawing her hand through his arm, and then
patting it with his own. “I have seen about all I care to of nature, but
not of Christie Maclaire.”
“You may learn to feel the same regarding her,” Hope answered, afraid
to encourage the man, yet eagerly fearful lest she fail to play her part
aright.
“Not the slightest danger,” laughing lightly, and pressing her arm more
closely against his body. “Although I must confess you exhibited some
temper when I was late to-night.”
“Did I not have occasion to? A woman should never be kept waiting,
especially if her engagement be imperative.”
“Oh, I am not finding any fault, you little spitfire. I like you all
the better because you fight. But the trouble was, Christie, you simply
jumped on me without even asking how it occurred. You took it for
granted I was late on purpose to spite you.”
“Well, weren't you?” and the girl glanced inquiringly up into his
face, as they passed out of the alley into the light of the Trocadero's
windows. “You certainly acted that way.”
“No, I did not; but you wouldn't listen, and besides I had no time then
to explain. There's a lot happened this afternoon I want to tell you
about. Will you give me time to talk with you?”
“Why, of course,” surprised at the question, yet full of eagerness. “Why
should you ask that?”
“Because I want you alone where no one can overhear a syllable. I'm
afraid of that damned hotel. You never know who is in the next room, and
the slightest whisper travels from one end to the other. That is one way
in which Keith got onto our deal--he had a room next to Willoughby
and Scott, and overheard them talking. I'm not going to take any more
chances. Will you go to 'Sheeny Joe's' with me?”
She drew back from him.
“'Sheeny Joe's'? You mean the saloon near the depot?”
“Sure; what's the use of being so squeamish? You sing and dance to a
saloon crowd, don't you? Oh, I know you're a good girl, Christie, and
all that. I'm not ranking you with these fly-by-nights around here.
But there's no reason that I can see why you should shy so at a saloon.
Besides, you won't see any one. Joe has got some back rooms where we can
be alone, and have a bite to eat while we're talking. What do you say?”
“Oh, I would rather not,” Hope faltered, bewildered by this unexpected
request, already half-tempted to break away and run. “Really I--I don't
want to go there.”
Hawley was evidently surprised at this refusal, naturally supposing from
her life that Miss Maclaire's scruples would be easily overcome. This
obstinacy of the girl aroused his anger.
“You women beat the devil,” he ejaculated, gruffly, “pretending to be so
damn particular. Maybe you'd rather stand out there on the prairie and
talk?” with a sweep of his hand around the horizon.
“Yes, I would,” catching desperately at the straw. “I'm not afraid of
you; I'm not blaming you at all, only I--I don't want to go to 'Sheeny
Joe's.'”
He looked at her, puzzled at her attitude, and yet somewhat reassured
by her expression of confidence. Oh, well, what was the difference? It
might be better to let her have her own way, and the change would not
materially interfere with his plans. Of course, it would be pleasanter
sitting together at one of Joe's tables, but he could talk just as
freely out yonder under the stars. Besides, it might be as well now to
humor the girl.
“All right, Christie,” his voice regaining its pleasant tone. “You shall
have your way this time. There is too much at stake for us to quarrel
over this.”
Frightened, yet not daring to resist or exhibit the least reluctance,
she clung to his arm, and permitted him to lead her to the right down a
dark passage and out into the open land beyond. He had to feel his way
carefully, and scarcely spoke, yet proceeded as though the passage was
reasonably familiar and he had some definite point in view. She answered
in monosyllables, now thoroughly regretful of having permitted herself
to drift into this position, yet not in the least knowing how to
extricate herself. Hawley took everything for granted, her very silence
convincing him of her acquiescence. With throbbing pulse, Hope felt the
small revolver hidden within her dress, undoing a button so that, in
emergency, she might grasp it more quickly. Hawley felt the movement,
the trembling of her arm.
“You are afraid, just the same,” he said, pressing her to him
lover-like. “Darkness always gets on a woman's nerves.”
“Yes, that and loneliness,” resenting his familiarity.
“Do we need to go any farther? Surely, we are alone here.”
“Only a few steps; the ravine is yonder, and we can sit down on the
rocks. I want to smoke, and we will be entirely out of sight there.”
He helped her down the rather sharp declivity until both were thoroughly
concealed below the prairie level. Feeling about with his hands he
found the surface of a smooth rock, and seated her upon it. Then a match
flared, casting an instant's gleam across his face as he lighted his
cigar. Blacker than ever the night shut down about them, and he groped
for a seat beside her. She could perceive just one star peering through
a rift of cloud, and in her nostrils was the pungent odor of tobacco.
With a little shiver of disgust she drew slightly away from him,
dreading what was to come. One thing alone she felt was in her
favor--however familiar Hawley attempted to be, he was evidently not
yet sufficiently sure of Miss Maclaire to become entirely offensive. She
might not have frowned at his love-making, but apparently he had not yet
progressed sufficiently far in her good graces to venture to extremes.
Hope pressed her lips together, determined to resist any further
approach of the man. However, his earliest words were a relief.
“I reckon, Christie,” he said slowly, between puffs on his cigar, the
lighted end of which faintly illumined his face, “you've got the idea
I have brought you out here to make love. Lord knows I'd like to well
enough, but just now there's more important matters on hand. Fact is, my
girl, we're up against a little back-set, and have got to make a shift
in our plans--a mighty quick shift, too,” he added, almost savagely.
“I--I don't think I understand.”
“No, of course, you don't. You imagine all we've got to do in a matter
of this kind is to step into the nearest court, and draw the money. One
trouble is, our evidence isn't complete--we've got to find that woman
who brought you up.”
“Oh!” said Hope, not knowing what else to say.
“Yes,” he went on, apparently satisfied with her exclamation. “Of
course, I know she's dead, or at least, you say so, but we haven't got
enough proof without her--not the way old Waite promises to fight your
claim--and so we've got to hunt for a substitute. Do you happen to know
any old woman about the right age who would make affidavit for you? She
probably wouldn't have to go on the stand at all. Waite will cave in as
soon as he knows we've got the evidence.”
He waited for an answer, but she hardly knew what to say. Then she
remembered that Keith insisted that Miss Maclaire had no conception that
there was any fraud in her claim.
“No, I know no one. But what do you mean? I thought everything was
straight? That there was no question about my right to inherit?”
“Well, there isn't, Christie,” pulling fiercely on his cigar. “But the
courts are particular; they have got to have the whole thing in black
and white. I thought all along I could settle the entire matter with
Waite outside, but the old fool won't listen to reason. I saw him twice
to-day.”
“Twice?” surprise wringing the word from her.
“Yes; thought I had got him off on a false scent and out of the way, the
first time, but he turned up again like a bad penny. What's worse, he's
evidently stumbled on to a bit of legal information which makes it safer
for us to disappear until we can get the links of our chain forged. He's
taken the case into court already, and the sheriff is here tryin' to
find me so as to serve the papers. I've got to skip out, and so've you.”
“I?” rising to her feet, indignantly. “What have I done to be frightened
over?”
He laughed, but not pleasantly.
“Oh, hell, Christie, can't you understand? Old Waite is after you the
same way he is me. It'll knock our whole case if he can get you into
court before our evidence is ready. All you know is what I have told
you--that's straight enough--but we've got to have proof. I can get it
in a month, but he's got hold of something which gives him a leverage.
I don't know what it is--maybe it's just a bluff--but the charge is
conspiracy, and he's got warrants out. There is nothing for us to do but
skip.”
“But my clothes; my engagement?” she urged, feeling the insistent
earnestness of the man, and sparring for delay. “Why, I cannot go.
Besides, if the sheriff is hunting us, the trains will be watched.”
“Do you suppose I am fool enough to risk the trains?” he exclaimed,
roughly, plainly losing patience. “Not much; horses and the open plains
for us, and a good night the start of them. They will search for me
first, and you'll never be missed until you fail to show up at the
Trocadero. Never mind the clothes; they can be sent after us.”
“To-night!” she cried, awakening to the immediate danger, and rising to
her feet. “You urge me to fly with you to-night?--now?”
“Sure, don't be foolish and kick up a row. The horses are here waiting
just around the end of the ravine.”
She pressed her hands to her breast, shrinking away from him.
“No! No! I will not go!” she declared, indignantly. “Keep back! Don't
touch me!”
Hawley must have expected the resistance, for with a single movement he
grasped her even as she turned to fly, pinning her arms helplessly to
her side, holding her as in a vice.
“Oh, but you will, my beauty,” he growled. “I thought you might act up
and I'm ready. Do you think I am fool enough to leave you here alone to
be pumped dry? It is a big stake I'm playing after, girl, and I am
not going to lose it through the whims of a woman. If you won't go
pleasantly, then you'll go by force. Keep still, you tigress! Do you
want me to choke you?”
She struggled to break loose, twisting and turning, but the effort
was useless. Suddenly he whistled sharply. There was the sound of feet
scrambling down the path, and the frightened woman perceived the dim
outlines of several approaching men. She gave one scream, and Hawley
released his grip on her arms to grasp her throat.
She jerked away, half-stumbling backward over a rock. The revolver,
carried concealed in her dress, was in her hand. Mad with terror,
scarcely knowing what she did, she pulled the trigger. In the flash she
saw one man throw up his hands and go down. The next instant the others
were upon her.