It was after midnight when Clyde awoke. She passed from slumber to
wakefulness instantly, without the usual intervening stages of
drowsiness.
Outside a gale was blowing, and volleys of rain pattered like spent
shot on windows and roof. Thunder rumbled ceaselessly. A vivid flash
rent the outer darkness, illuminating the room, and the succeeding
crack shook the house. It was a storm, rare in the dry belt, of which
there were not more than one or two in the year. For Casey's sake she
hoped that there would be no hail with it. Better continued drought
than a ruinous bombardment of frozen pellets from the heavens which
would beat the crops to the ground, utterly destroying them.
As she lay listening she seemed to hear sounds not of the storm, as of
some one moving on the veranda. Then came a loud, insistent knocking.
She heard the door of Wade's room open, and a long crack of light
beneath her own showed that he had lit a lamp.
"Hello! Who's there?" he asked.
The reply was indistinguishable. A violent blow on the door followed
it. She sprang out of bed, threw on a dressing gown, thrust her feet
into slippers, opened her door, and peered out.
A single hand lamp on the table showed Wade, clad in pajamas and
slippers, standing before the door. His attitude expressed uncertainty.
He glanced back and saw Clyde.
"What is it?" she asked. "Who is there?"
"I don't know," he replied. "There are men out there. They want me to
open the door. Do you know where there's a gun in the house? I
haven't----"
The impact of a heavy body cut him short. The lock gave way, and the
door swung inward. Wade sprang back and caught up a chair. Framed in
the door, silhouetted against the outer blackness, appeared a man. His
hat was pulled low over his eyes. A handkerchief cut with eyeholes
concealed his face. His right hand held a six-shooter, with which he
covered Wade. Back of him, pressing forward, were other armed men.
"Put that chair down!" he ordered. "Nobody's goin' to hurt you."
"Glad to hear it!" snapped Wade, who was the fortunate owner of
unlimited sand. "What do you mean by breaking into a house in the
middle of the night and frightening women? If you want money I've got
about fifty dollars, and that's all. You're welcome to it if you'll
clear out."
"Keep it," the intruder returned contemptuously. He stepped into the
room, followed by four others. "I guess your name is Wade. We don't
want you. We want McHale."
"Well, I haven't got him," said Wade.
"Where is he?"
"What do you want with him?"
"That's none of your business."
"All right. If that's so it's none of my business where he is."
"You'd better make it your business," said the other suggestively.
"Well, I won't," Wade retorted. "He isn't here, and that'll have to do
you."
"On general principles it don't do to believe a lawyer. Where's Dunne?"
"He isn't here, either."
"I reckon we'll make sure of that." He took a step in the direction of
Clyde's room. Wade stepped in front of him.
"No, you don't, my friend," said he. "That room belongs to a lady. You
keep out of it."
The leader stopped. "Well," he said, "I don't want to scare no women;
but all the same I'm goin' to see the inside of every room in this
house. S'pose you knock and tell that lady to fix herself up so's she
won't mind my takin' a look in. I'm goin' to make mighty sure her name
ain't McHale."
Clyde opened the door, and walked into the room. She was surprised to
find that she was not in the least frightened. Said she:
"Good evening, gentlemen. Do you think I resemble Mr. McHale?"
"No, ma'am," said the leader; "I don't reckon you favour him much."
Admiration was apparent in his voice. Clyde smiled at him.
"Then perhaps you'll take a look at my room now, and allow me to retire
again."
"I don't need to look there, ma'am," the man replied. "I'm awful sorry
we troubled you."
"That's the way to talk," said a quiet voice from the door.
The leader whirled instantly to look into the ominous muzzle of a heavy
automatic held by Casey Dunne.
"Put that gun down, and your hands up!" snapped Casey. "Quick! No
nonsense! I'll kill the first man that tries anything."
The quiet had gone from his voice; it bit like acid. Strange, hard
lights danced in his eyes. The hand that held the gun had not a tremor.
Clyde, looking at him, saw and recognized in his face the cold
deadliness which she had once seen in McHale's.
Without an instant's hesitation the leader put his weapon on the table.
"You win once," he observed.
"That's sensible," Casey commented. "Now, perhaps you'll tell me what
this means?"
"No objection in the world," the other replied coolly. "We wanted to
interview McHale."
"Is that so? Well, Tom isn't here to-night Mr. Dade. By the way, unless
you really like it you needn't wear that transformation scheme across
your face. Same remark applies to the other gentlemen. I like to know
my visitors."
Dade laughed, removing the handkerchief. "Take a good look. You may see
me again."
"Any time you like, Mr. Dade. And what did you want with McHale?"
"Well," Dade answered calmly, "we figured that he'd help us take the
stretch out of a new rope."
"Nobody else would do?" queried Casey.
"We wanted him."
"I see. And had our mutual friend, Mr. Cross, anything to do with your
desire? By the way, how _is_ Mr. Cross? Or should I say the late Mr.
Cross?"
"Not yet," Dade replied. "He's got a chance."
"Then aren't you too previous?"
"McHale laid for him, and plugged him as he came out of Shiller's,"
Dade declared.
"Cross came out of Shiller's with his gun in his hand to get McHale,"
said Casey. "McHale was entitled to shoot. It was an even break."
"That's not how I heard it."
"That's what McHale says, and it goes with me."
"It don't go with me," Dade declared. "Me and Cross is partners--has
been for years. I'm out to get McHale, and you can send him word. I
reckon he ain't here, or he'd be obvious."
"He'd be mighty obvious," Casey agreed. "I may as well tell you, Mr.
Dade, that this feud business makes me tired. It's sinful, and, worse
than that, it's out of date. You take notice, now, that we won't stand
for it. You've pretty well played out your string here, anyway."
Dade stared at him. "I reckon you'll have to talk a little plainer,
Dunne."
"Isn't that plain enough? This shooting was square. You let it go as it
lies. Otherwise we'll clean up your whole bunch."
Dade laughed. "That's sure plain," he admitted. "I like nerve, and
you've got it a-plenty, but you ain't got me buffaloed at all. You
heard what I said. It goes."
"Suit yourself," said Casey. "I'll send McHale word. Anything else I
can do for you to-night?"
"Not a thing," Dade replied. "We'll be going--unless you want us to
stay. I'm sorry we disturbed the lady, but I sure thought McHale was in
here."
"She'll forgive you," said Casey. "That part of it's all right. Better
think over what I said. I mean it."
"So do I," said Dade grimly. "You can send McHale word."
As Casey closed the door and set a chair against it in place of the
damaged fastenings, Kitty Wade peeped from her room.
"Are the outlaws g-gone?" she asked.
"They have went," her husband replied. "You are saved, m'dear. Your
little heart may now palpitate in normal palps."
His wife, looking altogether charming and girlish, emerged.
"Well, I _was_ frightened," she admitted. "I'd give worlds to be as
brave as Clyde."
Clyde, feeling Casey's eyes upon her, flushed and gathered her dressing
gown closer, conscious for the first time of her attire. "Oh, nonsense,
Kitty!" she responded. "I was really shaking in my shoes."
"You didn't show it," Casey commented. "There isn't one girl in a
thousand who would have been as cool."
"I agree with you," said Wade. He put his arm around his wife. "Better
go back to roost, little girl."
"Not until I hear all about it," said Kitty. "Go and get a bath robe or
something, like a good boy. Pajamas are very becoming, and all the best
people wear 'em, but----"
"I beg everybody's pardon!" Wade exclaimed in confusion. "I thought I
had on my--er--that is, it never struck me that I wasn't clad in
orthodox garments." He was back in a moment, swathed in a bath robe.
"Now, Casey, tell us how you happened to make that stage entrance?"
"Not much to tell about it," Casey replied. "I had an old Indian bedded
down in the hay in the stable, and he saw or heard this outfit riding
in and woke me up. As a matter of fact, the old boy was just outside
with a shotgun all the time. We had that much moral support. He came to
tell me that this outfit meant to get Tom."
"This McHale business is serious," said Wade.
"Very serious. I don't mean so far as Tom is concerned; he can take
care of himself. But you can see that we can't allow these men to
bulldoze us. It's McHale now. To-morrow it may be some one else."
"Yes, I see. But what can you do about it? The law----"
"It's outside the law," said Casey. "The law is too slow. We'll make
our own law. Hello! What's that?"
He jumped to his feet, gun in hand, as the chair set against the door
scraped back from it. Out of the darkness staggered Sheila McCrae.
Water dripped from her old pony hat and ran in little rivulets from a
long, yellow slicker. From head to foot she was spattered with mud. Her
face was pale, drawn, and dirt-smeared, and blood oozed slowly from a
jagged cut above her left eye. She swayed from side to side as she
walked.
Kitty Wade cried out; Clyde rose swiftly in quick sympathy. But Casey
was before her.
"Sheila--girl--what's the matter?" he exclaimed.
She stretched out her arms to him gropingly.
"Where's Tom, Casey? They're after him. Maybe they're after you.
Father's hurt. Sandy----I can't talk, Casey. I guess--I'm--all in."
He caught her as she fell forward, lifting her in his arms as easily as
if she had been a child, and laid her on a couch.
"No, no," he said, as Clyde would have put cushions beneath her head.
"Let her lie flat." He unbuttoned the slicker, and opened her dress
halfway from throat to waist, stripping it away with ruthless hand. A
bare shoulder and arm showed bruised and discoloured. "She's been in
some mix-up--had a fall or something. Wade, get me some whiskey and
water!" His long fingers closed on her wrist. "She'll be all right in
five minutes, unless something's broken. Mrs. Wade, get in here and
loosen her corsets. Give her a chance."
Kitty stooped obediently, and straightened up in amazement.
"Why--she----"
"Well, how did I know?" snapped Casey. He ran his hand down her side.
"No ribs broken; arms all right. Good!"
Sheila's long lashes fluttered against her cheeks, she sighed and
opened her eyes.
"Casey," she said, "never mind me. Look out for yourself. Where's Tom?
There are men coming to-night. I was afraid----"
"All right, Sheila," he interrupted. "Tom is safe. The men have gone.
No trouble at all. Just lie quiet till things steady a little. Have a
drink of this."
Clyde brought water, sponge, and towels. She cleansed Sheila's face and
hands, and deftly dressed the cut in her forehead.
"You make me feel like a baby," said Sheila. "I never fainted before in
my life. I didn't think I could faint. I'm all right now. May I sit up,
please?"
"You may lie up, if you like," Casey replied. "Let me put some pillows
under you. You've had a bad shake-up, old girl."
"Beaver Boy fell," she explained, "and threw me. I must have struck my
head. I don't know how I caught him again. I don't remember very
clearly. I had to hang on to the horn sometimes--dizzy, you know. I
never had to pull leather before. He was afraid of the lightning, and I
wasn't strong enough to handle him afterward. The fall took it out of
me. I just had to let him go. He knew it, and acted mean. I'll show him
whose horse he is next time."
"You rode on your nerve," said Casey. "Tell us all about it. Tell us
about your father and Sandy. You were going to say something when you
keeled over."
The girl's keen face clouded. "Oh, heavens! Casey, my head can't be
right yet. I'd clean forgotten my own people. There's been nothing but
trouble in bunches all day. The drivers ran away this morning, smashed
the rig, threw father out, and broke his leg. This afternoon this man
Glass, whom we all took for a harmless nuisance, arrested Sandy."
"What?" Casey exclaimed.
"Yes, he did. Glass is a railway detective. He worked quietly, nosing
around the ranches talking to everybody, while the other detective
attracted all the attention. Nobody suspected Glass. Who would? Anyway,
he and another man arrested Sandy for blowing up the dam."
Casey whistled softly, casting a side glance at Wade.
"Where's Sandy now? Where did they take him?"
Sheila laughed, but there was little mirth in it.
"They didn't take him anywhere, but I don't know where he is. I saw him
with the two men down by the stable. I thought they were talking about
land. Half an hour afterward he came to the house with his parfleches,
and asked me to put him up a couple of weeks' grubstake. He had the men
locked up in the harness room, but he didn't tell me how he had done
it. He took his pack horse and his blankets and hunting outfit, and
pulled out. I didn't know what to do. I didn't tell the folks. The
ranch hands know, but they won't let the men out. And then it must have
been after ten o'clock when one of our men told me of the shooting. He
had heard it from somebody on the road. He said that Cross' friends
were talking of lynching McHale, and perhaps you. I didn't believe it
at first, but after a while I got nervous. Everybody was asleep, and
anyway there was nobody I could ask to go; so I came myself."
"And Tom and I will never forget it, Sheila," said Casey. "I don't know
another girl who could have made it after a fall like that in this
storm."
"It was perfectly splendid of you!" cried Kitty Wade, with hearty
admiration.
Clyde, obeying a sudden impulse, leaned forward and kissed the bruised
forehead. Sheila was unused to such endearments. She had no intimates
of her own sex; with the women she was courteously distant, repelling
and rather despising them. She had felt Clyde's instinctive hostility,
and had returned it. Surprised and touched by her action, the tears
started to her eyes. Clyde put her arms around the slender, pliant
waist.
"Come with me, dear, and get some sleep. You're badly shaken up. We'll
sleep in, in the morning."
"But I have to go back," Sheila objected. "Nobody knows I've gone. I
have to be back by morning. And then there's Beaver Boy! My heavens! I
left him standing outside. Oh, I've got to----"
Casey gently pressed her back as she would have risen.
"I'll stable the horse, old girl; and I'll be at Talapus by daylight to
tell them where you are. Don't you worry, now, about anything--not even
Sandy. If he's gone back to the hills I'll bet he finds Tom. They'll be
all right."
"Do you think so, Casey? And will you do that much for me? I'm awfully
sore and tired. Every bone and muscle of me aches."
"You poor little girl." He raised her in his arms. "Come on, girls, and
put her to bed. I'll carry her in."