THE HIGHEST BIDDER
Far up the road appeared a little cloud of dust with a black speck in
its center.
A murmur ran through the crowd; a name was passed from mouth to mouth;
and the men nearest Huntington began to edge away instinctively,
leaving a larger and larger space clear around him and the three
cow-punchers.
Marion too looked, and understood. She had not dismounted, but still
sat her pony within ten feet of the outlaw, at the side of the
roadway, in about the middle of which stood Huntington. With an effort
she drew her eyes away from that ominous black spot in the distance,
and turned toward Seth. A shiver ran through her body, but her cheeks
burned, and there was a voice in her ears that shouted, "Tell him he's
a fool to anger me!" For a moment she was on the point of rushing upon
Seth, and shrieking that warning into his face. But now it was too
late.
Like all the others Huntington stood for a few seconds fascinated by
that figure in the puff of dust. And for just those few seconds there
was a certain unsteadiness in his attitude, irresolution in the black
eyes beneath their bushy brows. But the blue-whiteness under the dark
beard was not the pallor of fear, so called. Seth Huntington was as
incapable of physical cowardice as he was of moral courage. He was not
afraid of Philip Haig, but he was dreadfully afraid of being thought
afraid of him. There was yet time to avoid a clash with Haig, to
withdraw from an undertaking in which he knew he was wholly in the
wrong. But he was not equal to that test of character. He would sooner
tackle all the Haigs in Christendom than face the derision of his
neighbors, whom he had assiduously taught to expect great things of
him on the first occasion. Here was the occasion; he had seized it,
blinded by passion; and there was no way for him now but to see it
through. He straightened up, and faced the three cow-punchers.
"All right!" he cried defiantly. "It's a thousand."
But the three had heard the name murmured by the crowd, had seen the
distant horseman. Larkin was plainly elated. Raley and Smith, as
plainly abashed, looked this way and that, avoiding the eyes of their
leader, and every other eye as well. Huntington, seeing the game about
to slip from his hands, whirled on his heel and looked swiftly toward
the store.
"Thompson!" he yelled.
"Here!" was the answer, as a small, gray-bearded man in shirt sleeves
advanced a step or two from the door.
"Fetch me that roll from your safe, will you?"
"Right!"
As Thompson disappeared within the store, Huntington turned again
toward the cowboys.
"A thousand dollars--cash!" he repeated.
Larkin leaned forward on his horse, and looked at him shrewdly.
"Seems to me it's not the horse you're after so much as him," he said,
with a grin and a nod toward the road.
"That's as may be," retorted Huntington. "Money talks."
"An' it says mighty funny things sometimes," replied Larkin, who now
made no concealment of his dislike of Huntington and his "game."
"We'll see!" cried Huntington angrily. "How does twelve hundred sound
to you two?"
He looked steadily at Raley and Smith, who exchanged glances.
"What's your awful hurry?" Larkin demanded, in a drawling tone, but
with an anxious eye for the galloping figure now in plain view. "We'll
give Haig a chance to bid--eh, men?"
Smith shot an angry but uneasy look at the leader. Huntington saw it,
and guessed that there was more than weariness and greed in the
willingness of Smith and Raley to combine against Larkin. Probably, he
thought, there had been differences of opinion, disputes even, on the
road to Paradise. He turned impatiently toward the store.
At that instant Thompson ran out, broke through the ring of men, and
handed a roll of "yellowbacks" to Huntington, who hurriedly peeled off
several of the bills, and thrust them at arm's length toward the
wavering cow-punchers.
"Haig talked about a thousand dollars!" he cried. "There's fifteen
hundred. Do you want it?"
For a moment it was heads or tails. Even Larkin eyed the money
hungrily. Then his teeth clicked together, and he turned upon his
partners, whose faces showed plainly the answer that was upon their
lips.
"An' what'll you say to _him_?" he demanded.
"Eighteen hundred!" shouted Huntington.
"That's good enough for me!" cried Raley. "Say it, Jud!"
There was a distant thunder of hoofs as Haig's horse took the short
bridge over the Brightwater. The crowd backed still farther away from
Huntington, who was again fingering his roll of bills.
"Two thousand!" he roared, shaking the handful of "yellowbacks" at the
wavering Smith.
Raley leaned from his saddle, and grabbed Smith's arm.
"Quick, Jud!" he pleaded hotly. "Don't be a fool!"
"All right! We'll take it!" answered Smith.
"No!" said Larkin firmly, pulling his horse around between Huntington
and the two partners.
"Yes!" the two cried out together.
Huntington stepped forward, and thrust both handfuls of bills almost
into Larkin's face.
"Name your price then!" he bellowed.
Larkin looked at the money,--smelt it,--as he said afterwards, grimly
confessing his weakness at the sight of more than he could save in
years of riding the range and branding mavericks. If there had been
ten seconds more--
Haig galloped into the crowd, which gave him plenty of room, and
reined up his pony just in front of the golden outlaw. For some
instants he saw only the horse; and his eyes kindled. Then he faced
the cowboys and Huntington.
They were fixed in almost the very attitudes in which he had come upon
them. Huntington's outstretched hands had indeed fallen to his side,
but they still clutched the crumpled bills. Raley's blood-stained face
was purple with anger and chagrin, while Smith's wore a sullen,
hangdog look. As for Larkin, he met Haig's questioning scrutiny with a
look of mingled triumph and guilt.
"Well, why don't you go on?" asked Haig, with a smile.
There was no response. The silence was again so complete that the
music of the Brightwater was heard across the meadows.
Haig slowly swept the crowd with an inquiring glance. All these men
were hostile toward him, of course; but how far would they support
Huntington? No matter! He swung himself suddenly out of the saddle,
and addressed himself to the leader of the cowboys.
"You're Larkin, aren't you?" he said.
"Yes," answered the embarrassed cow-puncher.
"And the others are Smith and--"
"Raley," prompted Larkin.
"And here, of course, is my good friend Huntington, looking like
Fortune with both hands full."
Several men in the crowd laughed, whereupon Huntington, who had
evidently forgotten the money, made matters worse for himself by
hastily and clumsily thrusting it into the pockets of his coat, while
his face flushed angrily.
"That's right, Cousin Seth," Haig said lightly. "You may need it."
Marion, at these words, quivered with alarm. Was he going to tell
Huntington, there in that crowd, of the incident in the pasture? His
next speech, however, reassured her.
"Now, Larkin," he said, "let's understand things. That's my horse,
isn't it?"
"That's what I've been sayin' some time back," answered Larkin, in a
tone of relief.
"And you, Smith?"
"I suppose so," was the sullen reply.
"And Raley?"
"No, it ain't!" answered that one with a sudden flare-up of courage.
"Then whose horse is it?"
"It belongs to Larkin an' Smith an' me."
"Of course. But why did you bring him to Paradise Park?"
"To sell him."
"To whom, please?"
Raley, caught in the trap, looked appealingly toward Smith, but got no
help from him.
"To whom?" repeated Haig sharply.
"To you--if you wanted him!" Raley blurted out at last.
"If I wanted him!" retorted Haig ironically. "I bargained for him with
you, didn't I?"
"Yes," growled Raley.
"And you went and caught him _for me_?"
"Yes."
"And you brought him to Paradise Park _for me_?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Don't be downhearted!" he said cheerfully. "A good name is
more to be desired than great riches. Isn't that so, Cousin Seth?"
The ranchman's face flamed.
"If you've got anything to say to me, say it quick!" he jerked out.
"I have several things to say to you, one at a time," replied Haig
smoothly. "To begin with, these men told you the horse was mine,
didn't they?"
"No, they didn't. They said you'd offered a thousand dollars for
him."
Haig laughed.
"All right, if that suits you better! They told you they had brought
him here to deliver him to me for a thousand dollars, and you thought
it would be a fine joke to buy him yourself. Is that it?"
Huntington did not respond to this, but watched Haig narrowly, a
little puzzled by his manner.
"How much did he offer you?" Haig asked Larkin.
"Two thousand dollars--and then he said name our price."
Haig whistled.
"Well, I'm damned if you haven't got some sporting blood in you!" he
said, smiling at Huntington. "How much was in your roll?"
Huntington's first impulse was to tell Haig that it was none of his
business. But he was deceived by Haig's manner, having expected his
enemy to fall upon him like a thunderbolt. His surprise was shared,
indeed, by most of the men, who had expected gun-play on the jump.
Only Marion, sitting still and watchful on her pony, was not misled.
She felt that Haig was playing with Huntington, and biding his time.
Huntington's vanity completed his self-delusion.
"Four thousand, two hundred dollars" he replied boastfully, glancing
around at his neighbors.
"Whew!" uttered Haig, between pursed lips. Then to Larkin: "You were
hard pressed, weren't you? But never mind, boys, I'll do better than I
promised--and charge it up to Cousin Seth."
Another laugh flickered around the crowd. It was evident that there
was no great objection to seeing Huntington baited.
"My name's Huntington!" he snorted. "What's this damned cousin
business, anyhow?"
Haig raised his eyebrows.
"Does it annoy you?" he asked, in a tone of exaggerated politeness.
Huntington merely glared. He was one of those self-made wits who enjoy
their own jokes immensely but grumble at plucking barbed shafts out of
their own skins. He began to wish for the thunderbolt.
"But it's your own fault, you know," Haig added.
"What in hell are you talking about?" Huntington growled.
"I'm talking about your last visit to my ranch."
"My last--What do you mean, damn you!" the ranchman thundered, his
right hand moving to his belt.
There was a hurried movement among those of the crowd who, absorbed in
the dialogue, had half-consciously crept nearer. But Haig appeared to
have noticed neither Huntington's motion nor the backing away of the
spectators.
"And wouldn't it have been reckless extravagance to pay good money for
Sunnysides when you might just have come and taken him out of my
corrals?"
For a few seconds Huntington, as if he could scarce believe that he
heard aright, was speechless with amazement and rage.
"Say it, damn you!" he said chokingly. "What do you mean?"
"Don't get so excited, or you may break a blood vessel, Cous--I beg
your pardon, _Mister_ Huntington."
"Say it!" roared the ranchman.
Then Haig dropped his mask.
"I will say it," he began in a voice that rang ominously. "I'll say it
so that even you cannot fail to understand me. I mean that I'm tired
of your threats and persecutions. I mean that you have harassed me and
my men at every opportunity. I mean that you drove that bunch of my
cattle off the cliff last September. I mean that within twenty-four
hours another fence has been cut, and that you know who did it. I mean
that your attempt to buy my horse was only another of the contemptible
and cowardly tricks you have played on me. I mean, Huntington, that
you are a bully, a liar and a thief!"
Huntington's hand had slipped to the butt of his revolver at the
beginning of this intolerable speech; but he had waited, as if
fascinated, as if unable to move under the torrent of denunciation.
Then to the onlookers it appeared that the bold young man, who had not
yet made the slightest motion toward his own weapon, would be slain in
his tracks. But Haig was as much the quicker in action as he was the
nimbler in wit.
The two revolvers cracked, it seemed, as one, but with very different
results. Haig's battered old hat, lifted as if by a sudden gust of
wind, slid from his head, and fell to the ground with a bullet hole
through it. But Huntington threw up his hands, pitched forward, and
fell in a heap in the dusty road.
There was a single shrill, short-cut shriek as a woman near the door
of the post-office slipped down in a faint; and then a chorus of
quavering cries as other women clutched the arms of the men nearest
them.
Marion swayed in her saddle, her head drooping on her breast. A young
cowboy darted from the crowd, and grabbed her as she fell. He started
to lift and carry her away, but, with a desperate effort, she
recovered, and stood erect, trying to thrust him from her. He held her
nevertheless, supporting her with an arm under one of hers.
Haig had quickly turned and faced the group of men at the left of the
road.
"Is there anybody else here that wants to buy my horse?" he demanded
coolly.
There was no response, no movement. He whirled, and confronted the
silent row of men on the other side.
"Is there anybody else here who thinks he can drive me out of Paradise
Park?"
Still no one replied; and Haig, with a shrug, thrust his revolver back
in its holster.
"Thompson!" he called out.
"Here!" was the answer, in the same tone of readiness with which he
had responded to Huntington. By keeping his mouth shut, and never
taking sides in any of the occasional disagreements and disputes that
enlivened the tedium of life in that community, Thompson had
established a reputation for neutrality and trustworthiness, and was
permitted to be everybody's friend.
"Look after Huntington, please!" said Haig. "He's not badly
hit--you'll find the bullet under the left shoulder blade. It'll do
him good."
Thompson and some others lifted Huntington, and carried him into the
store; and at that moment the stage, its approach unnoticed, rattled
up, and stopped with shrieking brakes and creaking harness. There was
a sudden outbreak of speech on all sides, as if the tension had been
relaxed by the recurrence of a familiar and orderly event. In the
confusion Haig turned toward Sunnysides and the three cow-punchers.
"Now, Larkin," he began briskly, "we'll finish this business, and
then--"
He stopped short, and stared.
By the side of the golden horse stood Marion. Still shocked and
bewildered, yet strangely thrilled, she had stretched out one
trembling arm, and rested her hand on the neck of the wild creature,
from which every other person in the crowd around--and she too in her
right senses--had kept away, in full appreciation of his reputation.
Whether it was that the outlaw had for the time given up all notion of
resistance and hostility, or that he felt the difference between the
girl's gentle touch and the rough handling he had undergone, he did
not stir. But this docility, this understanding, was only a part of
the sight that brought Haig to a standstill.
He had left many things behind him, but there was one thing he had not
been, able to destroy as he would have destroyed it, root and branch
and flower. He would always have a weakness--he called it that--for
beauty in whatever form it appeared to him. Sunsets and twilights, the
shadows of trees in still waters, flowers and reeds, old ruins in the
moonlight, sometimes even faces moved him until he was ashamed, and
berated himself for a sentimental weakling. And now--
The girl was tawny as a leopard. Her hair was almost exactly the color
of the outlaw's dull yellow mane, but finer, of course, and softer;
and her complexion--he wondered that he had not noticed it before--had
a peculiar richness and brilliancy that seemed to reflect the luster
of Sunnysides' golden hide. They stood there entrancing his artist-eye
with their perfect harmony of line and color; and the last thin rays
of the setting sun bathed horse and girl in a golden light--an
atmosphere in which they glowed like one of Titian's mellowed
canvases.
"Don't move, please!" he exclaimed.
But Marion did not hear, or did not heed. She dropped her hand, and
glided toward him, while he watched her, curious and rapt. Perhaps it
was because he saw her through that golden glow, perhaps because his
nerves were a little unsteady in the reaction from the strain they had
undergone, that she made a singular appeal to his imagination. He
fancied that for all the fineness of her figure, the exquisite poise
of her small head, the cameo-like delicacy of her face, there was
something in her as wild, untamed, and elemental as the heart of
Sunnysides.
Thus she moved slowly past him, and passing gave him a long and steady
look, with an unfathomable expression in her eyes,--an expression
neither of anger nor of bitterness nor of disgust nor of anything he
might have expected after all he had done that day. He turned, and
watched her until she had disappeared in the crowd around the
stagecoach; and with her went out the last rays of the sun.
"Well, I'll be damned!" said Philip Haig.
With a shake of his shoulders, as if to throw off some unwelcome
weight upon them, he turned again to take up his business with the
gaping cow-punchers.