The day after Fraser changed his quarters, Dick France rode up to the
Howard ranch. Without alighting, he nodded casually to Alec, and then to
his guest.
“Hello, Steve! How's the shoulder?”
“Fine and dandy.”
“You moved, I see.” The puncher grinned.
“If you see it for yourself, I'll not attempt to deny it.”
“Being stood in the corner some more, looks like! Little Willie been
telling some more lies?”
“Come in, Dick, and I'll put you wise.”
Steve went over the story again. When he mentioned the Squaw Creek raid,
he observed that his two friends looked quickly at each other and
then away. He saw, however, that Dick took his pledge in regard to the
raiders at face value, without the least question of doubt. He made only
one comment on the situation.
“If Jed has served notice that he's going after you, Steve, he'll
ce'tainly back the play. What's more, he won't be any too particular how
he gets you, just so he gets you. He may come a-shooting in the open.
Then, again, he may not. All according to how the notion strikes him.”
“That's about it,” agreed Howard.
“While it's fresh on my mind, I'll unload some more comfort. You've got
an enemy in this valley you don't know about.”
“The one that shot me?”
“I ain't been told that. I was to say, 'One enemy more than he knows
of.'”
“Who told you to say it?”
“I was to forget to tell you that, Steve.”
“Then I must have a friend more than I know of, too.”
“I ain't so sure about that. You might call her a hostile friend.”
“It's a lady, then. I can guess who.”
“Honest, I didn't mean to tell you, Steve. It slipped out.”
“I won't hold it against you.”
“She sent for me last night, and this morning I dropped round. Now, what
do you reckon she wanted with me?”
“Give it up.”
“I'm to take a day off and ride around among the boys, so as to see them
before Jed does. I'm to load 'em up with misrepresentations about how
you and the sheriff happen to be working in cahoots. I gathered that the
lady is through with you, but she don't want your scalp collected by the
boys.”
“I'm learning to be thankful for small favors,” Fraser said dryly. “She
figures me up a skunk, but hates to have me massacreed in her back yard.
Ain't that about it, Dick?”
“Somewheres betwixt and between,” France nodded. “Say, you lads going to
the dance at Millikan's?”
“Didn't know there was one.”
“Sure. Big doings. Monday night. Always have a dance after the spring
round-up. Jed and his friends will be there--that ought to fetch you!”
Dick grinned.
“I haven't noticed any pressing invitation to my address yet,” said
Steve.
“I'm extending it right now. Millikan told me to pass the word among
the boys. Everybody and his neighbor invited.” Dick lit a cigar, and
gathered up his reins. “So-long, boys. I got to be going.” Over his
shoulder he fired another joyous shot as he cantered away. “I
reckon that hostile friend will be there, too, Steve, if that's any
inducement.”
Whether it was an inducement is not a matter of record, but certain it
is that the Texan found it easy to decide to go. Everybody in the valley
would be there, and absence on his part would be construed as weakness,
even as a confession of guilt. He had often observed that a man's
friends are strong for him only when he is strong for himself.
Howard and his guest drove to Millikan's Draw, for the wound of the
latter was still too new to stand so long a horseback ride. They arrived
late, and the dance was already in full swing. As they stabled and fed
the team, they could hear the high notes of the fiddles and the singsong
chant of the caller.
“Alemane left. Right han' t'yer pardner, an' gran' right and left.
Ev-v-rybody swing.”
The ranch house was a large one, the most pretentious in the valley.
A large hall opened into a living room and a dining room, by means of
large double doors, which had been drawn back, so as to make one room of
them.
As they pushed their way through the crowd of rough young fellows who
clustered round the door, as if afraid their escape might be cut off,
Fraser observed that the floor was already crowded with dancers.
The quadrille came to an end as he arrived, and, after they had seated
their partners, red-faced perspiring young punchers swelled the knot
around the door.
Alec stayed to chaff with them, while the Texan sauntered across the
floor and took a seat on one of the benches which lined the walls. As he
did so, a man and his partner, so busy in talk with each other that they
had not observed who he was, sat down beside him in such position that
the young woman was next him. Without having looked directly at either
of them, Fraser knew that the girl was Arlie Dillon, and her escort Jed
Briscoe. She had her back half turned toward him, so that, even after
she was seated she did not recognize her neighbor.
Steve smiled pleasantly, and became absorbed in a rather noisy bout
of repartee going on between one swain and his lass, not so absorbed,
however, as not to notice that he and his unconscious neighbors were
becoming a covert focus of attention. He had already noticed a shade
of self-consciousness in the greeting of those whom he met, a hint of a
suggestion that he was on trial. Among some this feeling was evidently
more pronounced. He met more than one pair of eyes that gave back to his
genial nod cold hostility.
At such an affair as this, Jed Briscoe was always at his best. He was
one of the few men in the valley who knew how to waltz well, and music
and rhythm always brought out in him a gay charm women liked. His
lithe grace, his assurance, his ease of manner and speech, always
differentiated him from the other ranchmen.
No wonder rumor had coupled his name with that of Arlie as her future
husband. He knew how to make light love by implication, to skate around
the subject skilfully and boldly with innuendo and suggestion.
Arlie knew him for what he was--a man passionate and revengeful, the
leader of that side of the valley's life which she deplored. She did not
trust him. Nevertheless, she felt his fascination. He made that appeal
to her which a graceless young villain often does to a good woman who
lets herself become interested in trying to understand the sinner and
his sins. There was another reason why just now she showed him special
favor. She wanted to blunt the edge of his anger against the Texan
ranger, though her reason for this she did not admit even to herself.
She had--oh, she was quite sure of this--no longer any interest in
Fraser except the impersonal desire to save his life. Having thought it
all over, she was convinced that her friends had nothing to fear from
him as a spy. That was what he had tried to tell her when she would not
listen.
Deep in her heart she knew why she had not listened. It had to do with
that picture of a pretty girl smiling up happily into his eyes--a thing
she had not forgotten for one waking moment since. Like a knife the
certainty had stabbed her heart that they were lovers. Her experience
had been limited. Kodaks had not yet reached Lost Valley as common
possessions. In the mountains no girl had her photograph taken beside a
man unless they had a special interest in each other. And the manner of
these two had implied the possession of a secret not known to the world.
So Arlie froze her heart toward the Texan, all the more because he had
touched her girlish imagination to sweet hidden dreams of which her
innocence had been unnecessarily ashamed. He had spoken no love to her,
nor had he implied it exactly. There had been times she had thought
something more than friendship lay under his warm smile. But now she
scourged herself for her folly, believed she had been unmaidenly, and
set her heart to be like flint against him. She had been ready to give
him what he had not wanted. Before she would let him guess it she would
rather die, a thousand times rather, she told herself passionately.
She presently became aware that attention was being directed toward her
and Jed and somebody who sat on the other side of her. Without looking
round, she mentioned the fact in a low voice to her partner of the dance
just finished. Jed looked up, and for the first time observed the man
behind her. Instantly the gayety was sponged from his face.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“That man from Texas.”
Arlie felt the blood sting her cheeks. The musicians were just starting
a waltz. She leaned slightly toward Jed, and said, in a low voice:
“Did you ask me to dance this with you?”
He had not, but he did now. He got to his feet, with shining eyes, and
whirled her off. The girl did not look toward the Texan. Nevertheless,
as they circled the room, she was constantly aware of him. Sitting
there, with a smile on his strong face, apparently unperturbed, he gave
no hint of the stern fact that he was circled by enemies, any one
of whom might carry his death in a hip pocket. His gaze was serene,
unabashed, even amused.
The young woman was irritably suspicious that he found her anger
amusing, just as he seemed to find the dangerous position in which he
was placed. Yet her resentment coexisted with a sympathy for him that
would not down. She believed he was marked for death by a coterie of
those present, chief of whom was the man smiling down into her face from
half-shut, smouldering eyes.
Her heart was a flame of protest against their decree, all the more
so because she held herself partly responsible for it. In a panic of
repentance, she had told Dick of her confession to the ranger of
the names of the Squaw Creek raiders, and France had warned his
confederates. He had done this, not because he distrusted Fraser, but
because he felt it was their due to get a chance to escape if they
wanted to do so.
Always a creature of impulse, Arlie had repented her repentance when too
late. Now she would have fought to save the Texan, but the horror of
it was that she could not guess how the blow would fall. She tried to
believe he was safe, at least until the week was up.
When Dick strolled across the floor, sat down beside Steve, and began
casually to chat with him, she could have thanked the boy with tears. It
was equivalent to a public declaration of his intentions. At least, the
ranger was not friendless. One of the raiders was going to stand by him.
Besides Dick, he might count on Howard; perhaps on others.
Jed was in high good humor. All along the line he seemed to be winning.
Arlie had discarded this intruder from Texas and was showing herself
very friendly to the cattleman. The suspicion of Fraser which he had
disseminated was bearing fruit; and so, more potently, was the word the
girl had dropped incautiously. He had only to wait in order to see his
rival wiped out. So that, when Arlie put in her little plea, he felt it
would not cost him anything to affect a large generosity.
“Let him go, Jed. He is discredited. Folks are all on their guard before
him now. He can't do any harm here. Dick says he is only waiting out
his week because of your threat. Don't make trouble. Let him sneak back
home, like a whipped cur,” she begged.
“I don't want any trouble with him, girl. All I ask is that he leave the
valley. Let Dick arrange that, and I'll give him a chance.”
She thanked him, with a look that said more than words.
It was two hours later, when she was waltzing with Jed again, that Arlie
caught sight of a face that disturbed her greatly. It was a countenance
disfigured by a ragged scar, running from the bridge of the nose. She
had last seen it gazing into the window of Alec Howard's cabin on a
certain never-to-be-forgotten night.
“Who is that man--the one leaning against the door jamb, just behind
Slim Leroy?” she asked.
“He's a fellow that calls himself Johnson. His real name is Struve,” Jed
answered carelessly.
“He's the man that shot the Texas lieutenant,” she said.
“I dare say. He's got a good reason for shooting him. The man broke out
of the Arizona penitentiary, and Fraser came north to rearrest him. At
least, that's my guess. He wouldn't have been here to-night if he hadn't
figured Fraser too sick to come. Watch him duck when he learns the
ranger's here.”
At the first opportunity Arlie signaled to Dick that she wanted to see
him. Fraser, she observed, was no longer in the dancing rooms. Dick took
her out from the hot room to the porch.
“Let's walk a little, Dick. I want to tell you something.”
They sauntered toward the fine grove of pines that ran up the hillside
back of the house.
“Did you notice that man with the scar, Dick?” she presently asked.
“Yes. I ain't seen him before. Must be one of the Rabbit Run guys, I
take it.”
“I've seen him. He's the man that shot your friend. He was the man I
shot at when he looked in the window.”
“Sure, Arlie?”
“Dead sure, Dick. He's an escaped convict, and he has a grudge at
your friend. He is afraid of him, too. Look out for Lieutenant Fraser
to-night. Don't let him wander around outside. If he does, there may be
murder done.”
Even as she spoke, there came a sound from the wooded hillside--the
sound of a stifled cry, followed by an imprecation and the heavy
shuffling of feet.
“Listen, Dick!”
For an instant he listened. Then: “There's trouble in the grove, and I'm
not armed,” he cried.
“Never mind! Go--go!” she shrieked, pushing him forward.
For herself, she turned, and ran like a deer for the house.
Siegfried was sitting on the porch, whittling a stick.
“They--they're killing Steve--in the grove,” she panted.
Without a word he rolled off, like a buffalo cow, toward the scene of
action.
Arlie pushed into the house and called for Jed.