BOSTWICK LOSES GROUND
The one retreat for Beth was the house where she was lodging. She went
there at once, briefly explaining to Bostwick on the way how it chanced
she had come the day before. What had happened to himself she already
knew.
Bostwick was a thoroughly angered man. He had seen the horseman in the
fight and had hoped to see him slain. To find Beth safe and even
cheerful here annoyed him exceedingly.
"Have you lodged a complaint--done anything to have this fellow
arrested?" he demanded, alluding to Van. "Have you reported what was
done to me?"
"Why, no," said Beth. "What's the use? He did it all in kindness,
after all."
"Kindness!"
"Of a sort--a rough sort, perhaps, but genuine--a kindness to me--and
Elsa," she answered, flushing rosily. "He saved me from----" she
looked at the convict garb upon him, "--from a disagreeable experience,
I'm sure, and secured me the very best accommodations in the town."
They had almost come to her lodgings. Bostwick halted in the road, his
gun-metal jaw protruding formidably.
"You haven't already begun to admire this ruffian--glorify this
outlaw?" he growled, "--after what he did to me?"
"Don't stop to discuss it here," she answered, beholding Mrs. Dick at
the front of the house. "I haven't had time to do anything. You must
manage to change your clothes."
"I'll have my reckoning with your friend," he assured her angrily.
"Have you engaged a suite for me?"
They had come to the door of the house. Beth beheld the look of
amazement, suspicion, and repugnance on the face of Mrs. Dick, and her
face burned red once more.
"Oh, Mrs. Dick," she said, "this is Mr. Bostwick, of whom I spoke." She
had told of Bostwick's capture by the convicts. "Do you think you
could find him a room?"
"A room? I want a suite--two rooms at least," said Bostwick
aggressively. "Is this a first-class place?"
"It ain't no regular heaven, and I ain't no regular Mrs. Saint Peter,"
answered Mrs. Dick with considerable heat, irritated by Bostwick's
personality and recognizing in him Van's "smoke-faced Easterner." She
added crisply: "So you might as well vamoose the ranch, fer I couldn't
even put you in the shed."
"But I've got to have accommodations!" insisted Bostwick. "I prefer
them where my fiancée--where Miss Kent is stopping. I'm sure you can
manage it someway--let someone go. The price is no object to me."
"I don't want you that bad," said Mrs. Dick frankly. "I said no and
I'm too busy to say it again."
She bustled off with her ant-like celerity, followed by Bostwick's
scowls.
"You'll have to give up your apartments here," he said to Beth. "I'll
find something better at once."
"Thank you, I'm very well satisfied," said Beth. "You'll find this
town quite overcrowded."
"You mean you propose to stay here in spite of my wishes?"
"Please don't wish anything absurd," she answered. "This is really no
place for fastidious choosing--and I am very comfortable."
A lanky youth, with a suitcase and three leather bags, came shuffling
around the corner and dropped down his load.
"Van told me to bring 'em here with his--something I don't remember,"
imparted the youth. "That's all," and he grinned and departed.
Bostwick glowered, less pleased than before.
"That fellow, I presume. He evidently knows where you are stopping."
Beth was beginning to feel annoyed and somewhat defiant. She had never
dreamed this man could appear so repellant as now, with his stubble of
beard and this convict garb upon him. She met his glance coldly.
"He found me the place. I am considerably in his obligation."
Bostwick's face grew blacker.
"Obligation? Why don't you admit at once you admire the fellow?--or
something more. By God! I've endured about as much----"
"Mr. Bostwick!" she interrupted. She added more quietly: "You've been
very much aggravated. I'm sorry. Now please go somewhere and change
your clothing."
"Aggravated?" he echoed. "You ought to know what he is, by instinct.
You must have seen him in a common street brawl! You must have seen
that woman--that red-light night-hawk throwing herself in his arms.
And to think that you--with Glenmore in town---- Why isn't your
brother here with you?"
Beth was smarting. The sense of mortification she had felt at the
sight of that woman in the street with Van, coupled with the sheer
audacity of his conduct towards herself that morning, had already
sufficiently shamed her. She refused, however, to discuss such a
question with Bostwick.
"Glen isn't here," she answered coldly. "I trust you will soon be
enabled to find him--then--we can go."
"Not here?" repeated Bostwick. "Where is he, then?"
"Somewhere out in another camp--or mining place--or something. Now
please go and dress. We can talk it over later."
"This is abominable of Glen," said Bostwick. "Is McCoppet in town?"
She looked her surprise. "McCoppet?"
"You don't know him, of course," he hastened to say. "I shall try to
find him at once." He turned to go, beheld her luggage, and added: "Is
there anyone to take up your things?"
She could not bear to have him enter her apartment in this awful prison
costume.
"Oh, yes," she answered. "You needn't be bothered with the bags."
"Very well. I shall soon return." He departed at once, his impatience
suddenly increased by the thought of seeking out McCoppet.
Beth watched him going. A sickening sense of revulsion invaded all her
nature. And when her thoughts, like lawless rebels, stole guiltily to
Van, she might almost have boxed her own tingling ears in sheer
vexation.
She entered the house, summoned Elsa from her room, and had the luggage
carried to their quarters. Then she opened her case, removed some
dainty finery, and vaguely wondered if the horseman would like her in
old lavender.
Van, in the meantime, had been busy at the hay-yard known as Charlie's.
Not only had Algy's arm been broken, by the bully in the fight, but he
had likewise been seriously mauled and beaten. His head had been cut,
he was hurt internally. A doctor, immediately summoned by the
horseman, had set the fractured member. Algy had then been put to bed
in a tent that was pitched in the yard where the horses, mules, cows,
pyramids of merchandise, and teamsters were thicker than flies on
molasses.
Gettysburg and Napoleon, quietly informed by Van of the latest turn of
their fortune, were wholly unexcited by the news. The attack on Algy,
however, had acted potently upon them. They started to get drunk and
achieved half a load before Van could herd them back to camp.
Napoleon was not only partially submerged when Van effected his
capture; he was also shaved. Van looked him over critically.
"Nap," he said, "what does this mean?--you wasting money on your face?"
Napoleon drunk became a stutterer, who whistled between his discharges
of seltzer.
"Wheresh that little g-g-g-(whistle) girl?" he answered, "--lit-tle
D-d-d-d-(whistle) Dutch one that looksh like--looksh like--quoth the
r-r-r-r-(whistle) raven--NEVER MORE!"
Van divined that this description was intended to indicate Elsa.
"Gone back to China," said he. "That shave of yours is wasted on the
desert air."
Gettysburg, whose intellect was top heavy, had the singular habit, at a
time like this, of removing his crockery eye and holding it firmly in
his fist, to guard it from possible destruction. He stared uncertainly
at both his companions.
"China!" said he tragically. "China?"
"Hold on, now, Gett," admonished Van, steering his tall companion as a
man might steer a ladder, "you don't break out in the woman line again
or there's going to be some concentrated anarchy in camp."
"No, Van, no--now honest, no woman," said Gettysburg in a confidential
murmur. "I had my woman eye took out the last time I went down to
'Frisco."
"You're a l-l-l-(whistle) liar!" ejaculated Napoleon.
"What!" Gettysburg fairly shrieked.
"Metaphorical speakin'--meta phor-f-f-f-f-f-(whistle) phorical
speakin'," Napoleon hastened to explain.
"Metaphor-f-f-f-(whistle)-phorical means you don't really
m-m-m-m-(whistle) mean what you say--means--quoth the
r-r-r-r-r-(whistle) raven--NEVER MORE!"
Van said: "If you two old idiots don't do the lion and the lamb act
pretty pronto I'll send you both to the poor house."
They had entered the hay-yard, among the mules and horses. Gettysburg
promptly reached down, laid hold of Napoleon, and kissed him violently
upon the nose.
Napoleon wept. "What did I s-s-s-s-(whistle) say?" he sobbed
lugubriously. "Oh, death, where is thy s-s-s-s-(whistle) sting?"
Evening had come. The two fell asleep in Algy's tent, locked in each
other's arms.