FACING THE MUSIC
They had not underestimated the danger from Sassoon's suspicious
malevolence. He returned next morning to read what further he could
among the rocks. It was little, but it spelled a meeting of two
people--Nan and another--and he was stimulated to keep his eyes and
ears open for further discoveries. Moreover, continuing ease in seeing
each other, undetected by hostile eyes, gradually rendered the lovers
less cautious in their arrangements. The one thing that possessed
their energies was to be together.
De Spain, naturally reckless, had won in Nan a girl hardly more
concerned. Self-reliant, both of them, and instinctively vigilant,
they spent so much time together that Scott and Lefever, who, before a
fortnight had passed after Duke's return home, surmised that de Spain
must be carrying on some sort of a clandestine affair hinting toward
the Gap, only questioned how long it would be before something
happened, and only hoped it would not be, in their own word,
unpleasant. It was not theirs in any case to admonish de Spain, nor
to dog the movements of so capable a friend even when his safety was
concerned, so long as he preferred to keep his own counsel--there are
limits within which no man welcomes uninvited assistance. And de
Spain, in his long and frequent rides, his protracted absences,
indifference to the details of business and careless humor, had
evidently passed within these limits.
What was stage traffic to him compared to the sunshine on Nan's hair;
what attraction had schedules to offer against a moment of her eyes;
what pleasing connection could there be between bad-order wheels and
her low laugh?
The two felt they must meet to discuss their constant perplexities and
the problems of their difficult situation; but when they reached their
trysting-places, there was more of gayety than gravity, more of
nonchalance than concern, more of looking into each other's hearts
than looking into the troublesome future. And there was hardly an
inviting spot within miles of Music Mountain that one or the other of
the two had not waited near.
There were, of course, disappointments, but there were only a few
failures in their arrangements. The difficulties of these fell chiefly
on Nan. How she overcame them was a source of surprise to de Spain,
who marvelled at her innocent resource in escaping the demands at
home and making her way, despite an array of obstacles, to his distant
impatience.
Midway between Music Mountain and Sleepy Cat a low-lying wall of lava
rock, in part sand-covered and in part exposed, parallels and
sometimes crosses the principal trail. This undulating ridge was a
favorite with de Spain and Nan, because they could ride in and out of
hiding-places without more than just leaving the trail itself. To the
west of this ridge, and commanding it, rose rather more than a mile
away the cone called Black Cap.
"Suppose," said Nan one afternoon, looking from de Spain's side toward
the mountains, "some one should be spying on us from Black Cap?" She
pointed to the solitary rock.
"If any one has been, Nan, with a good glass he must have seen
exchanges of confidence over here that would make him gnash his teeth.
I know if I ever saw anything like it I'd go hang. But the country
around there is too rough for a horse. Nobody even hides around Black
Cap, except some tramp hold-up man that's crowded in his get-away. Bob
Scott says there are dozens of mountain-lions over there."
But Sassoon had the unpleasant patience of a mountain-lion and its
dogged persistence, and, hiding himself on Black Cap, he made certain
one day of what he had long been convinced--that Nan was meeting de
Spain.
The day after she had mentioned Black Cap to her lover, Nan rode over
to Calabasas to get a bridle mended. Galloping back, she encountered
Sassoon just inside the Gap. Nan so detested him that she never spoke
when she could avoid it. On his part he pretended not to see her as
she passed. When she reached home she found her Uncle Duke and Gale
standing in front of the fireplace in the living-room. The two
appeared from their manner to have been in a heated discussion, one
that had stopped suddenly on her appearance. Both looked at Nan. The
expression on their faces forewarned her. She threw her quirt on the
table, drew off her riding-gloves, and began to unpin her hat; but she
knew a storm was impending.
Gale had been made for a long time to know that he was an unwelcome
visitor, and Nan's greeting of him was the merest contemptuous nod.
"Well, uncle," she said, glancing at Duke, "I'm late again. Have you
had supper?"
Duke always spoke curtly; to-night his heavy voice was as sharp as an
axe. "Been late a good deal lately."
Nan laid her hat on the table and, glancing composedly from one
suspicious face to the other, put her hands up to rearrange her hair.
"I'm going to try to do better. I'll go out and get my supper if
you've had yours." She started toward the dining-room.
"Hold on!" Nan paused at her uncle's ferocious command. She looked at
him either really or feignedly surprised, her expression changing to
one of indignation, and waited for him to speak. Since he did no more
than glare angrily at her, Nan lifted her brows a little. "What do you
want, uncle?"
"Where did you go this afternoon?"
"Over to Calabasas," she answered innocently.
"Who'd you meet there?" Duke's tone snapped with anger. He was working
himself into a fury, but Nan saw it must be faced. "The same people I
usually meet--why?"
"Did you meet Henry de Spain there this afternoon?"
Nan looked squarely at her cousin and returned his triumphant
expression defiantly before she turned her eyes on her uncle. "No,"
she said collectedly. "Why?"
"Do you deny it?" he thundered.
"Yes, I deny it. Why?"
"Did you see de Spain at Calabasas this afternoon?"
"No."
"See him anywhere else?"
"No, I did not. What do you mean? What," demanded his niece with
spirit, "do you want to know? What are you trying to find out?"
Duke turned in his rage on Gale. "There! You hear that--what have you
got to say now?" he demanded with an abusive oath.
Gale, who had been hardly able to refrain from breaking in, answered
fast. "What have I got to say?" he roared. "I say I know what I'm
talking about. I say she's lying, Duke."
Nan's face turned white with anger. Before she could speak her uncle
took up the words. "Hold on," he shouted. "Don't tell me she lies." He
launched another hot expletive. "I know she doesn't lie!"
Gale jumped forward, his finger pointed at Nan. "Look here, do you
deny you are meeting Henry de Spain all over the desert?"
Nan's anger supported her without a tremor. "Who are you to ask me
whom I meet or don't meet?"
"You've been meeting de Spain right along, haven't you? You met him
down the Sleepy Cat trail near Black Cap, didn't you?"
Nan stood with her back against the end of the table where her uncle's
first words had stopped her, and she looked sidewise toward her
cousin. In her answer he heard as much contempt as a girl's voice
could carry to a rejected lover. "So you've turned sneak!"
Gale roared a string of bad words.
"You hire that coyote, Sassoon, to spy for you, do you?" demanded Nan
coolly. "Aren't you proud of your manly relation, uncle?" Duke was
choking with rage. He tried to speak to her, but he could not form his
words. "What is it you want to know, uncle? Whether it is true that I
meet Henry de Spain? It is. I do meet him, and we're engaged to be
married when you give us permission, Uncle Duke--and not till then."
"There you have it," cried Gale. "There's the story. I told you so.
I've known it for a week, I tell you." Nan's face set. "Not only,"
continued her cousin jeeringly, "meeting that----"
Almost before the vile epithet that followed had reached her ears, Nan
caught up the whip. Before he could escape she cut Gale sharply across
the face. "You coward," she cried, trembling so she could not control
her voice. "If you ever dare use that word before me again, I'll
horsewhip you. Go to Henry de Spain's face, you skulker, and say that
if you dare."
"Put down that quirt, Nan," yelled her uncle.
"I won't put it down," she exclaimed defiantly. "And he will get a
good lashing with it if he says one more word about Henry de Spain."
"Put down that quirt, I tell you," thundered her uncle.
She whirled. "I won't put it down. This hulking bully! I know him
better than you do." She pointed a quivering finger at her cousin. "He
insulted me as vilely as he could only a few months ago on Music
Mountain. And if this very same Henry de Spain hadn't happened to be
there to protect me, you would have found me dead next morning by my
own hand. Do you understand?" she cried, panting and furious. "That's
what he is!"
Her uncle tried to break in. "Stop!" she exclaimed, pointing at Gale.
"_He_ never told you that, did he?"
"No; nor you neither," snapped Duke hoarsely.
"I didn't tell you," retorted Nan, "because I've been trying to live
with you here in peace among these thieves and cutthroats, and not
keep you stirred up all the time. And Henry de Spain faced this big
coward and protected me from him with an empty revolver! What business
of yours is it whom I meet, or where I go?" she demanded, raining her
words with flaming eyes on her belligerent cousin. "I will never marry
you to save you from the hangman. Now leave this house." She stamped
her foot. "Leave this house, and never come into it again!"
Gale, beside himself with rage, stood his ground. He poured all that
he safely could of abuse on Nan's own head. She had appeased her wrath
and made no attempt to retort, only looking at him with white face and
burning eyes as she breathed defiance. Duke interfered. "Get out!" he
said to Gale harshly. "I'll talk to her. Go home!"
Not ceasing to mutter threats, Gale picked up his hat and stamped out
of the house, slamming the doors. Duke, exhausted by the quarrel, sat
down, eying his niece. "Now what does this mean?" he demanded
hoarsely.
She tried to tell him honestly and frankly all that her acquaintance
with de Spain did mean--dwelling no more than was necessary on its
beginning, but concealing nothing of its development and consequences,
nothing of her love for de Spain, nor of his for her. But no part of
what she could say on any point she urged softened her uncle's face.
His square hard jaw from beginning to end looked like stone.
"So he's your lover?" he said harshly when she had done.
"He wants to be your friend," returned Nan, determined not to give
up.
Duke looked at her uncompromisingly: "That man can't ever be any
friend of mine--understand that! He can't ever marry you. If he ever
tries to, so help me God, I'll kill him if I hang for it. I know his
game. I know what he wants. He doesn't care a pinch of snuff about
you. He thinks he can hit me a blow by getting you away from me."
"Nothing could be further from the truth," exclaimed Nan hopelessly.
Duke struck the table a smashing blow with his fist. "I'll show Mr. de
Spain and his friends where they get off."
"Uncle Duke, if you won't listen to reason, you must listen to sense.
Think of what a position you put me in. I love you for all your care
of me. I love him for his affection for me and consideration of
me--because he knows how to treat a woman. I know he wouldn't harm a
hair on your head, for my sake, yet you talk now of bloodshed between
you two. I know what your words mean--that one of you, or both of you
are to be killed for a senseless feud. He will not stand up and let
any man shoot him down without resistance. If you lay your blood on
his head, you know it would put a stain between him and me that never
could be washed out as long as we lived. If you kill him I could never
stay here with you. His blood would cry out every day and night
against you."
Duke's violent finger shot out at her. "And you're the gal I took from
your mammy and promised I'd bring up a decent woman. You've got none
o' her blood in you--not a drop. You're the brat of that damned,
mincing brother of mine, that was always riding horseback and showing
off in town while I was weeding the tobacco-beds."
Nan clasped her hands. "Don't blame me because I'm your brother's
child. Blame me because I'm a woman, because I have a heart, because I
want to live and see you live, and to see you live in peace instead of
what we do live in--suspicion, distrust, feuds, alarms, and worse. I'm
not ungrateful, as you plainly say I am. I want you to get out of what
you are in here--I want to be out of it. I'd rather be dead now than
to live and die in it. And what is this anger all for? Nothing. He
offers you his friendship--" She could speak no further. Her uncle
with a curse left her alone. When she arose in the early morning he
had already gone away.