JANET PAYS A CALL
Janet McWhorter rose early upon the morning following her talk with the
Texan. Dressing hurriedly, she blew out her candle and hastened to the
door. Toward the east the coulee rim showed dimly against the first
faint blush of dawn. She wondered if the Texan still slept and whether
she ought not to waken him and ask him to breakfast. As she stood in the
doorway, man and horse emerged from the stable. She withdrew into the
blackness of the room and in the dim light of the unborn day watched him
mount. She saw the big roan try to sink his head. Noted the ease with
which the man foiled the attempt. Heard the sound of his voice as he
spoke to the unruly horse as one would speak to a mischievous child.
Then, horse and rider disappeared in the darkness of the valley. The
girl stood there in the darkness until the sound of hoof-beats died
away. There was a certain rugged grimness in the scene. It was like the
moving finger of fate--this silent horseman riding away into the dawn.
Her lips moved: "I wish you--luck!" she breathed, "even if--even if--"
She stepped from the cabin and glanced up at the paling stars. "Oh, I
know!" she exclaimed, bitterly, "I saw it in his eye when I mentioned
the reward. It isn't the reward he wants--it's _her_!" Hastening to the
woodpile, she gathered kindlings and returned to the house and prepared
her father's breakfast.
Neither by word or look did McWhorter refer to the conversation of the
evening before. The meal concluded he betook himself to the
lambing-camp. Left alone, Janet washed and put away the dishes, tidied
up the cabin, fed her orphan lambs, and looked after the little
"hospital band" of sheep. Then she pitched a forkful of hay into the
corral for the bay mare and returned to the cabin. Picking up a
magazine, she threw herself into a chair and vainly endeavoured to
interest herself in its contents. Ten minutes later she flung the
magazine onto the table and, hastening into her own room, dressed for a
ride. Stepping to the wall she removed a six-gun and a belt of
cartridges from a peg and buckled the belt about her waist. Drawing the
gun from its holster, she examined it critically. Her thoughts were of
Purdy, now, and she shuddered: "I must never be without this--after
yesterday." She stepped to the door of the cabin and glanced about her.
"He said the next time it will be his turn--well, we'll see." An empty
tomato can lay on its side, its red label flapping in the breeze.
Levelling the gun the girl fired and the tomato can went spinning over
the short-cropped buffalo grass. And without stopping it kept on
spinning as she continued to shoot, until with the last shot it came to
rest, a ripped and battered thing a hundred feet away. "Maybe it will be
his turn--and maybe not," she muttered grimly. "He's the one person in
the world I could kill." She cleaned the gun, reloaded it, and walking
to the corral, saddled the bay mare.
Cinnabar Joe sat in the doorway of his unfinished stable and squinted
down the barrel of a high-power rifle. A six-shooter lay beside him on
the sill, cleaned and oiled and loaded. "Shines like a lookin' glass,"
he observed, and throwing the gun to his shoulder, sighted at a rounded
rock that protruded from a cutbank a quarter of a mile away. "If that
had of be'n Purdy's head, an' I'd of pulled the trigger--there wouldn't
of be'n no more Purdy," he grinned. "He better not stick his nose in
this here valley," he muttered, "but, at that, I'd ruther be out there
huntin' him."
From beyond the stable came the sound of galloping hoofs. Dropping the
rifle, Cinnabar reached for his six-gun and whirled to meet the laughing
gaze of Janet McWhorter. "Why, what's the matter? You look as though you
wanted to kill me!"
The man summoned a grin: "Nerves, I guess. Don't mind me. Be'n smokin'
too much, maybe."
"What's all the artillery for? You look as though you were going to
start a war."
"Maybe I am. But speakin' of artillery, you're pretty well heeled
yourself. Coyotes be'n killin' lambs?"
"Yes, the worst coyote on the range killed one of them yesterday and
then offered to pay for it. I mean your friend Purdy."
"_My_ friend Purdy!"
"Yes--your friend, and Dad's friend, too. If you men wouldn't tolerate
such characters around--if you'd try to clean them out of the country
instead of doing everything in your power to make it easy for them, they
would soon be wiped out."
"But, we'd git wiped out first--an' besides they ain't all like Purdy."
"They're all criminals. They all ought to be in prison."
Cinnabar shook his head: "No, there's plenty of criminals that hadn't
ought to be in prison: an' there's plenty of folks that ain't criminals
that had ought to be in prison. Trouble is--the gauge ain't right that
they measure 'em with."
"All men talk alike," sniffed Janet, "where's Jennie?"
"In the house, feedin' a woman the first square meal she's et in the
Lord knows when."
"Woman! What woman?"
"I never seen her before. Jennie says she's the pilgrim's wife--fellow
name of Henderson, or Kottmeyer, or some such a name. About a year back,
in Wolf River he took a shot at Purdy, an' come near gittin' him, 'cause
Purdy had toled her out fer a ride an' then drug her off her
horse--they wasn't married then."
"Is she--all right?"
"All right? Yes, I guess she's all right, now. She slep' most of
yesterday afternoon, an' all night."
"What are you going to do with her?"
Cinnabar's lips tightened: "When she's able to travel, we're goin' to
git her back to her folks."
"And claim the reward?"
"Reward?"
"Yes, didn't you know that there is a reward of a thousand dollars for
information concerning her?"
Cinnabar shook his head: "No. I didn't know that. No. We won't be
claimin' no reward. So, that's his game, is it?"
Janet swung from the saddle: "That isn't his game," she said, "I thought
it was, at first. But, do you know, I believe he really loves her."
Cinnabar stared open mouthed: "Loves her!" he roared, when he could find
his voice. "That damn snake couldn't love no one!"
The girl's face went a shade paler: "You know him?" she asked.
"Know him! You bet I know him! I know he's the orneriest livin' white
man! They ain't nothin' he wouldn't do--onless it was somethin' decent!"
"And yet--I can hardly believe it. There's something about him
so--wholesome--so clean--and he has really fine eyes."
Cinnabar Joe placed his hands on his hips and stared at the girl in
astonishment. "You ain't be'n into old Mac's bottle, have you?" he
asked, at length. "Wholesome! Clean! Fine eyes! Why, he's the slimiest,
dirtiest, evil-eyedest lookin' scoundrel that ever draw'd breath!"
Janet winced at the words: "When did he bring her here?" she asked after
a moment of silence.
"Yesterday afternoon."
"Yesterday afternoon! Why, he--told me last night that he hadn't found
her!"
"You ain't none surprised that he'd lie, be you?"
Janet nodded thoughtfully: "Yes, I am," she answered. "He didn't look
like he was lying. Oh, there must be some mistake! Did you know him
before he worked on the Y Bar?"
"Y Bar!" Cinnabar laughed, "that bird never seen the Y Bar onless he's
be'n tryin' to run off some Y Bar horses."
"Run off horses! Is he a horse-thief, too?"
Cinnabar waved his arms in despair: "Oh, no," he asserted, emphasizing
the ponderous sarcasm of his words with a dolorous shaking of the head,
"he ain't no horse-thief. He's--judge of the supreme court. An' the
reason he lives in the bad lands is because all the judges of the
supreme court lives in the bad lands."
The girl interrupted him: "Don't try to be facetious. You do it badly.
But the fact is, he don't live in the bad lands, he don't look like a
horse-thief, he don't act like a horse-thief--and I don't believe he is
a horse-thief--so there! When he struck out this morning on Purdy's
trail----"
"On Purdy's trail!" Cinnabar fairly shouted the words. "Who's on who's
trail? What's all this mixup about? Purdy ain't no horse-thief! He's a
wet nurse in a orphan asylum! He's clean lookin' an' wholesome. He
wouldn't lie!"
"Purdy!" exclaimed Janet, "have you been talking about Purdy all this
time?"
A sudden gleam of comprehension shot from Cinnabar's eyes: "Who did you
think I was talkin' about," he grinned, "the Gazookus of Timbucktoo?"
The girl broke into a peal of silvery laughter. A weight seemed suddenly
to have been lifted from her heart--a weight that had borne heavier and
heavier with the words of Cinnabar Joe. There was a chance that her
Texan would prove to be the man she wanted him to be--the man she had
pictured him during the long hours of the previous afternoon when alone
in the cabin her thoughts had reverted again and again to the parting at
the edge of the bad lands--the touch of his hand on her arm, the strong,
firm grip of his fingers, and the strange rapturous something that had
leaped from his eyes straight into her heart. But, all that was before
she had known of--the other woman. The laughter died from her lips, and
her eyes narrowed slightly. Cinnabar Joe was speaking:
"An' I suppose you've be'n talkin' about Tex Benton. She told Jennie he
was on Purdy's trail."
"How did she know?"
"Search me. Jest naturally know'd that if he wasn't dead, that's what
he'd be doin', I guess. How'd Purdy git holt of her, anyway?"
"This woman and Tex were washed ashore when the ferry broke its cable,
and while Tex was trying to get some horses, Purdy came along and found
her."
"Where's the pilgrim?"
Janet shrugged: "Oh, he don't count. He's merely the wronged husband."
Cinnabar looked straight into her eyes: "Know Tex?" he asked, drily.
"I've seen him. He borrowed Blue, and he spent last night at the ranch."
"Well, then, believe me, you've seen some man! An' don't you go makin'
no more mistakes like you jest made. If them two was together they had a
right to be. An' they'll come clean with a good reason. They's some
things a _man_ won't do--an' runnin' off with another man's wife is one
of 'em."
"Do you know him?" There was more than a trace of eagerness in the
girl's voice.
"I'll say I know him! An' I'm tellin' it to you, sister, if he's on
Purdy's trail, I'd rather be in hell with my back broke than be in
Purdy's shoes right now."
The girl turned abruptly and walked toward the house, and as Cinnabar
followed her with his eyes, he smiled: "If them two could only hit it
out--she'd make a fine woman fer him. By Gosh! With a woman like that to
kind of steady him down, Tex could be a big man in these parts--he's got
the guts, an' he's got the aggucation, an' so's she. I misdoubt he'd
marry into no sheep outfit though, at that."