A WOMAN'S MERCY
Gary Warden did not stand at the office window many minutes after he saw
Lawler on the street. He drew on his coat, took his hat from a hook, on
the wall and descended the stairs. At the street door he glanced swiftly
around, saw Red King standing at the hitching rail in front of the
building, and several other horses farther up the street. There were
several men on the sidewalks, but he did not see Lawler.
Grinning crookedly, Warden crossed the street and made his way to the
station building, where a few minutes later he was talking with Simmons.
Simmons was visibly excited. There was curiosity in Warden's gaze.
"He's wise," said Simmons. He was still wiping perspiration from his
forehead, and he mechanically repeated to Warden the words he had
uttered to himself immediately after Lawler left his office: "I'm glad
it's over. I've been dreadin' it. He's the only one in the whole bunch
that I was afraid of. There'll be hell to pay in this section,
now--pure, unadulterated hell, an' no mistake!" And then he added
something that had occurred to him afterward: "If the big guys back of
this thing knowed Kane Lawler as well as I know him, they'd have thought
a heap before they started this thing!"
"Bah!" sneered Warden; "you're raving! We know what we are doing. You
do as you're told--that's all. And keep your mouth shut. Just keep on
telling them there are no cars. That's the truth, isn't it?" He grinned
gleefully at Simmons.
"So he's wise, eh?" he added. "Well, I'm damned glad of it--the
sagebrush rummie! We'll make him hump before we get through with him!"
Hatred of Lawler had seized Warden--a passion that ran through his veins
with the virulence of a strong poison. It had been the incident of the
fluttering handkerchief that had aroused him. Until then he had merely
disliked Lawler, aware of the latent strength of him, his rugged
manliness, and his quiet confidence. All those evidences of character
had irritated him, for they had brought an inevitable contrast between
himself and the man, and he knew he lacked those things which would have
made him Lawler's equal. He felt inferior, and the malevolence that
accompanied the conviction was reflected in his face as he faced
Simmons.
"No cars, now--damn them! Not a single car! Understand, Simmons? No
cars--you can't get them! No matter what happens, you can't get
cars--for anybody!"
He left Simmons and descended to the street. As he passed the front of
the Willets Hotel he saw Lawler and his friends inside; but Lawler had
his back turned, and the others were interestedly watching him,
gesturing and talking.
Warden entered the front door of the Wolf. He stopped at the bar for a
drink, and the barkeeper told him, in reply to his question, that
Singleton was in a rear room.
Singleton was alone. He was sitting in a chair at a table, with a glass
in front of him, and he was staring abstractedly at the floor when
Warden entered, closing the door behind him.
Warden drew a chair up to the table and dropped into it. And then for
the first time he looked closely at Singleton's face and saw the gash on
his left cheek. The wound had been treated, but beneath the cloth at one
end Warden could see the open flesh.
"What in blazes has happened to you?" inquired Warden.
"Lawler," growled Singleton; "he walloped my kid down at the
schoolhouse, an' when I went down there to take the kid's part, he
walloped me, too." He grinned lugubriously. "I didn't know the cuss
could hit so hard," he muttered. "Warden, he salivated me--hit me so
durned hard I thought the roof had dropped on me."
Warden stiffened; then leaned forward, his lips loose, his eyes
malignant. "What do you carry those two guns for, Singleton? I thought
you knew how to use them. Men have told me you know."
"Bah!" exclaimed Singleton. His gaze met Warden's, his eyes gleaming
with resentment. "What do you know about Kane Lawler?"
"I hate him, Singleton."
"Well, I reckon you ain't the only one. I ain't exactly in love with the
cuss, myself. I was thinkin' of my guns when I was with him in the
schoolhouse, but somehow I didn't feel like takin' a chance on slingin'
'em. I ain't tryin' to explain nothin'--I just couldn't make my hands go
for 'em, that's all. Hell! I reckon the man who can draw a gun on Kane
Lawler when he's lookin' at him ain't been born yet. But I'm gettin'
square with him for wallopin' me--I'm lettin' you know that, right
enough!"
"You'll have your chance, Singleton. Lawler will have to trail his
cattle--as far as Red Rock, anyway."
Singleton's eyes glowed with venomous satisfaction. He grinned evilly at
Warden.
"So he wouldn't do business with you, eh? I knowed it, an' I've been
gettin' ready. Ha, ha! He'll wish he had. Blondy Antrim rode in as far
as Kinney's cañon last night. I met him an' had a long talk with him.
He's keen for it--says he admires any guy which can plan a thing that
big. Grinned like a hyena when I told him the big guys back of it
wouldn't let any law interfere. He's got seventy men, he
says--dare-devil gun-fighters from down south a piece which will do
anything he tells 'em an' howl for more."
Warden moistened his lips as he grinned his satisfaction.
"There's only one trail, Singleton--you are sure of that?"
"One trail--the Tom Long trail. The devil himself couldn't find another
through that country."
Warden leaned back in his chair, laughing lowly. Into his manner as he
sat there came a confidence that had not been there before--bold,
arrogant. His laugh had a sinister quality in it; in his eyes was the
light of greed.
And as he watched Singleton something else came into his eyes--something
abysmal, causing them to narrow and glow with a bestial light.
"Singleton," he said, his voice thick and throaty; "when I stepped into
Jim Lefingwell's boots the county board of education appointed me to
succeed Lefingwell as school commissioner for Willets. It strikes me
that something ought to be done about the teacher punishing your boy. I
think I had better have a talk with her."
"Shucks," growled Singleton; "I reckon the kid deserved what he got. He
was tryin' to wallop her when Lawler come in. I ain't admirin' Ruth
Hamlin none, but I reckon she wasn't to blame for that. If you was
figgerin' to see Lawler, now, why that would be more to the point." He
grinned crookedly at Warden, slight mockery in his gaze.
Warden scowled. "That's your job, Singleton. If he tries to 'wallop' me
as he walloped you, I'll have something to say to him."
"It's safer to telegraph to the cuss," grinned Singleton, sourly.
Warden apparently did not hear Singleton's last words, for he was gazing
meditatively past him. He took leave of Singleton and walked to the
front of the saloon, where he stood for many minutes leaning on the bar,
thoughtfully looking out into the street.
The shadows of the buildings across the street from him had grown long,
and the light from the sun was mellowing when Warden walked to the
front door and stood for an instant on the threshold.
Down the street in front of his office stood Red King. Other horses were
hitched here and there, but there was no human being in sight. The quiet
peace of the waning afternoon had settled over town; it was the period
when human activity slackens.
Warden stepped down upon the sidewalk. There was a furtive gleam in his
eyes, his face was flushed; he was in the grip of a passion that
thoughts of Ruth Hamlin had brought to him. He had seen the girl a
number of times; he had talked with her twice. Each time when he had
talked with her he had felt the heat of a great desire seize him. And
during his talk with Singleton he had yielded to the impulse that was
now driving him.
Just why the impulse had come to him at that instant he could not have
told. He knew Kane Lawler's name had been mentioned in connection with
the girl's; and it might have been that his hatred of Lawler, and the
sudden jealousy that had developed in him over the incident of the
fluttering handkerchief, had gripped him. But he was aware that just at
this time he was risking much--risking his life and jeopardizing the
business venture in which he was engaged. Yet the impulse which was
driving him had made him reckless; it had dulled his sense of
responsibility; had swept away all considerations of caution. When he
saw there was no one on the street he walked eastward to the livery
stable where he kept his horse, saddled and bridled it, mounted and rode
away.
His ranch, the Two Diamond, was fifteen miles southwestward. Warden rode
directly east, bearing a little south after he had traveled some
distance from town, striking a narrow trail that wound a sinuous course
over the plains.
The passion that had seized Warden still held him. He told himself that
he really intended merely to call upon Ruth professionally, in his rôle
of school commissioner; he assured himself that she must be made to
understand that the forcible disciplining of her pupils would not be
tolerated. Yet as he rode he kept glancing backward apprehensively,
though he knew that if he made his visit merely official he need have
nothing to fear from anyone.
Twice, as Warden rode, he halted his horse and debated the wisdom of
returning. And twice he rode on again telling himself he had a right to
visit the girl, and that he meant no harm.
At most he desired merely to see the girl again, to experience the
thrills that he had felt upon the other occasions he had talked with
her. And when at dusk he came in sight of the Hamlin cabin he felt that
he had really come on an official visit.
He saw Ruth's pony saddled and bridled, standing at a corner of the
corral, where she had left him when she had returned from the
schoolhouse some hours before.
She had found the house unoccupied when she arrived; there was evidence
that her father had left shortly after breakfast--for the dishes were
unwashed and the floor unswept--two duties that he always had
performed, knowing that in the morning she had a ten-mile ride before
her.
Table and floor had been attended to by the girl. But she had done
little else. For hours she had sat in a chair near the front door,
thinking of what had happened in the schoolhouse--of what she had
heard--the evidence that Kane Lawler knew what her father had been
doing, and that he was trying to protect her.
She believed it was the latter knowledge that made her feel so small, so
insignificant, so utterly miserable. For while she was convinced that he
would think no less of her, no matter what her father had done, the fact
that Lawler was trying to keep the knowledge of her father's guilt from
her told her that he appreciated the keen disgrace that threatened her.
When Warden dismounted near the cabin door she thought it was her father
returning, and she got up and went to the stove, where she stood,
lifting the iron lids, preparatory to starting a fire.
She felt that she could not look at her father, after what had happened;
and so she laid some wood in the stove, deliberately keeping her back to
the door, trying to think of something to say to her father--for she had
determined to tell him about the incident of the morning.
She was forced to go to a shelf for matches, however, and when she
turned, her eyes flashing with accusation, she saw Warden standing in
the open doorway, watching her. She stood very still, and spoke no word.
When Warden noted the swift change of expression that came over her
face--the astonishment that instantly dominated all else, he grinned
smoothly.
"Surprised to see me, Miss Hamlin? You shouldn't be, after what happened
at the schoolhouse today. I have called to have a talk with you about
it."
The girl's quick smile was cold and indifferent. What happened to her
now was of little importance. She supposed Warden had come to tell her
she had been discharged; but that made little difference to her. She
felt that she had done right in attempting to chastize Jimmy Singleton;
and she would do it again under the same circumstances.
"Is it necessary to talk?" she questioned, coldly. "I am not sorry for
what I did. I suppose you have come to notify me of my dismissal."
"On the contrary, I have come to assure you that you did what was
right--exactly what I would have done," smiled Warden. "The only
criticism I have is that you should not have dismissed school; you
should have stayed right there and had it out."
Warden stepped inside and walked close to Ruth.
"I want to shake hands with you, Miss Hamlin; you have the necessary
spirit."
Some color surged into Ruth's face. She realized now, that she did not
want to lose the position--that it meant much to her. It meant at least
her independence from her father, that she could support herself without
depending upon the money he gained from his guilty practices. It meant,
too, that the additional disgrace of being summarily dismissed would not
descend upon her.
Impulsively, she took Warden's hand. She looked inquiringly at him
though, when he gripped it tightly, and the color that had come into her
face fled, leaving it pale, when Warden continued to hold the hand,
gripping it so hard that she could not withdraw it. She looked intently
at him, over the few feet of space that was between them, noting the
queer light in his eyes--a glow of passion; watching the crimson tide
that rose above his collar, staining his face darkly.
For the driving desire that had seized Warden had conquered him.
Physical contact with the girl had brought his passions to life again.
They had overwhelmed him, had sent his grain skittering back into those
dead and gone periods when man's desires surmounted laws.
Warden no longer considered the risks whose ghosts had haunted him on
his ride to the Hamlin cabin; his fears had been swallowed by the
oblivion of mental irresponsibility. He had only the vivid knowledge
that he was alone in the cabin with the girl.
"But there are people in Willets who are determined that you shall go,"
he said. "I can keep you on the job in spite of them, my dear--and I'll
do it. But there are certain conditions--certain----"
She struck him, then, bringing her free hand around with a wide, full
sweep. The open hand landed on the side of his face with a smack that
resounded through the cabin, staggering him, causing him to release the
other hand.
A great, red welt appeared on his cheek where the hand had struck; and
he felt of his cheek with his fingers, amazed, incredulous. For an
instant only, however, he stood, trying to wipe the sting of the blow
away. Then he laughed throatily and started after her--she having
retreated behind the table, where she stood, watching him, her eyes
wide, her face dead white.
Warden, leaning far over the table, saw her eyes close as she stood
there; saw her fingers grip the edge of the table; noted that her chin
had dropped and that she seemed to be on the point of fainting.
Warden's back was toward the front door; he had to slip sideways to get
around the table, and as he did so his profile was brought toward the
door. He saw a shadow at his feet--a shadow cast by the last effulgent
glow of the setting sun--a shadow made by a man standing in the doorway.
Warden halted and held hard to the table edge. Reason, cold, remorseless
reason surged back into his brain, accompanied by a paralyzing fear.
Some prescience told him that the man in the doorway was Kane Lawler.
And though he was convinced of it, he was a long time lifting his head
and in turning it the merest trifle toward the door. And when he saw
that the dread apparition was indeed Lawler, and that Lawler's heavy
pistol was extending from his side, the hand and arm behind it rigid, he
stiffened, flung himself around and faced Lawler, his mouth open, his
eyes bulging with the terrible dread of death and the awful certainty
that death was imminent.
For an instant there was a silence--breathless, strained, pregnant with
the promise of tragedy. Then the silence was rent by Lawler's voice,
dry, light, and vibrant:
"Warden, if you move a quarter of an inch I'll blow you to hell!"
Lawler walked slowly to Ruth, took her by the shoulders and steadied
her.
"It's Lawler, Ruth," he said reassuringly. "I want you to tell me what's
wrong here." He shook her, gently, and she opened her eyes and looked at
him dazedly. Then, as she seemed to recognize him, to become convinced
that it was really Lawler whom she had seen in the doorway, she smiled
and rested her head on his shoulder, her hands patting his arms and his
back as though to convince herself beyond doubt.
For an instant she stood there, holding tightly to him; and then she
released herself, stepping back with flushed cheeks and shamed eyes.
"Kane, I am so glad you came!" she said. "Why, Kane! that man--" She
shuddered and covered her face with her hands.
"I reckon that's all!" said Lawler. There was a cold, bitter grin on his
lips as he stepped around the table and stood in front of Warden.
"Warden, I'm going back to town with you. We're going right now. Go out
and get on your horse!"
Lawler's voice, the cold flame in his eyes and his icy deliberation,
told Ruth of a thing that, plainly, Warden had already seen--that though
both men would begin the ride to "town," only Lawler would reach there.
Ruth watched, fascinated, her senses dulled by what she saw in Lawler's
manner and in the ghastly white of Warden's face. Warden understood. He
understood, and his breath was labored, his flesh palsied--and still he
was going to obey. For Ruth saw him move; saw him sway toward the door;
saw Lawler watching him as though he was fighting to hold his passions
in check, fighting back a lust to kill the man where he stood.
Warden had reached the door; he was crossing the threshold--his head
bowed, his shoulders sagging, his legs bending at the knees--when Ruth
moved. She ran around the table and got between Lawler and Warden,
stretching her arms in the open doorway, barring Lawler's way. Her eyes
were wild with terror.
"Don't, Kane!" she begged; "don't do that! Oh, I know what you mean to
do. Please, Kane; let him go--alone. He didn't do--what--what--" She
paused, shuddering.
Lawler's eyes softened as he looked at her; he smiled faintly, and she
knew she had won. She did not resist when he drew her gently away from
the door. Standing just inside, she saw him go out to where Warden
stood, pale and shaking, looking at both of them. Then she heard
Lawler's voice as he spoke to Warden:
"Warden, I'm letting you off. Miss Ruth is going to teach school where
she's been teaching it. The schoolhouse is your deadline--the same as
this cabin. Whenever you step into one or the other, your friends are
going to mourn for you. Get going!"
It was a long time before Lawler moved. And when he did re-enter the
cabin Ruth was nowhere to be seen.
Lawler paused near the center of the big room and gazed about him. The
door leading to one of the rooms that ran from the big room was open.
The other was closed. He walked to the closed door and stood before it,
his lips set in grim lines, his eyes somber.
"Ruth!" he called, lowly.
There was no answer; and again he called. This time a smothered voice
reached him, quavering, tearful:
"Please go away, Kane; I don't want to see you. I'm so upset."
"I reckon I'll go, Ruth." But still he lingered, watching the door, now
smiling faintly, understandingly. Beyond the door were the sounds of
sobbing.
Lawler folded his arms over his chest and with the fingers of one hand
caressing his chin, watched the door.
"Ruth," he said, finally; "where is your father?"
"I--I d-don't know. And I don't c-care."
Lawler started, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion as he looked at the
door--it seemed that he was trying to peer through it.
"Ruth," he said slowly; "I saw you looking into the schoolhouse through
the broken window, after I hit Singleton the second time, and while I
was talking to him. What did you hear?"
"Everything, Kane--everything." The sobs were furious, now.
Lawler frowned through a silence during which his eyes glowed savagely.
Then, after a while, he spoke again.
"I've known it for a long time, Ruth."
"Oh!" she sobbed.
"It was Singleton's fault. He won't do it any more."
There was no answer; a brooding silence came from beyond the door.
Then Lawler said gently: "Ruth, I'm asking you again: Will you marry
me?"
"I'll never marry you, now, Kane--never, never, never!"
The sobs had ceased now; but the voice was choked with emotion.
"All right, Ruth," said Lawler; "I'll ask you again, sometime. And the
next time you won't refuse."
He crossed the floor and stepped outside. Leaping into the saddle he
sent Red King thundering away from the cabin into the dusk that swathed
the southern distance.
A yellow moon was rising above the peaks of the hills at the far edge of
the Wolf River valley when Lawler dismounted from Red King and strode to
the big Circle L bunkhouse. Inside a kerosene lamp burned on a table
around which were several men.
The men looked up in astonishment as Lawler entered; then got to their
feet, looking at Lawler wonderingly, for on his face was an expression
that none of them ever had seen there before.
"Have any of you seen Joe Hamlin?" said Lawler.
A yellow-haired giant among them grinned widely and pointed eloquently
toward a bunk, where a man's body, swathed in blankets, could be seen.
"That's him," said the yellow-haired giant. "He hit here this mornin',
sayin' you'd hired him, an' that he was standin' straight up on his legs
like a man, hereafter. We took him on under them conditions."
Lawler strode to the bunk. He deliberately unrolled the blankets, seized
Hamlin by the middle and lifted him, setting him down on the floor
ungently.
By the time Lawler released him, Hamlin had his eyes open, and he
blinked in bewilderment at the faces of the men, opening his mouth with
a snap when he saw Lawler.
"Lawler, what in blazes is the matter--I ain't done nothin'!"
"You're going to do something!" declared Lawler. He waited until Hamlin
dressed, then he led him outside. At an end of the corral fence, where
no one could hear, Lawler talked long and earnestly to Hamlin. And when
Hamlin left, riding a Circle L horse, he was grinning.
"It's a straight trail, Hamlin," said Lawler gravely, as Hamlin rode
away; "a straight trail, and not a word to Ruth!"
"Straight it is, Lawler," answered Hamlin. "I'm testifyin' to that!"