DELLA'S HANDKERCHIEF
Dawn was just breaking when Lawler dropped from Red King at the
windbreak near the line cabin. He put the big horse in the dugout,
closed the dugout door and entered the cabin. Then he breathed a sigh of
relief.
There were still some glowing embers in the fireplace, and he soon had a
roaring fire, in front of which he stood for a while, meditating.
He had got Della Wharton into the Willets Hotel without, he felt
certain, attracting attention. For when they had ridden into
town--taking the back way in order to avoid any sleepless citizens that
might be about--it was past midnight. Lawler had timed himself to reach
town at about that hour, knowing that with the exception of a brothel or
two, Willets would be dark.
He had been fortunate. At his first knock on the rear door of the hotel,
Keller had appeared; and Keller had instantly grasped the
situation--though he plainly told Della that she was "goin' to a whole
lot of unnecessary trouble." "Why, good Lord, ma'am, I reckon you had a
right to hole up with Lawler! Nobody'd be blamin' you. They's a dozen
men in this town that would make a colander out of anybody that'd hint
things about a deal like that. Lawsy, ma'am, folks has got sense, ain't
they? But if you doubt 'em, I reckon we can take care of you."
Lawler prepared and ate breakfast. It had been a tiresome ride, and
after eating, knowing that there was no occasion for haste in his return
to the Circle L--except that his mother would wonder over his
whereabouts--he stretched out in one of the lower bunks--the one he had
occupied during Della's stay in the cabin.
He had not barred the door; and when, some hours later he awoke, he saw
half a dozen men in the cabin. They were standing near the door,
watching him. Foremost among them was Gary Warden.
Lawler swung around in the bunk and sat on its edge, facing the men.
They were Two Diamond men, for he recognized some of them.
Lawler got to his feet. He saw no friendliness in the faces of the men;
and Warden was pale, scowling.
But Lawler smiled. "Looking for something, boys?" he said.
"We're looking for two men and a woman, Lawler. Have you seen anything
of them?"
"I've seen two men, Warden; but no woman."
Warden's eyes quickened. Some color surged into his face.
"How long have you been here, Lawler?"
"Since the day the storm broke. Davies and Harris went to town for a
spree, and I've been substituting for them."
He felt a savage amusement over Warden's attempt to conceal his
disappointment. He could see that the man was consumed with curiosity
over the outcome of the fence cutting, though he dared not voice it.
"Lawler," said Warden; "we've lost two men--Link and Givens; and Della
Wharton--who was staying at the Two Diamond."
"I've seen no woman, Warden. But I've seen Link and Givens. You'll find
them out by the windbreak. I had to kill them."
Lawler saw the men behind Warden grow rigid; Warden's face grew ghastly.
Lawler's smile had gone. He was coldly alert, watching the men behind
Lawler, aware that his news was a shock to them; divining they would not
hesitate to do violence if an explanation was not quickly offered.
But there was cold malice in Lawler's heart toward Warden; and he stood,
silent, watchful, until Warden recovered from his astonishment. He was
determined to compel Warden to ask the question that, plainly, was in
his mind.
And at last Warden asked it:
"What did you kill them for?"
"I caught them cutting my fence, Warden. At just about the time the
storm struck. I brought them here--after lifting their guns. I intended
to take them to Sheriff Moreton, at Willets. But during the night I sent
them out for wood, and when they re-entered the cabin they attacked
me--Link with an axe, and Givens with a piece of cordwood. You can see
where the axe landed--where it stuck in the floor, when Link missed me
as I opened the door for him."
The door opened and the men filed out, eager to ascertain the truth of
Lawler's story. Warden did not move; but his eyes, the expression of his
face, indicated that he did not doubt Lawler's story. But he sought to
discredit it.
"What would my men cut your fence for, Lawler?"
Lawler laughed. He had no intention of telling Warden about the
confession the men had signed.
"You ought to know, Warden--they were your men."
"Meaning that I sent them to cut the fence?" demanded Warden. His face
was red with a wrath that was plainly artificial, or that had been
aroused over the knowledge that Link and Givens had failed.
"Meaning whatever you choose to think I mean, Warden," said Lawler
coldly. "I'll make my explanations to the sheriff."
Warden had quickly recovered his composure. It was evident from Lawler's
manner that Link and Givens had not talked. He had been afraid they
might have told Lawler that _he_ had ordered them to cut the fence. If
they had talked, Lawler would have mentioned it before this--any man
would, for no man could have resisted the inevitable impulse to exult
over his success in thwarting the men, of bringing confusion upon the
author of the scheme. That was what Warden would have done, and he
believed any man would have done it.
He drew himself erect and walked slowly to the fireplace; where he
halted, turned, and smiled at Lawler--a smile full of malice.
"Your explanation of the killing of Link and Givens is a mighty flimsy
one, Lawler, don't you think? Moreton might want a witness,--eh?"
"There was no witness, Warden." Lawler had not turned. He was watching
the door, for he expected the Two Diamond men to enter at any instant,
and he knew they would deeply resent the killing of their companions. He
did not intend to be taken by surprise.
Warden, standing in front of the fireplace, noted the blanket suspended
from the ceiling, swinging between the two tiers of bunks. He started,
his face paled, and he looked searchingly at Lawler. And then, observing
that Lawler was paying no attention to him, he moved slowly toward one
of the bunks--the one Miss Wharton had occupied--noting the disturbed
bedclothing. A white piece of cloth, crumpled and soiled, lay on a
gray blanket. He took it up swiftly, stuck it into the front of his
heavy coat and turned again toward the fireplace. With his back to
Lawler he swiftly examined the cloth he had picked up. It was a
handkerchief--a woman's--and in one corner of it was an embroidered
monogram containing the letters "D.W." It was Della's--he had seen that
and others like it, many times, in her hands and at the Two Diamond, on
the wash line.
For a long time, with his back to Lawler, Warden fought to control the
terrible jealousy that the finding of the handkerchief had aroused in
him. His face was contorted with passion; his eyes were aflame with it.
He had hated Lawler before; now the passion was a malignant poison that
burned, through his veins like fire.
He did not trust himself to speak--his voice would have betrayed him. He
walked past Lawler, sneering silently as he reached the door, looking
back as he opened it and stood on the threshold, muttering hoarsely:
"You'll hang for this, Lawler--damn you!"
Lawler heard the Two Diamond men ride away, and he went to the door at
the sound they made and saw they were carrying the bodies of Link and
Givens--they were lashed to their horses, which the Two Diamond men had
taken from the dugout. He watched them out of sight.
It was only an hour or so later when Davies and Harris clattered to the
door of the cabin. They were red and embarrassed, and confessed they had
been intoxicated. But they were much relieved when they found that
Lawler had headed the herd into the valley; and they were filled with
rage when Lawler told them of the fence cutting and the killing of the
two men. And they were delighted when Lawler told them to go on duty at
the cabin, not even mentioning their dereliction.
Half an hour after the appearance of Davies and Harris half a dozen
Circle L men rode up, eager-eyed, overjoyed at finding their "boss".
They were covered with snow from their ride up the valley, through the
big drifts they had encountered, but the glow in their eyes when they
saw Lawler was safe indicated they had forgotten the rigors of the ride.
They told him the herd had reached the shelters and that few of the
cattle were missing; and a little later, with Lawler riding with them,
they set out for the Circle L, shouting and laughing like schoolboys.
Shorty, the tawny-haired giant, was with them.
"Cuttin' fences, eh?" he said as he rode close to Lawler. "Well, they're
sort of pickin' on us, I reckon. First there's Blondy Antrim; an' now
Link an' Givens cuttin' the fence. When you goin' to cut loose an' give
'em hell, Boss?"
"Hell is closer than you think, Shorty," said Lawler, gravely.