BEYOND the oleanders a tall thick hedge of cypress favored the flight
of the fugitive. At the end of the gardens Tia Teresa took a little path
that dipped into the river bed, and when they ascended again out of the
hollow, Dick found himself quite close to the grove where Pierre was in
hiding with the ponies.
By this time the young fellow was angry with himself for having fled
so precipitately. He was full of solicitude for Merle. Why had not he
remained to defend her from the brutality of that ruffian, Ben Thurston?
This was the question that was now making him both ashamed and anxious.
“Hush!”
The caution came from Pierre, and showed that the Frenchman was alive to
what had happened.
“I saw ze automobile rush by,” he whispered. “We will ride across
country, so zat it cannot follow us.” He pointed in the direction he
would go.
“Not yet,” replied Dick, determinedly. “I’m off back to the house to see
that they are all safe there.”
“No, no, Mr. Willoughby,” protested the duenna earnestly. “You heard
what Miss Merle said—she is afraid of that raging old man. Besides I
know. He has vowed that he and his hired gunmen will shoot you on sight.
For my little girl’s sake you must not go back,” she implored.
“Besides your word of honor is pledged to me,” added Luzon. “You must
return wiz me. I have your parole.”
“Parole be hanged,” muttered Dick between his teeth.
The old Frenchman laid a kindly hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“No, no. Monsieur is a man of honor. And honor comes before
love—always.”
“If you love her,” insisted Tia Teresa, “you will save yourself tonight.
We will look after her. You need not worry on her account.”
Dick for the moment was silenced, but unconvinced.
“Well, at all events we’ll wait a bit. I don’t leave this spot till I’m
sure that Ben Thurston himself has cleared.”
“All right,” assented Pierre. “Stay where you are, Tia Teresa. You must
not be seen. Zey may be searching in ze gardens.”
Even as he spoke there was the flash of a lantern among the rose bushes.
In tense silence they waited and watched. The leaden-winged minutes
stole on. For a time lights flitted about, then vanished. At last came
the “honk-honk” of the automobile, and a minute later the great machine
with its flaring headlights swept down the roadway. They could just see
that it was crowded with men. Then in a few seconds it had disappeared
around the bend.
“Now we go,” said Pierre.
“Just a minute longer, please,” replied Dick in a firm tone. “Tia
Teresa, you slip back to the house. I will stay here till you bring me
word from Merle that she is safe and that all is well.”
“I will soon return,” said the duenna as she hurried away on her
mission.
Again an interval of high-tensioned waiting. Neither Dick nor Pierre
spoke a word. At last there came a rustle of the bushes from the
direction of the river bed, and a moment later Tia Teresa was again by
their side.
“Mr. Willoughby,” she said, breathless from the speed she had made,
“Miss Merle begs you to make good your escape. She is well, and happy
because you are safe. She sends this rose and”—the old lady hesitated a
moment—“her love.”
“She said that?” murmured Dick, tremblingly, as he took the white
blossom and breathed its fragrance.
“Well, does not the flower speak her love?” replied the duenna. “Now go,
go.”
“Come,” said Pierre, as he raised himself into the saddle. “We shall fix
the blindfold later on.” Dick furtively kissed the rose before he placed
it in the breast pocket of his coat. Then he mounted, and, bringing his
pony alongside of Pierre’s, started off at a canter across the starlit
plain.
Ben Thurston did not feel inclined to sleep that night. He paced his
sitting room like an angry bear, and kept Leach Sharkey out of bed to
listen to his growls and threatenings.
“By God, I’ll have that girl shoved into jail. Harboring an outlaw! It’s
a criminal offence.”
“You can’t do it,” objected the sleuth.
“Can’t do it?” shouted Thurston, halting and glowering down upon the man
who had dared to contradict him. “You’ll see damned quick if I can’t.”
“Not one of us could swear that Willoughby was there. Neither you nor I
could. We never saw him.”
“He wore that disguise,” thundered Thurston. “So you think. But thinking
ain’t proof—not by a long chalk.”
Thurston was now almost speechless from rage. Half articulate words of
blasphemy were upon his stuttering lips. But Sharkey went coolly on.
“Besides the sympathy of everyone would be with the girl. You can’t
succeed that way. You yourself would be covered with ridicule.”
At last the torrent of curses broke forth. “Damn you, Leach Sharkey!
That’s what I pay you for, is it? To let that scoundrel slip through our
very fingers? And you had the nerve to ask me for another big check this
evening. It’s all a confounded plot. You’re bleeding me. Leach is your
name, and leech is your nature.” Leach Sharkey rose to his feet. His
white teeth gleamed as his short upper lip curled in a contemptuous
smile. He raised a threatening finger. It was his turn now to give free
vent to profanity.
“Stop right there, you doggoned old fool. I bleed you, do I? Well, take
my resignation. All your pay ain’t worth another five minutes of your
infernal temper. No man ever dared to browbeat me and insult me as you
have done. And now you may go to hell—where you belong.”
The sleuth turned on his heel, and strode to the doorway. But Thurston
was after him in an instant, penitent, trembling, ashen pale. He grabbed
Sharkey by the coat sleeve.
“No, no, don’t go, I beg of you,” he whined, “I was wrong. I spoke in
anger. I apologize. Good God, some one or other will get me within an
hour if you leave me unprotected. I haven’t a single friend—no one to
stand by me.” There was craven fear in his eyes as he looked timidly
around. “I hear the prowling footsteps of my enemies in the night. You
alone can save me, Mr. Sharkey.”
“Your damned civility comes too late,” replied the sleuth, as he shook
the clutching hands from his shoulder.
“No, no. Don’t say that. Sit down again. See, here is my check book.
I’ll pay you that money now—I’ll double the amount—I’ll never haggle
with you again. Stay with me till we go East together.”
Sharkey showed himself somewhat mollified. He had played his game well,
for after all, cash with him was the main consideration. So smiling over
the success of his bluff, he watched the unnerved coward as he tottered
to his desk, dropped into a chair and drew the check with slow and
painful effort, and then returned with it between his still trembling
fingers.
“You’ll stand by me, Mr. Sharkey, won’t you?”
“Well, no more of that nonsense,” was the curt reply, as the sleuth
glanced at the slip of paper, then thrust it in his waistcoat pocket.
To Thurston the reconciliation brought instant relief. He drew himself
up; he rubbed his hands; he even attempted a smile.
“That’s a good fellow, Sharkey. You know I’ve always held you in high
esteem. And we’ll get that man yet”—the glare of vindictiveness was
again in his eyes, the rasp of accustomed irritability was returning to
his voice. “We’ll get him, I say, even if it costs double the money I’ve
already spent. And that devil of a girl, too—I hate her more than ever
now. She’ll pay for her insults tonight with her lover’s life. Remember,
Sharkey, no more chances. When you get the scoundrel within gunshot,
it’s up to you to shoot. That will be best in any case. It will save the
cost of a judge and jury. You understand me?”
“I understand,” nodded Sharkey. “Then, as you’re speaking about
doubling. Mr. Thurston, I suppose that ten-thousand-dollar reward coming
to me goes up to twenty thousand.”
“Yes; twenty thousand if you shoot him like a dog, and let me get away
from this damned place. I have come to loathe the very name of it. Well,
spread your cot now across my door. I’ll try to get an hour’s sleep.
Good night.”
And Ben Thurston disappeared into the inner room.