THE MAN OUTSIDE
Dave loped through Twin River in no amiable mood. An unreasoning
irritability tormented and blinded him to everything but the trail
ahead. But if Dave failed to notice his friends, one of them at least
bore him no ill-feeling for the oversight; this one was so solicitous
for Dave's welfare that he followed all the way to the LaFrance cabin;
when Dave went indoors he still lingered, hugging the cabin wall close
to a window, while he listened with much interest to the talk that went
on inside.
"Where 's Jean?" asked Dave, briefly, as he entered.
Rose glanced at him. The even, metallic tones meant temper and she was
painfully anxious to avoid crossing him when in this mood. Her voice
was soothing as a summer breeze through tree branches when she answered.
"He go to the station," she explained; "something about a harrow. He
will be late."
"See Peters?"
"Yes."
"What 'd he say about Tex Ewalt?"
"He have not see him for many months. He ask me if I know him."
"Well?"
"You forget to tell me what to say. I forget to answer."
"Hm! Beats th' Dutch how a woman 'll crawl out of a hole. When 's he
comin' to see you?"
"I do not know. He--he is very droll, that M'sieu Peters. Always he
look at me strange like he suspect something."
"He ain't got nothin' to suspect. Did n't try to kiss you, did he?"
"He never come near me one time--no; only he look at me, straight,
without any smile."
"Bah! I knowed you did n't take th' right way with him. You got t'
tempt them gray-eyed galoots. They 'll follow you easy enough if you
show 'em there's somethin' at the end o' th' trail. You go ag'in. Make
him glad to see you. Won't be long afore he 's hangin' round, then."
"_Quel jour_--when I must go?"
"Oh, whenever you get th' chanst. Soon as you kin. You got Pickles for
an excuse, ain't you?"
At this point the solicitous caretaker outside risked a look through the
window. His glance travelled over the shoulder of Dave, sitting with
his back to the window, and rested on the face of Rose. Wrhat he saw
there was a revelation: scorn, contempt, loathing, the expression any
good woman might bear toward a man with a mind considerably lower than
the nobler beasts; it lasted but a moment; placidity swept over the
regular features as she replied. "_Mais oui_," she admitted, "Fritz is
excuse."
"Well, you won't need any excuse if you play th' game right. You 'll be
excuse enough, yourself."
Enthralled by the contradiction between the expression and speech of
Rose, the watcher prolonged his stare beyond safety. Rose's level gaze
lifted from the unnoting eyes of Dave and rested full on the face in the
window. The watcher changed instantly to the listener with one hand on
his gun, but not so quickly that he failed to see the brilliant smile
that flashed across the face of Rose. The alert tenseness of his
attitude relaxed as he realized the significance of that smile and his
shoulders heaved in strangling a laugh at the way Dave was being fooled.
Dave's moodiness persisted. He sat glowering at the point of his boot,
switching it venomously with his quirt, a thing he had not carried since
his experience with the Cyclone cattle at the Hog Back. It reminded him
of his proven lack of ability as a driver of cows; but it was "out of
this nettle, Chagrin, that he plucked the flower, Complacence"; a
cynical laugh announced recovery from the black mood. "Well, there 's
some as help me better 'n you do," he declared. "If I can't get Peters
here, I give him somethin' that 'll keep him busy at home."
"_Bien_, but how?" Rose's interest had just the proper amount of
congratulatory warmth and a faint wheeze escaped the listener outside as
he choked back a laugh of admiration.
"I give him the itch," replied Dave, with dramatic brevity.
"Itch?" repeated Rose, in perplexity.
"Yes--itch, mange, scab! His d--n cows 'll be scratchin' their hides
off afore he knows it. Th' Cyclone had it an' I got One-Eye Harris to
save me out some. Mangiest lot o' cows ever _I_ saw. We put 'em across
th' Jill, up by th' Rocking Horse, a while back."
"But the range--is it not bad?" asked Rose, wonderingly.
"Shore is. What do I care? Makes 'em trouble, don't it? An' it 'll
spoil some o' their cows, you bet."
"M'sieu Schatz, he tell you do this?"
"Smiler! The cussed ol' bear! He 's been a-layin' up all winter like a
bear in a hole an' he ain't woke up yet. Poetry! an' Philosophy! an'
some shifty _I_talian named Mac--Mac somethin' or other. Smiler sets a
heap by Mac. Jus' sits an' reads an' hol's out his han's an' says:
'Gimme th' Double Y, Dave.' Mus' think I carry it in m' hat."
"But you will get it, Dave--yes."
"You bet yo' boots I 'll get it. Peters 'll be so sick o' that range
afore I 'm done with him he 'll be glad to quit. But if you get him
comin' here, it 'll be done quicker."
"I will try," murmured Rose.
The flush that went with the words was wrongly interpreted by Dave.
"That's you!" he exclaimed, admiringly, and was at her side before she
realized it, bending over her in a swift movement that almost caught her
by surprise. He laughed easily at his defeat, in no wise discomfited.
"Ain't come kissin'-time yet, eh, Rose?"
She looked up coolly, careful not to give way an inch from the nearness
of him. Nothing tempts a man so much as a retreat. "_Mais non,
m'sieu_. When the day, then the hour--you go too far unless," was her
calm warning.
"All right. Time enough," he rejoined carelessly. "Guess I 'll drift
back to Twin. Have to see Comin' an' keep him on edge, or he 'll get
tired o' waitin' for that good thing I promised him. He ain't a feller
as you can ask questions or I 'd cussed quick find out who he is an'
where he come from."
Rose stood in the doorway until the sound of his horse's feet assured
her that he was certainly on his way to Twin River. Then she went in,
closed the door behind her, darkened the front windows and going to the
window at the back called out clearly: "Enter. I want to talk to you,
Tex Ewalt."
Tex lounged forward a step, bringing himself into view, his face the
picture of mischievous amusement. He rested his arms on the sill and
smiled at her. "You are a good guesser," he admitted.
"Enter," she insisted. "Not the door, no; the window--hurry."
He slipped through with the suppleness of a naked Indian and she at once
shut out the night at this and the other windows. "We must beware more
eaves-droppers," she explained. She motioned to a bench and seated
herself near him, looking at him intently.
"I think you kill Fritz' father that night," she began. "I am sorry."
Tex bowed, as if such unjust suspicions were his daily portion, and
waited.
"You are M'sieu Peters' friend?" she questioned.
Tex carefully poked two depressions in the crown of his hat and
carefully poked them out again, thinking swiftly. "Yes," he replied,
meeting her eyes again.
"You are Tex Ewalt. Dave call you Comin'. M'sieu Peters not know you
are here. You spy for M'sieu Peters, yes?"
"Buck told you, eh? Did you tell him I was in Twin River?"
She shook her head. "But no. I guess, when I see you at the window."
Tex looked incredulous. "How did you guess?" he asked.
Rose reviewed the incidents from which she had drawn her conclusion.
Tex was impressed. "That's not guessing. That's pure reason," he
declared.
"You will tell M'sieu Peters about the itch?" she inquired eagerly.
"Why don't you tell him? I can't risk going out to the ranch."
"No! No! Dave must not suspect. You tell him quick so Dave not think
it is me."
"Why, Dave is in a hole. Harris will squeal the minute I put my fingers
on him."
"He will suspect. He must not--Oh! you do not understand."
Tex indented his hat on the left side; that was Dave: then on the right
side; that was Buck: then, with careful precision, in the middle of the
crown; that was Rose. He studied the result with thoughtful attention.
"Like Dave?" he inquired, casually.
"I--" she began with passionate intensity but paused. "No," she
answered, more calmly.
"No," repeated Tex. He smoothed out the left-hand depression with an
air of satisfaction. "That 's good," he continued, "because I shall
have to put a crimp, a very serious crimp, in his anatomy one of these
days. I can feel it coming. What do you think of Buck?"
"M'sieu Peters is a good man--a good man," she repeated, dreamily. Tex
glanced at her and back at his hat, which he eyed malevolently. Then he
sighed. "Oh, well, every man has to find it out for himself," was his
irrelevant comment. "Where does Schatz stand in this?"
"Dave say he try to get back the range. But Dave he is so much a liar."
"Yes, I should say he was a pretty good liar. Well, I 'll be going."
"But no!" she exclaimed. "You must eat supper," and she began hastily
to make preparations.
"You did n't offer Dave any," suggested Tex, with a ghost of a grin.
"No," she admitted, seriously. "Sometimes I must, but to-night it is
not necessary. I am glad, always, to see him go."
"Well, so am I," agreed Tex. "Here, let me do that."
Tex learned much during the meal that went to confirm the suspicions he
had already formed. Also his opinions in regard to women-kind in
general seemed less plausible than before. But though shaken, they were
not routed; and when he took up his hat in leaving, the two dimples in
it looked at him mockingly. "Oh, well, what's the use?" he said.
"Good-night, Miss LaFrance," and he threw the hat on his head as it was.