"Stop!"
"Rance, you don't know what you're sayin'," resented Nick, casting hard
looks at him; while Sonora put a heavy hand upon the Sheriff and
threatened him with:
"Now, Rance, you stop that!"
"We'll hear every word he has to say," insisted the Sheriff, doggedly.
"You bet!" affirmed Trinidad.
"Nick! Nick!" called the Girl once more, and while the little barkeeper
went over to admit her the Wells Fargo Agent took his leave, calling
back after him:
"Well, boys, you've got him safe--I can't wait--I'm off!"
"Dep, untie the prisoner! Boys, circle round the bar! Trin, put a man at
that door! And Sonora, put a couple of men at those windows!" And so
swift were the men in carrying out his instructions, that even as he
spoke, everyone was at his post, the Sheriff himself and Sonora
remaining unseen but on guard at the doors, while the prisoner, edging
up close to the door, was not in evidence when the Girl entered.
"You can think of something to tell her--lie to her," had been the
Sheriff's parting suggestion.
"I'll let her think I risked coming back to see her again," had replied
the prisoner, his throat trembling.
"She won't know it's for the last time--we'll be there," had come
warningly from the Sheriff as he pointed to the door that led to the
bar-room.
* * * * * *
"Why, what have you got the door barred for?" asked the Girl as she came
into the room; and then without waiting for an answer: "Why, where are
the boys?"
"Well, you see, the boys--the boys has--has--" began Nick confusedly and
stopped.
"The boys--" There was a question in the Girl's voice.
"Has gone."
"Gone where?"
"Why, to the Palmetter," came out feebly from Nick; and then with a
sudden change of manner, he added: "Oh, say, Girl, I likes you!" And
here he laid his hand affectionately upon her shoulder. "You've been my
religion--the bar an' you. Why, you don't never want to leave us--why,
I'd drop dead for you."
"Nick, you're very nice to--" began the Girl, gratefully, and stopped,
for at that instant a gentle tap came upon the door. Turning swiftly,
she saw Johnson coming towards her.
"Girl!" he cried in an agony of joy, and held out his arms to receive
her.
"You? You?" she admonished softly.
"Don't say a word," he whispered hurriedly.
"You shouldn't have come back," she said with knitted brow.
"I had to--to say good-bye once more." And his voice was so filled with
tenderness that she readily forgave him for the indiscretion.
"It's all right, it's all right," murmured Nick, his hand still on the
door, which he had taken the precaution to bolt after the Girl had
passed through it.
There was a moment's silence; then, going over to the windows, the Girl
pulled down the curtains.
"The boys are good for quite a little bit," she said as she came back.
"Don't git nervous--I'll give you warnin' . . ."
Nick, unwilling to witness the heartrending scene which he foresaw would
follow, noiselessly withdrew into the bar-room, leaving the prisoner
alone with the Girl.
"Don't be afraid, my Girl," said Johnson, softly.
But the Girl's one thought, after her first gladness, was of his safety:
"But you can't git away now without bein' seen?"
"Yes, there's another way out of Cloudy,--and I'm going to take it."
The grimness of his meaning was lost on the Girl, who answered urgently:
"Then go--go! Don't wait, go now!"
Johnson smiled a sad little smile:
"But remember that I'm sorry for the past, and--and don't forget me," he
said, with an odd break in his voice,--so odd that it roused the Girl
into startled wonderment.
"Forget you? Why, Dick . . .!"
"I mean, till we meet again," he reassured her hastily.
The Girl heaved a troubled sigh. Her fears for him were still on edge.
Then, with a nervous start, she asked:
"Did he call?"
"No. He'll--he'll warn me," Johnson told her unsteadily.
"Oh, every day that dawns I'll wait for a message from you. I'll feel
you wanting me. Every night I'll say to-morrow, and every to-morrow I'll
say to-day . . . Oh, you've changed the whole world for me! I can't let
you go, but I must, Dick, I must . . ." And bursting into tears, she
buried her face on his shoulder, repeating piteously, between shaking
sobs, "Oh, I'm so afraid,--I'm so afraid!"
He held her close, the strength of his arms around her reassuring her
silently. "Why, you mustn't be afraid," he said in tones that were
almost steady. "In a few minutes I'll be quite free, and then--"
"An' you'll make a little home for me when you're free--soon--will you?"
asked the Girl, with a wan smile dawning on her trembling lips. She was
drying her eyes and did not see how the light died out of the man's
face, as he gazed down at her hungrily, hopelessly. This time he could
not trust himself to speak, but merely nodded "yes."
"A strange feelin' has come over me," went on the Girl, brokenly, "a
feelin' to hold you--to cling to you--not to let you go. Somethin' in my
heart keeps sayin', 'Don't let him go!'"
Johnson felt his knees sagging oddly beneath him. The Girl's sure
instinct of danger, the piteousness of their case, were making a coward
of him. He tore himself from her in a panic desire to go while he still
had the manhood to play his part to the end; then suddenly broke down
completely, and with his face buried in his hands, sobbed aloud.
"Why, Girl," he managed to say, brokenly, "it's been worth--the whole of
life just--to know you. You've brought me nearer Heaven,--you, to love a
man like me!"
"Don't say that, Oh, don't say that," she hastened to say with a great
tenderness in her voice. "S'pose you was only a road agent an' I was a
saloon keeper. We both came out o' nothin' an' we met, but through
lovin' we're goin' to reach things now--that's us. We had to be lifted
up like this to be saved."
Johnson tried to speak, but the words would not come. It was, therefore,
with a feeling of relief that, presently, he heard Nick at the door,
saying, "It's all clear now."
Johnson wheeled round, but Nick had flown. Turning once more to the
Girl, he said with trembling lips:
"Good-bye!"
The Girl's face wore a puzzled look, and she told him that he acted as
if they were never going to meet again.
"An' we are, we are, ain't we?" she questioned eagerly.
A faint little smile hovered about the corners of the road agent's mouth
when presently he answered:
"Why, surely we are . . ."
His words cleared her face instantly.
"I want you to think o' me here jest waitin'," she said. "You was the
first--there'll never be anyone but you. Why, you're the man I'd want
sittin' across the table if there was a little kid like I was playin'
under it. I can't say no more 'n that. Only you--you will--you must get
through safe an' come back--an' well, think o' me here jest waitin',
jest waitin', waitin' . . ."
At these words a tightness gripped the man's throat, and in the silence
that followed the tears ran steadily down his cheeks.
"Oh, Girl, Girl," at last he said, "that first night I went to your
cabin I saw you kneeling, praying. Say that in your heart again for me
now. Perhaps I believe it--perhaps I don't . . . I hope I do--I want
to--but say it, say it, Girl, just for the luck of it--say it . . ."
Quickly the Girl crossed herself, and while she sent a silent prayer to
Heaven Johnson knelt at her knees, his head bowed low.
"God bless you," he murmured when the prayer was finished and arose to
his feet; then bending over her hand he touched it softly with his lips.
"Good-bye!" he said chokingly and started for the door.
"Good-bye!" came slowly in return, her face no less moist than his.
Presently she murmured like one in a dream: "Dick, Dick!"
The man hastened his steps and did not turn. At the door, however, he
burst out in an agony of despair: "Girl! Girl . . .!"
But when the Girl looked up he had reached the open. She listened a
moment to the retreating steps, then raising her tear-stained face above
her arms, she sobbed out: "He's gone--he's gone--he's gone . . .!" She
started in pursuit of him, but half-way across the room she fell into
Nick's arms, crying out:
"He's gone, he's gone, he's gone! Dick! Dick! Dick . . .!"
Terribly affected at the sight of the Girl's sorrow, the little
barkeeper did his best to soothe her, now patting her little blonde head
as it rested upon his arm, now murmuring words of loving tenderness.
Suddenly she raised her head, and then it was that she saw for the first
time the men standing huddled together near the door. In a flash the
truth of the situation dawned upon her. With a look of indescribable
horror upon her face she turned upon Nick, turned upon them all with:
"You knew, Nick--you all knew you had 'im! You knew you had 'im an'
you're goin' to kill 'im! But you shan't--no, you shan't kill 'im--you
shan't--you shan't . . .!"
Once more she started in pursuit of her lover, but only to fall with her
face against the door, sobbing as if her heart would break.
Outside there was nothing in the enchanting scene to suggest finality.
Nature never was more prodigal of her magic beauties. The sun still
shone on the winter whiteness of the majestic mountains; the great arch
of sky was still an azure blue; the wild things still roamed the great
forest at will.
Life indeed was very beautiful.
Minutes passed and still the Girl wept.
A wonderful thing happened then--and as suddenly as it was
characteristic of these impulsive and tender-hearted men. In thinking
over their action long afterwards the Girl recalled how for an instant
she could believe neither her ears nor her eyes. With Sonora it was
credible, at least; but with Rance--it seemed wonderful to her even when
observed through the vista of many years. And yet, men like Rance more
often than not exhibit to the world the worst side of their nature. It
is only when some cataclysm of feeling bursts that their inner soul is
disclosed and joyously viewed by eyes which have long been accustomed to
judging them solely from the icy and impenetrable reserve which they
invariably wear.
And so it came about that Sonora--first of the two--went over to her
and laid an affectionate hand upon her shoulder.
"Why, Girl," he said, all the kindliness of his gentle nature flooding
his eyes, "the boys an' me ain't perhaps realised jest what Johnson
stood for you, an' hearin' what you said, an' seein' you prayin' over
the cuss--"
Rance's face lit up scornfully.
"The cuss?" he cut in, objecting to a term which is not infrequently
used affectionately.
"Yes, the cuss," repeated Sonora, all the vindictiveness gone from his
heart now. "I got an idee maybe God's back of this 'ere game."
The Girl's heart was beating fast; she was hoping against hope when, a
moment later, she asked:
"You're not goin' to pull the rope on 'im?"
"You mean I set him free," came from Rance, his tone softer, gentler
than anyone had heard it in some time.
"You set 'im free?" repeated the Girl, timidly, and not daring to meet
his gaze.
"I let him go," announced the Sheriff in spite of himself.
"You let 'im go?" questioned the Girl, still in a daze.
"That's our verdict, an' we're prepared to back it up," declared Sonora
with a smile on his weathered face, though the tears streamed down his
cheeks.
The Girl's face illumined with a great joy. She did not stop now to
dissipate the tears which she saw rolling down Sonora's face, as was her
wont when any of the boys were grieved or distressed, but fairly flew
out of the cabin, calling half-frantically, half-ecstatically:
"Dick! Dick! You're free! You're free! You're free . . .!"
The minutes passed and still the miners did not move. They stood with an
air of solemnity gazing silently at one another. Only too well did they
realise what was happening to them. They were inconsolable. Presently,
Sonora, all in a heap on a bench, took out some tobacco and began to
chew it as fast as his mouth would let him; Happy, going over to the
teacher's desk, picked up the bunch of berries which he had presented
her at the opening of the school session and began to fondle them; while
Trinidad, too overcome to speak, stood leaning against the door, gazing
sadly in the direction that the Girl had taken. As for Rance, after
calling to Nick to bring him a drink, he quietly brought out a pack of
cards from his pocket and, seemingly, became absorbed in a game of
solitaire.
A little while later, his eyes still red from weeping, Nick remarked:
"The Polka won't never be the same, boys--the Girl's gone."