WHEREIN AN OLD SITUATION SEEMS ABOUT TO BE REPEATED, ANOTHER SHOT IS FIRED,
AND THE BAD MAN COMES BACK
Deeper and deeper grew the darkness. Outside, indeed, the first stars had
begun to shine, and soon the heavens were a miraculous glory. But there was
no moon. Every road was hushed, and the trees waved their long arms in the
gloom. The little machine that took Angela and her father home, rolled down
the quiet valley. Its chug-chug was the only sound for miles around. "Red"
was happy in the cool night. He rode all the way out to the Hardy ranch. He
and Angela sang an old song, and let Jasper Hardy sit at the wheel and
whirl them to the lights of home.
Meantime, back in Gilbert's adobe, the Mexican cook came from his stuffy
kitchen and fetched a lamp for the sitting-room. He lighted two candles by
the fireplace, closed the shutters and door, and went back to his pots and
pans. He said nothing, noticed nothing. It had been a day of intense
excitement for him, and he was glad to crawl back, like some tiny worm,
into the cave where he ruled supreme.
Lucia, in the lamplight, was paler than before. The three of them were
standing, curiously enough, almost as they had stood only a few brief hours
ago; and as she looked around her now she thought of this.
"So," she said. "We're back just where we started from!" The grim humor of
it came over her. Ten minutes ago she had thought her husband dead--done
for, out of the way. Now he stood before her in all his virility, in all
his cruelty; and behind him was the one man in the world that she loved.
"Not quite," said Gilbert. He stepped forward a pace or two. He saw that
Lucia was alarmed. "Come," he begged of her. "Don't be afraid." Oh, the
balm of those few words!
But she was not wholly herself yet. "What are you going to do?" she asked,
and came nearer Gilbert. How strong and determined he looked in the dim
light!
"I'm going to have this thing out," he said. "You can never go back to him
now." There was finality in his voice.
"No, I never can," Lucia agreed. And there was finality in her voice, too.
It was as if Destiny had come into this house, and an unheard voice told
them what to do.
"You'll trust me to protect you--until--" Gilbert went on.
She looked at him pleadingly. "Oh, take me with you, Gil!" She threw her
arms out. She had nothing to fear now, his strength beside her. She told
him in one glorious gesture that she was his forever--that she had
surrendered herself, body and soul, to him. Gilbert looked at her. Slowly,
he realized that this woman, this creature of his dreams cared for him, and
him alone; and the world might sweep by, the stars and moon might crash to
earth, and they would neither know nor care. Fate had brought her to him.
Nothing else mattered now. What was Morgan Pell? In life he was as impotent
as when he lay half concealed beneath the table near which he now stood.
They would not consider him, save as the foolish laws of man made it
necessary for them to consider him.
Gilbert turned to Pell. "You heard--she's mine now. And any course you may
take to stop her--" he warned. It was useless to say more. The manner in
which young Jones spoke told the whole story of his feelings.
Yet Pell tried to appear nonchalant and casual. "You haven't another drink
around, have you?" he inquired. He still held his handkerchief to his
wounded forehead. "That was a rather nasty one I got, you know."
Gilbert, though he loathed him as a serpent, remembered that he was this
creature's host, and stepped over to the fireplace where there was a flask
with a little tequila still left. He offered Pell the bottle.
"You were saying--?" Pell went on. He poured himself a stiff drink.
"Something about leaving me, wasn't it?" It was plain to be seen that he
was bluffing. "I'm sorry," swigging down what he had poured, "but I wasn't
listening very closely. This thing here--" he tapped his wound. No one
answered him, and he set down his glass. "Well?" to his wife.
She faced him with a flame in her eyes. "Had I known you, I never would
have married you. But now that I do know you, I could never live with you
again. I loathe and despise you, with all the strength that is in me."
"You want to leave me, eh?" He sneered as he stared at her. "And go with
him?... Won't your reputation--?"
"What do I care for my reputation?" she flared. "At least I shall have my
self-respect. I never could keep that if I went back to you."
"It's _your_ reputation, of course," Pell smiled. "You can do as you like
with it." He turned fully toward her. "All right, I've no objection."
"You're lying," Gilbert affirmed.
Pell's tongue rolled round in his cheek. "I don't blame you for thinking
so. _You_ haven't been shot to-day. You should try it sometime. It changes
one's viewpoint surprisingly." His voice seemed to lose its hardness for a
moment; there was a note of self-pity in it.
"But you said--" Gilbert began.
Pell's whole manner changed, and the look of a wounded animal came into his
eyes. "A man says many things in anger that he doesn't mean," was his own
extenuation. "Haven't you ever made the same mistake yourself, Jones? I'm
sure you have. There's no use getting excited." He put up a hand. "Here we
are, we three. She is my wife. But she doesn't love me, nor do I love her.
She does love you. What is the best way out for all of us?"
A new Morgan Pell! They could scarcely believe the metamorphosis.
"You'd give her up?" Gilbert said.
The other looked down, and the point of his boot drew a little ring on the
floor. "I can't hold her," he said, "if she doesn't want to be held, can
I?"
"You don't intend--"
"To fight you?" Pell looked him squarely in the eye. "I do not. I've had
all the fighting I want for one day. Now, my own course is simple. I have
merely to go back to New York and forget that either of you ever existed.
But your problem is more difficult. It's after eight. You've lost the
ranch. And you have no money."
"But I can earn money," Gilbert said.
"A hundred dollars a month punching cows? With her in a boarding-house in
Bisbee? A nice life, isn't it? Do you care to think of it, both of you?"
"I can take care of her," Gilbert was quick in saying.
"With your friend, Lopez--if he escapes--become a professional killer. My
dear chap, you forget. She's used to decent people. It makes all the
difference in the world." Pell turned away, lest the hard look should
return to his countenance.
Lucia had been listening intently. "I know him, Gil," she whispered, loud
enough for her husband to hear. "He's trying to frighten us!"
Pell faced her. "Frighten you? You're wrong, my dear. I'm merely trying to
help you. That's all."
There was a step on the path--another step. Several people were approaching
the adobe. Without ceremony, the door was thrust open, and Bradley was
before them, excitement in his eyes. He came into the room and dim figures
could be seen behind him. Was that Lopez tied up, with his back to them in
the darkness? His shoulders were bent over, his hat was pulled down over
his brow. His hair was matted, and two Mexicans stood guard on either side
of him. Far away the stars twinkled, unmindful of his plight.
"Got any water?" Bradley asked.
"Lopez!" Pell exclaimed.
"He's got him!" came from Gilbert.
Lucia grew paler still. "Lopez! Captured!" she cried. "Oh!" And she hid her
face in her hands. What a few brief hours could bring!
Bradley came close to her. "And a fine day's work for us, lady," he said,
triumph in his tone. "We got him at last." Then, in the light of the
candle, he caught a good view of Pell. "Say, I thought you was dead!" he
cried.
"I was," laughed the other. "I mean--only a scalp wound." And he pointed to
the mark on his forehead.
The figure at the door, piteous in its helplessness, never moved, never
turned.
"Give me that water," Bradley continued. "I want to get him in alive if I
can. All the more credit to me and my men, you see."
Morgan Pell had taken the canteen down from the wall and poured some water
in it. Now he handed it to Bradley. "There you are," he said.
"Thanks," the ranger said. He went back to the door, and pushed the jug to
the lips of his prisoner. "Take a swig o' that." Lopez did so. His
humiliation was evident even in his back. And only a little while ago he
had been the monarch of all he surveyed! Now he was the slave of Bradley,
and must ride, hand-cuffed, to the jail a few miles away.
"He's wounded," said Lucia, going to the door. "You can't take him--like
that!" she exclaimed. She longed for Lopez to turn and look at her; yet she
longed, oddly enough, that he would not do so in the next second. It would
be as difficult for her, as for him, if they saw each other. Her heart went
out to him--this friend of Gilbert's--and hers.
Bradley hated this show of feminine weakness. "Why can't I take him like
that? Do you think I'm going to nurse an invalid like him around these
parts?" He took the canteen from one of his men. "Here," he said, handing
it back to Pell.
"That's all right. Keep it; you may need it later on," said Pell, as though
the jug were his to give away.
"Much obliged," the ranger thanked him, nothing loath. "Come on, Bloke.
Good-night. We got him!"
He gave the bandit a shove, and two other rangers grasped him by either
arm. In a twinkling they were gone, had mounted their horses and were
galloping away in the starlight.
So everything was over and done with! Lucia was heart-broken for Lopez. She
came back into the room, murmuring:
"Lopez! Lopez captured!" There were tears in her eyes.
Pell paced the room with new strength. His eyes were now sinister.
"Fortunately for us, my dear," he said. "For now we are certain not to be
disturbed while working out a sensible solution of our little problem." He
had forgotten the pain in his head. He lighted a cigarette, casually,
slowly. "You will of course sue for divorce," he went on, blowing a ring to
the ceiling and watching it ascend. "But there'll be no difficulty about
that. I shall not contest," he added magnanimously.
She grasped at the straw. "You won't?" She almost believed him now.
"You'd win, anyway," her husband said. "But there _is_ the question of
alimony."
Gilbert swerved about. He detested the word. "Alimony!" he cried.
"An attractive woman never gets the worst of it in court," Pell coldly
stated. "Suppose we settle that--right here and now. It will give you ready
money. And it will save me from having to pay perhaps a greater sum--later.
That is...."
Gilbert was incensed. "We don't want your money!" he cried. And Lucia
treated the suggestion with the scorn it deserved.
Pell looked at them both. "No? Well, in that case, I suppose there's
nothing more to be said."
"And we are free to go?" Lucia cried, unbelieving.
Her husband puffed again. "Why not? I know I shan't stop you." Suddenly he
dropped his cigarette, leaned heavily against the table, swayed a bit, and
put his hand to his head. The old pain was returning.
"You're suffering?" Lucia asked, alarmed. A strange pallor had come over
him.
"I regret--that water--I gave away so liberally," Pell said, his voice
weak.
"There's more," Gilbert cried. "I'll get it." He went hurriedly to the
kitchen.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" Lucia asked, sympathy in her tone.
Always with her was the womanly instinct to serve, to help. Morgan was like
a wounded animal to her, and as deserving of attention as any hurt thing.
"No, thank you," he said.
"Oh, I'm sorry! I ..."
Gilbert was back with another canteen. He went close to Pell and put the
jug to his lips, standing by his side, leaning over to proffer the cooling
water. As he did so, Pell stealthily reached out--Lucia could not see the
movement, for she had gone over to the fireplace--and craftily removed
Gilbert's gun from his hip-pocket. While in the very act of taking this
man's sustenance, he was playing him a foul trick. His heart lost a beat
at the easy success of his plan, the fulfillment of a wish he had been
harboring for the last ten minutes. He thrust the canteen away, stood up
suddenly, and pointed the stolen weapon straight at Jones.
"Now, I've got you just where I want you!" he snarled.
Lucia saw his base trickery. Why had she been so stupid as to believe in
him again? Why had she not warned Gilbert? What fools they had both been!
"Gil!" she cried out; and anguish was hers--a deep, horrible moment of
suffering. It was all up with them. They were as helpless as Pell had been
with the bandit a few hours before. Caught, ensnared, trapped!
"Why, damn you!" Gilbert screamed, and made a futile lunge for Pell. But he
was too late. The revolver was leveled at his head.
"Make a fool out of me, will you, you s----" Pell said, and his eyes
glittered. A snake never looked more venomous. "I've got you now--got you
both, and by God--"
"He means it, Gil!" Lucia cried, and threw herself into her lover's arms.
She would die, if he died--she would die with him.
Pell stepped nearer to his intended victim. "Our wife is right," he
scoffed. "It isn't killing that I mind--it's being killed that I object
to."
"They'll hang you!" Gilbert warned.
Pell smiled his sardonic, evil smile. "The unwritten law works in Arizona
as well as in other places." He brutally ordered Lucia to get out of his
way.
But Lucia still clung to Gilbert. "I won't! I won't move!" she yelled, and
her voice held the desperation of womankind.
Deliberately Pell said: "All right! Then take what's coming to you and you
go to hell together, damn you both!"
He raised the gun and aimed a deadly aim.
Gilbert, in that mad moment, threw Lucia aside, to save her. He could not
let her die with him, much as he hated to leave her with this fiend
incarnate. "You'd better shoot straight," he cried to Pell. "Because, by
God, if you miss...." With one wild lunge, he knocked the lamp from the
table between them, and there was instant and terrible darkness.
Confused, Pell did not know what to do. His tongue was cleaving to the roof
of his mouth, his hand seemed to freeze on the trigger.
"What the devil!" he called out. And then a figure appeared miraculously in
the alcove, where one candle still burned, shedding a ghostly beam of light
from a shelf. "Good God!"
A shot rang out. But it was not Pell's revolver from which it sped. Morgan
Pell crumpled at the feet of Gilbert, and the bandit rushed in, the smoke
still coming from his gun.
"Santa Maria del Rio de Guadaloupe!" he cried. "'Ow many time I got for to
kill you to-day, any'ow? Now, damn to 'ell, mebbe you stay dead a while,
eh?" He looked down at the shriveled form. And as of old he called to his
henchman, "Pedro!"
And Pedro was there. "_Si!_" he said.
"Did I not tell you for kill zis man?" said Lopez, pointing in disgust to
Morgan Pell.
Swiftly in Spanish, and frightened almost out of his wits, poor Pedro
muttered something wholly unintelligible.
"Ees bum shooting! If she 'appen some more, zen I 'ave for get new Pedro.
Should be too bad. Especially for you. You onnerstand?"
Terrified at the thought, poor Pedro simply shivered. "_Si_," he whispered.
Lopez indicated Pell's body, and took out a cigarette nonchalantly. "Take
'im away. Ees no use for nobody no more." Pedro started to lift the heavy
form. "Save ze clothes and ze boots," he reminded his faithful man.
"_Si_," the latter said, meekly.
Venustiano appeared from the outer darkness, as if by magic, and rushed to
Pedro's aid. They lifted the stricken Pell, and carried him away.
The distasteful business finished, Lopez turned to Gilbert.
"Now, zen, you all right some more, eh?" he asked.
Gilbert could not understand. "I guess so," he said, "I--I thought you were
captured!"
"Me?" said Lopez in surprise, "It is not me, ees my double!"
"Your double?" Gilbert, amazed, answered.
"Ees idea what I get from ze moving pitchers."
Gilbert and Lucia stared at each other; then at the bandit.
"Then it wasn't you they captured?" Gilbert said.
He flicked the ashes from his cigarette. "I should be capture by ze damn
ranger? Ees a idea!" He roared with mirth. "No, no! Long time I 'ave fix
zat."
"But how? How do you work it?" Gilbert inquired, his brain in a tumult.
"I pick from my men ze best rider. I make 'im for look like me. So when ze
ranger wish for chase me, 'e go while I remain be'ind. It save me moch
hexercise. Say, why you no kill 'im yourself? You got ze gun." Lopez was
mystified.
"I--I couldn't," Gilbert answered.
"Ees no difference from us three--me, you, and 'im," Lopez explained. "You
is afraid for kill. 'E was afraid for die. Me, I am afraid for neizer! Now
zen, what you do, eh?" He patted Gilbert on the shoulder.
"I don't know," the young man said. "We've got to go somewhere."
Lopez was firm. "No. You shall stay right 'ere in your 'ome sweet 'ome."
"But I've lost the place." He pointed to the little clock that was ticking
out its relentless minutes. "It's after eight o'clock."
"No," said Lopez, definitely. "For at 'alf-past six-thirty, what I do? I
tell you. When I am chase by ze ranger what I follow, I sink for myself
eight o'clock she soon come. Suppose moggidge of my frands he meet wiz
accident? Would never do!" He waved his arms. "So I goes and pays 'er
myself!" He handed Gilbert a paper.
Gilbert could not believe his eyes. "What's that?" he wanted to know.
"Ees recipe," Lopez affirmed.
"But where did you get the money?" Gilbert asked, incredulously.
Lopez winked. "Ees all right."
"Where did you get it?" the American persisted.
"I rob ze bank," said Lopez; and thought nothing more of it.
"Robbed the bank?" Gilbert was wide-eyed now.
"Sure! Ees what I go to town for."
Jones turned away. "It's all off again!"
The bandit was discouraged. "No! I am become business man what are tired
myself! I take ze money to lawyer what are frand for me. 'E go to ze judge
what 'ave come 'ome planty dronk. 'E tell ze judge you send 'im for pay ze
moggidge. Judge say sure, and 'and 'im recipe. Ees all right." And the
bandit, convinced of his logic, strutted to the fireplace, and threw his
cigarette away.
"But I--must pay him back," Gilbert wanted to make it clear.
"I 'ave planty money. You mus' not worry, my frand. I give you ten sousand
dollar which you can send back should you be so foolish."
But Gilbert was obdurate. "I can pay it back. The oil--"
"I am sorry. Zere is no oil," the bandit informed him.
This was the consummating blow to the young man. "But you said--"
"I tell you one damn big lie," Lopez laughed. "But 'as she not a million
dollar from ze 'usband which I kill?" He nodded toward Lucia.
"Oh!" cried she. "How can you speak of such things--now?"
"You don't think we'd touch one penny of that, do you?" Gilbert followed
up.
Lopez looked puzzled. "Ze law is give it to you."
Disgustedly Gilbert cried, "The Law!"
"Ha!" The bandit saw his chance. "Is it possible all ze law what you love
is not so damn wise, after all?" He was tickled at his own perspicacity.
"However, it makes no never mind. You shall still be rich any'ow. I shall
send back all ze cattle what I steal from you."
"You will? That's generous, to say the least." And Jones couldn't help
smiling.
"And planty more what I shall steal for you myself personal. Now zen, is
all right? You 'ave ze money, ze lady, everyzing." Surely there was nothing
lacking, Lopez tried to make it plain, for complete happiness. There were
no bars now in the path of content.
Yet this stupid young American was asking questions still! "But have I
everything?" he said, and, stooping, picked up the gun that Pell had
dropped just before he was killed.
Lopez was amazed. "Have you?" he said, and pointed to Lucia. "There is it!"
"But is it all right?" the young man persisted.
A look of scorn came over the face of the bandit. "If it makes you 'appy,
what you care? You should not look ze gift 'appiness in ze face. Go on,
take her. Ees nice; you like 'er."
Still Gilbert hesitated. "But I can't now."
"And why not?" the bandit asked. He was thoroughly weary of Gilbert's
dilly-dallying, so foreign to his own philosophy.
"Maybe sometime. By and bye; but not now."
"If she is all right by and bye, why the 'ell is she all wrong now?" cried
Lopez, incensed.
"You're not as sorry as I am. God knows, I want her."
Lopez was desperate by this time. "_Dios!_" he fairly yelled. "You
Americanos make me seek! I shall come 'ere and work like 'ell all day to
make you 'appy, and the best I get is zis!" In his despair, he broke into
Spanish: "_Per dios mio!_" Stupidity could go no farther! What fools these
youngsters were!
"I don't mean to be ungrateful," Gilbert explained.
There was silence for a moment. Lopez strode up and down the room like an
animal. He was hot and disgusted. What was the use, after all? Why didn't
this young fellow, who had proved himself so brave and so worthy, show
signs of the red blood in him? No Mexican would have acted like this--no
Latin. He would make him get his happiness, if he had to die in the
attempt. Suddenly a crafty look came into his eyes. He came straight toward
Gilbert and snapped his fingers in his face.
"Bah!" he cried.
But all the young ranchman said was, "I'm sorry. You don't understand our
ways."
"Shut up!" Lopez was genuinely infuriated now. "Ees no use for talk wiz
such fools. You make me seek! Such ideas! Not fit for ze child to 'ave! No
blood, no courage! Only ze liver what are white and ze soul what are
yellow." Gilbert winced at the word. "Americans! Bah! Fishes! Zat is all!
Fishes what ees poor! Bah! For you I am finish!" And he snapped his fingers
again. His face was purple with rage.
He heard Gilbert murmuring only, "I'm sorry!"
"Sorry! Ees all you can say--sorry! Ze coward! Ze fool! Ze fish what are
poor! Ze damn doormat for everybody to walk from!" His arms were flying in
the air. "All day I 'ave try to make ze man from you! It are no use. Ees no
man in you. Only ze damn fool what are sorry! Bah! All right. You will not
let me make you 'appy? _Bueno!_ Zen I shall go back and make you on'appy
and serve you damn good right!" He pointed to Lucia. "You will not take
'er?"
Gilbert had stood still during this tirade. "I've tried to explain--" he
began once more.
"Bah!" cried Lopez. "Zen I take her!"
At last the American was roused. "You take her!" he cried.
"Sure! All day I 'ave want 'er. Ees ze first time in my life when I want
woman all day and not--as favor I give 'er to you. Now, since you too big
damn fool not to take 'er yourself, I take 'er myself. And what you know
about 'im?" He paused, and called out, "Pedro!"
Fearful at what might happen, Gilbert said, "Wait a minute." He thought
swiftly. "You mean this?"
Lopez did not even answer him, so deep and abiding was his disgust.
Instead, he said to his man, "Pedro, we go."
Gilbert watched his every motion. "You mean it?" he repeated.
Lopez laughed. "Everybody sink I am joker to-day. Pedro, take 'er," and
nodded toward the terrified Lucia.
Pedro started to obey.
"I'm damned if you do!" cried Gilbert. "All day you've been trying to make
me do things your way. I've had enough. This Mexican stuff may be all right
in your country, but it won't go here!"
He threw a protecting arm around Lucia, who was panting and pale. He pulled
his gun, and aimed it at Pedro's head. "Drop it!" he cried. Pedro obeyed
like lightning. The gun fell to the floor with a vibrating crash.
Then Gilbert covered Lopez. "If this is a trick--" he cried.
"Trick for what?" the bandit wanted to know. He nodded to Pedro. "Get ze
men. 'E will not shoot!"
Enraged beyond control, young Jones cried out: "For the last time! You mean
it? I know what you've tried to do, and I'm grateful; but there's one thing
that I must do!" Still the gun was leveled at the bandit's head.
"What's that?" nonchalantly.
"Protect her!" Gilbert said, drawing Lucia closer to his heart.
Lopez smiled again. "You will not shoot."
"I will--if I must!"
"Oh, ze wolf in ze sheep's overcoat!" the bandit smirked.
"I will! I warn you!"
"Gil!" cried Lucia, in mortal terror.
"It's your life or his, and I'm damned if it's yours! I'll give you just
three seconds to get out of here! Now," and there was a fire in his eyes
that could deceive no one, "you hear me? One--two ..."
"Don't shoot!" cried the bandit. And he laughed outright, almost doubling
up with mirth.
"It was a trick?" Gilbert asked, beginning to see light.
"_Si._ Ah, my frand, I 'ave make ze man from you at last! Fine man what
would kill for 'is woman!" He patted him on the shoulder.
Gilbert looked at him seriously, and the terrible realization came to him.
"I _would_ have killed you! Yes, I _would_ have killed you--and you are my
friend!"
Lopez saw how earnest he was. "I know. And it makes me very 'appy. For at
last you 'ave became ze man of intelligence--like me. You could not leave
'er go now, could you?"
Gilbert looked at the relieved Lucia. "No!" he cried.
"You not question ze what you call Destiny, do you?" Lopez said.
"No."
"Zen for you I am Destiny, to beat 'ell!" He walked toward the door.
There was a whistle outside. Pedro had drifted into the night. The stars
poured their miracle of beauty into the room as Pancho Lopez flung the door
wide.
"Well, no more of zat!" he said. "I must go--to leave you to live and love!
No, you shall not zank me," as Gilbert started to speak. "Ees I shall zank
you, for 'ere in your quiet 'ome you 'ave give me ze most peaceful day I
'ave spend in years." He smiled his captivating smile, and for the first
time took his sombrero from his head. He made a grand gesture. "Ees 'appy
day for you. Ees 'appy day for 'er. Ees 'appy day for me!"
He made a very low bow. Then he stepped forward and touched Lucia on the
arm, and led her to Gilbert. One hand was on the shoulder of each.
"You will name ze baby for me sometime--Pancho, or per'aps Panchita?" There
was a wistful note in his deep voice, and a look of eagerness in his eyes.
"Not ze first one, per'aps--but mebbe, like you say, by and bye--later?
Eh?"
There was another whistle down the starlit road.
"_Adios_, my frands! And may you always be so 'appy like what I 'ave make
you!"
He was gone. They heard the horses trotting away; and even in that moment
of blinding and almost unendurable happiness, they were conscious of a
tinge of sorrow.
For when would they ever see Pancho Lopez again?