THE MAN FROM POISON HOLE RANCH
Dry Town never looked less dry. As Buck Thornton drew rein in front of
the one brick building of which the ugly little village could boast, the
mud was above his yellow-sorrel's fetlocks. But the rain was over, the
sun was out glorious and warm above the level lands and in the air was a
miraculous feeling as of spring. It is the way of Dry Town in the matter
of seasons to rival in abruptness its denizens' ways in other matters.
The last great storm had come and gone and seeds would be bursting on
every hand and eagerly now.
Because he loved a good horse, and this rangy sorrel above others, and
because further he had been forced to ride the willing animal unusually
hard all day yesterday, Thornton today had travelled slowly. So, long
ago, he had watched the stage out of sight and now, when finally he drew
up in front of the bank, he saw Hap Smith's lumbering vehicle standing
down by the stable. From it he let his eyes travel along the double row
of ill kept, unpainted houses. Fifty yards away a stranger would have
marked only his great height, the lean, clean, powerful physique. But
from near by one might have forgotten this matter of physical bigness
for another, noting just the man's eyes alone. Very keen, piercing,
quick eyes just now, watchful and suspicious of every corner and alley,
they more than hinted at a stern vigilance that was more than half
positive expectancy.
Only for a moment he sat so. Then he swung down from the saddle and with
spurs clanking noisily upon the board sidewalk went into the bank
building.
"I want to see Mr. Templeton," he said abruptly to the clerkly looking
individual behind the new lattice work. The words were very quietly
spoken, the voice rather soft and gentle for so big a man. And yet the
cashier turned quickly, looking at him curiously.
"Who shall I say it is?" he demanded.
"This man's town is getting citified mighty fast," the tall man grunted.
"I should have brought my cards! Well, just tell him it's Thornton."
"Thornton?"
"You got it. Buck Thornton, from the Poison Hole ranch."
He spoke lightly, his voice hinting at a vast store of good nature, his
eyes, however, losing meanwhile no glint of their stern light as they
looked at the man to whom he was talking and beyond him watched the door
through which he had entered. The cashier regarded him with new
interest.
"You are early, Mr. Thornton," he said, rather more warmly than he had
spoken before. "But Mr. Templeton will be glad to see you. He is in
his private office. Walk right in."
Thornton stooped, his back to the wall, and swiftly unbuckled his spurs.
Carrying them in his left hand he passed along the lattice work
partition which shut off the cashier with his books and till, and threw
open the door at the end of the short hallway. Here was a sort of
waiting room, to judge from the two or three chairs, the square topped
table strewn with financial journals and illustrated magazines
indiscriminately mixed. He closed the door behind him, standing again
for a moment as he had stood out in the street, his eyes keen and
watchful as they took swift inventory of the room and its furnishings.
Before him was a second door upon the frosted glass top of which were
the stencilled words: J.W. TEMPLETON, President, Private. He took a step
toward the door and then stopped suddenly as though the very vehemence
of the voice bursting out upon the other side of it had halted him.
"I tell you, Miss Waverly," ... it was Templeton's voice, snappy and
irritable, ... "this thing is madness! Pure and simple, unadulterated
madness! It's as devoid of sense as a last year's nest of birds; it's as
full of danger as a ... a ..."
"Never mind exhausting your similes, Mr. Templeton," came the answer,
the girl's voice young and fresh and yet withal firm and a little cool.
"I didn't come to ask your advice, you know. And you haven't given me
what I did come for. If you ..."
Thornton pushed the door open, sweeping off his hat as he came in, and
said bluntly,
"I don't know what you folks are talking about, but I judge it's
important. And there's no sense in loose-endish talk when you don't know
who's listening."
The square built, square faced man tapping with big square finger ends
at the table in front of him whirled about suddenly, his gesture and
eyes alike showing his keen annoyance at the interruption. Then when he
saw who it was he got to his feet, saying crisply:
"I'm glad it's you. This young woman has got it into her head ..."
"You will remember, Mr. Templeton, that this is in strict confidence?"
Templeton's teeth shut with a click. Thornton turned from him and, with
his spurs in one hand, his hat caught in the other, stood looking down
upon the owner of the voice that was at once so fresh and young, so
coolly determined and vaguely defiant. And as he looked at her there was
much speculation in his grave eyes. Odd that he should stumble upon her
the first thing. Odd and--natural....
The girl's back was to him. For a moment she did not shift her position
the least fraction of an inch, but sat very still, leaning forward in
her chair, facing the banker. Then after a little when it was evident
that Templeton was going to say nothing more she turned slowly to the
new comer, her lashes sweeping upward swiftly as her eyes met his full
and steady. And the man from the Poison Hole ranch, his own eyes looking
down into hers very gravely, noted many things in the quick, keen way
characteristic of him.
He saw that her mouth, red lips about very white teeth, was smiling
softly, confidently; and yet that the brown-flecked grey of her eyes was
as unsmiling, as gravely speculative as his own eyes were. He saw that
her skin was a golden brown from life in the open outdoors, that she had
upon the heels of her boots a pair of tiny, sharp rowelled spurs, that a
riding quirt hung from her right wrist by its rawhide thong, that her
cheeks were a little flushed as though from excitement but that she knew
the trick of forbidding her eyes to tell what her excitement was. He saw
that her throat, where her neck scarf fell loosely away from it, was
very round and white. He saw that while her grey riding habit covered
her body it hid none of her body's grace and strength and slender
youthfulness.
While his eyes left hers to note these things her eyes had been as busy,
running from the man's close cropped dark hair to his mud-spattered
boots. And there came into her look just a hint of admiration which the
man did not see as she in her swift examination noted the breadth of
shoulder, the straight tallness of him, the clean, supple, sinewy form
which his loose attire of soft shirt, unbuttoned vest grey with dust,
and shaggy chaps, black and much worn, in no way concealed.
"I have come," he was saying now to Templeton, speaking abruptly
although his voice was as gentle and low-toned and pleasant as when he
had spoken with the cashier, "three days ahead of time. It won't take me
a minute to get through. And if you and the young lady will excuse me
I'll say my little speech and drift, giving you a free swing for your
business. Besides, I'm in a fair sized hurry."
"Certainly," said Templeton immediately, while the girl, smiling now
with eyes and lips together, unconcernedly, made no answer. "Miss
Waverly is planning to.... Well, I want to talk with her a little more.
Well, Thornton," and only now he put out his hand to be gripped quickly
and warmly by the other's, "what is it? I'm glad to see you.
Everything's all right?"
"Yes. I just dropped in to fix up that second payment."
"Shall I go out while you talk?" The girl had gotten to her feet
swiftly. "If you are going to say anything important ..."
"No, you'd better stay," Thornton said, and added jestingly: "I've got
nothing confidential on my mind, and since I'm just going to hand Mr.
Templeton some money, an almighty big pile of money for me to be
carrying around, maybe we'd better have a witness to the transaction."
The banker looked at him in surprise.
"You don't mean that you've got it with you now? That you've just
ridden in from the range and have brought it with you ... in cash!"
For answer the cattle man slipped a bronzed hand into his shirt and
brought out a small packet done up in a piece of buckskin and tied with
a string. He tossed it to the shining table top, where it fell heavily.
"There she is," he said lightly. "Gold and a few pieces of paper. The
whole thing. Count it."
Templeton sank back into his chair and stared at him. He put out his
hand, lifted the packet, dropped it back upon the table, stared again,
and then burst out irritably:
"Of all the reckless young fools in the county you two are without
equals. Buck Thornton, I thought _you_ had some sense!"
"You never can tell," came the quiet rejoinder from unsmiling lips. "I
saw a man once I thought had sense and I found out afterwards he ran
sheep. Now, if you'll see my bet I'll travel."
Templeton's desk shears were already busy. He jerked the packet open
flat on the table. There were many twenty dollar pieces, some fives and
tens and a little bundle of bank notes. He counted swiftly.
"It's all right. Five thousand dollars," he said crisply. "In full for
second payment due, as you say, in three days. I'll note it on the two
agreements. And I'll give you a receipt."
The tall man's deep chest rose and fell to a sigh as of relief at having
done his errand; he placed his spurs in his hat and his hat upon a
chair and began to roll a cigarette. The banker wrote quickly with
sputtering pen in a book of receipt blanks, tore out the leaf and passed
it across the table.
"There you are, Buck Thornton of the Poison Hole," he said with an
increase of irritability in his curt tones. "And now you listen to me;
you're a fool! Or else you're so far out of the world over on your ranch
that you don't know what's going on. Which is it?"
"I hear a good deal of what's happening," returned Thornton drily.
"Then I suppose you realize that a man who rides day and night, through
that country, carrying five thousand dollars with him, and when
everybody in the country knows that according to contract he is about
due to make a five thousand dollar payment, is acting like a fool with a
suicidal mania?"
For a moment Thornton did not answer. He seemed so engrossed in his
cigarette building that one might almost suppose that he had not heard.
And then, lifting his head suddenly, his eyes keen and hard upon
Templeton's, he said casually,
"I dropped in three days ahead of time, didn't I?"
"And the wonder is," snapped Templeton, "that you haven't dropped clean
out of the world! If you do a fool thing like this, Buck Thornton, when
your last payment is due, you can do it. But I won't go near your
funeral!"
Thornton laughed easily, tucked the receipt into his vest pocket, and
reached for his hat and spurs.
"I'm obliged, Mr. Templeton," he acknowledged lightly. "But we've got to
admit that I got across all right this time. And, as you've heard, I
suppose, right under Mr. Bad Man's nose, since I was carrying that
little wad last night when Hap Smith got cleaned at Poke Drury's. Well,
I'll be going. Just give that rattlesnake Pollard the five thousand and
an invitation from me to keep off my ranch, remembering that it doesn't
happen to belong to him any more."
He nodded and went to the door. There he turned and looked back at the
girl. She had risen swiftly, even coming a step toward him.
"I haven't thanked you ... I ..."
Templeton looked on curiously, an odd twitching at the corners of his
large mouth. Thornton threw up a sudden hand.
"No," he said hastily. "You haven't spoiled things by thanking me.
And.... We'll see each other again," he concluded in his quietly
matter-of-fact way. And, his nod for both of them, he went out.