A NIGHT SUMMONS
In two hours Rathburn came to a fence about a small ranch. Cattle were
grazing on the sparse feed within the inclosure, and he saw a clump of
trees marking the site of a house.
He rode around the fence until he came to a gate. There was a light
shining from two of the windows of the house. He passed through the
gate, and, as he approached the house from the side, he saw two
figures on the porch. He halted in the shelter of the trees, and, as
one of the figures crossed the beam of light which shone out the door,
he saw that it was a man. He obtained a fleeting look at the man's
face. He was comparatively young, not bad looking, with blue eyes and
a small, close-cropped, sandy mustache.
Rathburn scratched his head in an effort to place the man. He seemed
vaguely familiar. Rathburn was sure he had seen him somewhere. But he
gave up the futile effort to identify him when he saw that the other
figure on the porch was that of a girl.
Dismounting, he led his horse around to the rear and put him in a
corral near the barn. He surmised that it was about ten o'clock. As he
walked toward the front of the house, again he heard the sputtering of
a small motor car; then he saw the path of light from its headlights
go streaking across the desert in the direction of the town to
southward. The front door closed, and all was still.
Rathburn hesitated for several moments, then he stamped up the porch
steps and knocked at the door. It was opened by a girl. She held a
lighted lamp in her hand. When she saw Rathburn standing, hat in
hand, before her, her dark eyes widened, and she nearly dropped the
lamp. He stepped forward quickly and took it from her.
"Roger!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "You--here?"
"I'm here, Laura," he said quietly. "I'm home on a--a visit."
"I heard you were back," she faltered. "Mr. Doane--that is--a
gentleman from town told me he had heard you were back. But----"
She scanned his face closely and peered beyond him into the shadows
with visible concern.
"Roger, come in quickly," she invited, stepping back from the door.
With a faint smile he entered and closed the door after him. He put
the lamp down on the table in what was evidently the sitting room of
the small house. He looked about him with the air of one who sees
familiar surroundings, but is embarrassed by them.
"Some one been tellin' you the details of my arrival?" he asked with
an effort to appear casual.
"I heard you were in some trouble, Roger." The girl continued to stare
at him with a queer expression in her fine eyes--part sorrow, part
concern, part gladness.
"I'm not a stranger to trouble these days, Laura," he said soberly.
There was a sob in the girl's throat, but she recovered herself at
once.
"Have you eaten?" she asked quickly.
"Up at Joe Price's place," he replied. "All fed and chipper."
There was not much confidence in his tone or manner. As the girl
lowered her gaze, he looked at her hungrily; his eyes feasted on the
coils of dark hair, her long, black lashes, the curve of her cheek
and her delicate color, the full, ruby lips, and the small, quivering
chin. She was in the throes of a strong emotion.
"I'm sorry, Laura, if--you didn't want me to come," he said
unsteadily.
"Oh, Roger! Of course we want you to come. It's been so long since we
saw you. And you've--you've gone through so much."
She raised her eyes, and the expression which he saw in their depths
caused him to look away and to bite his lips.
"There's a lot of it I wish I could undo, Laura; an' there's a lot
more of it I couldn't help, an' maybe some I--I--wasn't----" He
paused. He couldn't bring himself to say anything in extenuation of
himself and his acts in the presence of this girl. It might sound as
if he were playing for her sympathy, he thought to himself.
"Roger, I know you haven't done all the things I've heard about," she
said bravely. "And there's always a chance. You're a man. You can find
a way out. If the trails seem all twisted and tangled, you can use a
compass--your own conscience, Roger. You still have that."
"How did you happen to mention the trails bein' all mixed up like
that?" he asked curiously.
"Why--I don't know. Isn't that the way it seems?"
Rathburn looked away with a frown. "You come near hittin' the nail on
the head, Laura."
"Oh, then you _are_ beginning to think!" she said eagerly.
"I've done nothing but think for months," Rathburn confessed.
She looked at him searchingly. Then her eyes dropped to the black
butt of the gun in the holster strapped to his right thigh. She
shuddered slightly.
"You came from the west, Roger?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied shortly. "From where there's water an' timber an'
flowers an' grass--but they had my number there, just the same as
they've got it here. I'm a marked man, Laura Mallory."
She leaned upon the table with one hand; the other she held upon her
breast.
"Are--are they--after you, Roger?" she asked in a low, anxious tone.
"As usual," he answered with a vague laugh. "Laura, I didn't come here
to bother you with my troubles; I come here just to see _you_."
The girl colored. "I know, Roger. We've known each other a long
time--since we were children. You wouldn't like it for me not to show
any concern over your troubles, would you?"
"I wish we could talk about something else," said Rathburn. "I can't
stay long."
Laura Mallory looked worried. "May I ask where you plan to go,
Roger?"
"I'm not sure. I only know I wanted to come back, an' I came. I hadn't
any fixed plans, an' I wasn't expecting the reception I got." His face
clouded. Then he looked straight into the girl's eyes. "I hit this
country this morning," he said steadily. "The first folks I saw was
some men ridin' in my direction up between the lava hills and the
range. Then things began to happen."
She nodded brightly. "I believe you," she said simply.
Rathburn smiled. "You aways did that, Laura, an' I ain't never been
much of a hand at lying."
"Roger," she said quickly, "if they all knew you as well as I think I
know you----"
"They wouldn't believe," he interrupted. "They call me The Coyote,
an' they'll have me live up to the name whether I want to or not," he
added bitterly.
"But, Roger, you're forgetting what I said about the trails and the
compass."
"No, Laura, I'm not, but there's another force besides the big
lodestone that's affectin' that compass."
"Roger, you're thinking of an enemy!"
He did not answer her. His face appeared grim, almost haggard, in the
yellow rays of the lamplight.
"Roger, you once promised me anything I might ask," she said softly.
"An' all you have to do is ask," he answered, taking a step toward
her.
"I'm going to ask you for something, Roger," she said without looking
at him. "Maybe you'll think it's--it's too much that I ask." She
glanced up at him doubtfully.
"What is it, Laura?" he insisted.
"I want your gun, Roger," she whispered.
He straightened and stared at her in startled wonder. "But, Laura--a
man in my position--why--why--where would I be at?"
"Maybe if you gave it to me it would help you find a way out, Roger,"
she pleaded earnestly.
Rathburn looked into her eyes and thrilled. Then without a word he
unbuckled his cartridge belt which held his holstered gun, untied the
strap about his thigh and laid the belt with the weapon upon the
table.
"Roger!" said the girl. The sob again was in her voice. She reached
out and placed a hand upon his arm.
An elderly man appeared in the doorway from the kitchen.
"Father, this is Roger," said the girl hurriedly. "He's back."
"What's that? Roger, eh? You mean Rathburn is here?"
The old man peered at the visitor from the doorway, his lean face
twitching. He stroked his gray beard in indecision. His blue eyes
looked long at Rathburn, then at the girl, and lastly at the gun and
belt on the table.
"Well, hello, Rathburn," he said finally, advancing into the room. He
held out a hand which Rathburn grasped.
"Did you eat yet?" asked Mallory.
"In the hills with Joe Price," replied Rathburn. "But I'm just as much
obliged."
"Yes, of course," Mallory muttered. "With Joe, eh? He ain't been down
in months. How is he?"
"Looks good as a gold mine an' thinks he's found one," said Rathburn,
looking at the girl's father curiously.
"That's what keeps him up," Mallory asserted loudly. "He'll never get
old as long as he thinks he's got a mine corralled. He ought to try
stock raisin' for a while. You look older, Rathburn--more filled out.
Are you still cutting 'em high, wide, an' handsome?"
Rathburn's face clouded.
"Roger's starting new, dad," the girl interposed.
Mallory stared keenly at the younger man. He started to speak, but was
interrupted by the sound of horses outside the house.
Rathburn whirled toward the door, took a step, and stopped in his
tracks. The girl's hands flew to the sides of her face, and her eyes
widened with apprehension.
"I'll go see who it is," said Mallory with a quick look at Rathburn.
He hastened out into the kitchen, and a moment later they heard the
kitchen door open. There was a murmur of voices. The girl stared at
Rathburn breathlessly, while he tapped with his slim fingers upon the
top of the table.
Then Mallory came in. "Somebody to see you," he said to Rathburn.
Rathburn looked once at the white-faced girl and followed her father
out into the kitchen. She heard them speak in an undertone, and then
Rathburn came back into the room.
"I ain't much elated over my visitor," he said slowly. "I wish you
hadn't asked me what you did until--well, until this caller had come
an' gone."
She looked straight into his eyes in an agony of dread.
"Who is it, Roger?" she asked, wetting her lips.
"Mike Eagen is out there," he answered calmly.
She drew a quick breath, while he waited. Then he turned on his heel
and started for the kitchen door.
"Roger!" she called.
He swung about and eyed her questioningly. She pointed at the heavy
belt and gun on the table.
"Take it," she whispered.
He buckled on the belt and tied down the end of the holster so it
could not slip if he should draw the weapon within it. Then he made
his way into the kitchen and out of the rear door. Laura Mallory sank
into a chair, sobbing.