A warrant was bad enough, but a _reward_! Many people would be on the
lookout to earn such easy money.
Jack Murray felt an odd and sinking sensation in the region of his
stomach. "How much is it?"
"Only three thousand dollars."
"Only, huh. Only? Who's puttin' up the cash?"
"Riley Taylor put his name down for a thousand and Hazel's uncle, Tom
Walton, added six hundred, and----"
"Why, that sixteen hundred is _my own money_!" interrupted Jack Murray.
"I expect so," continued Felix. "The other fourteen hundred was made
up around the town."
"I suppose you'll tell me you fellers put it up yourselves," said the
sarcastic Mr. Murray, who did not expect any such thing.
"Sure we did," said Felix. "We had to. Bill Wingo and Sam Prescott
and Wildcat Simms brought the paper round, and we had to sign up. I'll
be out a hundred if you're caught, Sam two hundred, Tip a hundred, Rafe
the same, and that's the way it went. Even the district attorney
chipped in his ante."
Jack Murray was too horrified to speak for a minute. While he wrestled
with his thoughts Sam Larder spoke.
"You see, Jack," said he, "we had to sit in. If we hadn't, everybody
would have said we sympathized with you, and we couldn't afford
that--not with elections coming on. It would never do. Never. You
see how it is, I guess."
"Yes, I see," said Jack bitterly. "I see all right. I see you've skun
me between you. That damn reward will make me leave the territory for
a while."
"Most sensible thing you could do," declared Sam Larder warmly. "We
don't want to see you get into any trouble, Jack. You're young.
Starting somewhere else won't be a hardship for you a-tall. We'll be
sorry to lose you," he concluded thoughtfully.
"You ain't lost me yet," Jack snapped back. "I may pull out for
awhile, but I'll be back. You bet I'll be back, and when I do come
back I'll sure make Bill Wingo hard to find."
"Don't yell so loud," Sam cautioned him, "or you may have the
opportunity sooner than you want it. You hadn't oughta come here,
anyhow. You dunno whether you were seen or not."
"And you don't want to get a bad name, I expect," sneered Jack Murray.
"You expect right," Felix Craft said with candid bluntness.
"You see, we ain't been openly connected with any scandal yet,"
contributed Sam Larder, glancing at the clock, "and while it ain't
daylight yet, still--" He paused meaningly.
"You want me to drag it, huh?" growled Jack.
"We-ell, maybe you'd better," admitted Sam.
"If fifty dollars would do you any good, here it is," said Felix,
thrusting a hand into his trousers pocket.
Jack Murray spat on the floor. "T'ell with your money. I know who
ain't my friends now, all right, and you can gamble I'm a-going right
quick. See you later."
So saying, Jack Murray rose and left them. He was careful to close the
door quietly. When he was gone, Sam grinned at Felix. The latter
broke anew into laughter.
"His own money!" crowed Felix Craft. "His own money offered as a
reward! If that ain't----"
But what it was, was drowned in the bellowing cackle of Sam Larder.
Billy Wingo removed his hat and stuck a brown head round the corner of
the door jamb. "Hello, Hazel!"
"'Lo, Billy," said Hazel Walton, breaking another egg into the mixture
of sugar and shortening in the yellow bowl. "Chase that sprucy chicken
out, will you, there's a dear."
Billy did not misunderstand. He had discovered that Hazel called any
friend "dear." It was her way of showing her liking, that was all.
Nevertheless, the appellation never failed to give him a warm feeling
that felt pleasant around his heart. He shooed out the marauding and
molting Wyandotte and then sat down on the doorstep and regarded Hazel
with approving eyes.
And Hazel Walton was undoubtedly good to look at as she stood there
behind the kitchen table, stirring with a great spoon the contents of
the yellow bowl. There were dimples in her pretty elbows that matched
the one in her cheek. Billy could not see the ones in her elbows, but
he knew they were there. Her eyes were downcast. He thought he had
never seen such long lashes. The eyebrows were slim and perfect
crescents. The round chin was made for the palm of a man's hand. But
her hair,--that was what Billy admired most of all. It was so heavy
and thick. There was a bit of a wave in it, too. And it always looked
neat and tidy. There were never any "scolding locks" at the nape of
her neck, as there were on other necks that had come under his eye.
But he was not in love with her. Oh, no, not he. After his latest
turn-down by Sally Jane, he had made a resolve not to fall in love
again, ever. But there was no harm in going to see a girl. How could
there be? Quite so.
"Your uncle home?" he asked after a cigarette had been constructed and
lit.
"He'll be in for dinner," replied Hazel, with a swift flash of dark
eyes. "And there I was hoping all along you had come to see me."
"I came to see you, too."
"Me too is worse, lots worse. Shows what an afterthought I am. Life's
an awful thing for a girl."
"I'll bet it is. For you especially. This is the first time I ever
came here that some one else wasn't here ahead of me. Usually a feller
has to fight his way through a whole herd in order to say good evening
to you."
Hazel put her head on one side and looked at him demurely. "They come
to see Uncle Tom."
"Which is why they spend all their time talkin' to you."
Hazel smiled. "I feed 'em. I'm a good cook, if I do say it myself.
Stay to dinner, William?"
"Not after that," he told her firmly. "I don't want another meal here
long's I live."
"Just you let me catch you sloping out before dinner's over and done
with, and I'll never speak to you again as long as _I_ live. Besides,
I want you to go fill the waterbucket for me in about ten minutes, and
after dinner I need some help in the chicken-house, and Uncle is busy
this afternoon. So you stay and be mother's li'l helper, Bill, won't
you?"
"Putting it thataway," said Bill, "what can a poor man do?" Here he
licked his lips cat fashion and added "Is that cake for dinner?"
"Of course not, you simple thing. Here it is half-past eleven and the
cake not even mixed yet. I've got a dried-peach pie though. It's
outside cooling. And there'll be fried ham, Bill, and corn
fritters--the batter's all ready in that blue bowl. Lima beans, too,
the last you'll see this year."
"I saw some young ones for another crop on the vines when I came
through the garden," said Billy, who was no farmer.
Hazel smiled pityingly. "The frost will kill 'em before they get a
chance to ripen. It can't hold off much longer. Do you realize it's
nearly October, Bill? We almost had frost last night."
"Winter's coming."
"Election will be here first. Uncle Tom says you're sure to be
elected. My, how important you'll be. Will you speak to a feller
then, Bill?"
"I might. You never can tell. Seen Riley lately?"--elaborately casual.
"Saw him last Sunday. To look at him now you'd never know he'd been
shot, would you? He's coming to dinner to-day--has some business with
Uncle Tom."
"Yeah, like the rest of 'em. Fen dubs on the chicken-house. You said
I could help you with that, remember."