WILL HIS LUCK HOLD?
Dora escorted Morgan to a table apart from the few heavy feeders who
were already engaged, indicating to the other two girls who served with
her in the dining-room that this was her special customer and guest of
honor. She whirled the merry-go-round caster to bring the salt and
pepper to his hand; just so she placed his knife and fork, and plate
overturned to keep the flies off the business side of it. Then she
hurried away for his breakfast, asking no questions bearing on his
preferences or desires.
A plain breakfast in those vigorous times was unvarying--beefsteak, ham
or bacon to give it a savor, eggs, fried potatoes, hot biscuits, coffee.
It was the same as dinner, which came on the stroke of twelve, and none
of your six-o'clock pretenses about _that_ meal, except there was no
pie; identical with supper, save for the boiled potatoes and rice
pudding. A man of proper proportions never wanted any more; he could not
thrive on any less. And the only kind of a liver they ever worried about
in that time on the plains of Kansas was a white one. That was the only
disease of that organ known.
Dora was troubled; her face reflected her unrest as glass reflects
firelight, her blue eyes were clouded by its gloom. She made a pretense
of brushing crumbs from the cloth where there were no crumbs, in order
to furnish an excuse to stoop and bring her lips nearer Morgan's ear.
"He's comin' on the one-twenty this afternoon--I got it straight he's
comin'. I thought maybe you'd like to know," she said.
Morgan lifted his eyes in feigned surprise at this news, not having it
in his heart to cloud her generous act by the revelation of a suspicion
that it was no news to him.
"You mean----?"
"I got it straight," Dora nodded.
"Thank you, Miss Dora."
"I hope to God," she said, for it was their manner to speak ardently in
Ascalon in those days, "you'll beat him to it when he gets off of the
train!"
"A man can only do his best, Dora," he said gently, moved by her honest
friendship, simple wild thing though she was.
"If I was a man I'd take my gun and go with you to meet him," she
declared.
"I know you would. But maybe there'll not be any fuss at all."
"There'll be fuss enough, all right!" Dora protested. "If he comes
alone--but maybe he'll not _come_ alone."
A man who rose from a near-by table came over to shake hands with
Morgan, and express his appreciation for the good beginning he had made
as peace officer of the town. Dora snatched Morgan's cup and hastened
away for more coffee. When she returned the citizen was on his way to
the door.
"Craddock used to come in here and wolf his meals down," she said,
picking up her theme in the same troubled key, "just like it didn't
amount to nothing to kill a man a day. I looked to see blood on the
tablecloth every time his hand touched it."
"It's a shame you girls had to wait on the brute," Morgan said.
"Girls! he wouldn't let anybody but me wait on him." Dora frowned, her
face coloring. She bent a little, lowering her voice. "Why, Mr. Morgan,
what do you suppose? He wanted me to _marry_ him!"
"That old buffalo wrangler? Well, he _is_ kind of previous!"
"He's too fresh to keep, I told him. Marry _him_! He used to come in
here, Mr. Morgan, and put his hat down by his foot so he could grab it
and run out and kill another man without losin' time. He never used to
take his guns off and hang 'em up like other gentlemen when they eat. He
just set there watchin' and turnin' his mean old eyes all the time. He's
afraid of them, I know by the way he always tried to look behind him
without turnin' his head, never sayin' a word to anybody, he's afraid."
"Afraid of whom, Dora?"
"The ghosts of them murdered men!"
Morgan shook his head after seeming to think it over a little while. "I
don't believe they'd trouble him much, Dora."
"I'd rather wait on a dog!" she said, scorn and rebellion in her pretty
eyes.
"You can marry somebody else and beat him on that game, anyhow. I'll
bet there are plenty of them standing around waiting."
"O Mr. Morgan!" Dora was drowned in blushes, greatly pleased. "Not so
many as you might think," turning her eyes upon him with coquettish
challenge, "only Mr. Gray and Riley Caldwell, the printer on the
_Headlight_."
"Mr. Gray, the druggist?"
"Yes, but he's too old for me!" Dora sighed, "forty if he's a day. He's
got money, though, and he's perfec'ly _grand_ on the pieanno. You ought
to hear him play _The Maiden's Prayer_!"
"I'll listen out for him. I saw him washing his window a while ago--a
tall man with a big white shirt."
"Yes," abstractedly, "that was him. He's an elegant fine man, but I
don't give a snap for none of 'em. I wish I could leave this town and
never come back. You'll be in for dinner, won't you?" as Morgan pushed
back from the repletion of that standard meal.
"And for supper, too, I hope," he said, turning it off as a joke.
"I hope to God!" said Dora fervently, seeing no joke in the uncertainty
at all.
Excitement was laying hold of Ascalon even at that early hour. When
Morgan went on the street after breakfast he found many people going
about, gathering in groups along the shady fronts, or hastening singly
in the manner of men bound upon the confirmation of unusual news. The
pale fish of the night were out in considerable numbers, leaking
cigarette smoke through all the apertures of their faces as they
grouped according to their kind to discuss the probabilities of the
day. Seth Craddock was coming back with fire in his red eyes; their
deliverer was on his way.
There was no secret of Seth's coming any longer. Even Peden leered in
triumph when he met Morgan as he sauntered outside his closed door in
the peculiar distinction of his black coat, which the strong sun of that
summer morning was not powerful enough to strip from his broad back.
None of the saloons or resorts made an attempt to open their doors to
business. The proprietors appeared to have, on the other hand, a secret
pleasure in keeping them closed, perhaps counting on the gain that would
be theirs when this brief prohibition should come to its end.
Opposed to this pleasurable expectancy of the proscribed was the
uneasiness and doubt of the respectable. True, this man Morgan had taken
Seth Craddock's gun away from him once, but luck must have had much to
do with his preservation in that perilous adventure. Morgan had rounded
up the Texas men quartered on the town under Craddock's patronage, also,
but they were sluggish from their debauch, and he had approached them
with the caution of a man coming up on the blind side of a horse.
Yesterday that had looked like a big, heroic thing for one man to
accomplish, but in the light of reflection today it must be admitted
that it was mainly luck.
Yes, Morgan had closed up the town last night, defying even Peden in his
own hall, where defiance as a rule meant business for the undertaker.
But the glamour of his morning's success was still over him at that
time; Peden and his bouncers were a little cautious, a little cowed. He
could not close the town up another night; murmurs of defiance were
beginning to rise already.
And so the people who had applauded his drastic enforcement of the law
last night, became of no more support to Morgan today than a furrow of
sand. Luck was a great thing if a man could play it forever, they said,
but it was too much to believe that luck would hold even twice with
Morgan when he confronted Seth Craddock that afternoon.
Morgan walked about the square that morning like a stranger. Few spoke
to him, many turned inward from their doors when they saw him coming,
afraid that a little friendship publicly displayed might be laid up
against them for a terrible reckoning of interest by and by. Morgan was
neither offended nor downcast by this public coldness in the quarter
where he had a right to expect commendation and support. He understood
too well the lengths that animosities ran in such a town as Ascalon. A
living coward was more comfortable than a dead reformer, according to
their philosophy.
It was when passing the post-office, about nine o'clock in the morning,
that Morgan met Rhetta Thayer. She saw him coming, and waited. Her face
was flushed; indignation disturbed the placidity of her eyes.
"They don't deserve it, the cowards!" she burst out, after a greeting
too serious to admit a smile.
"Deserve what?" he inquired, looking about in mystification, wondering
if something had happened in the post-office to fire this indignation.
"The help and protection of a brave man!" she said.
Morgan was so suddenly confused by this frank, impetuous appreciation of
his efforts, for there was no mistaking the application, that he could
not find a word. Rhetta did not give him much time, to be sure, but ran
on with her denunciation of the citizenry of the town.
"I wouldn't turn a hand for them again, Mr. Morgan--I'd throw up the
whole thing and let them cringe like dogs before that murderer when he
comes back! It's good enough for them, it's all they deserve."
"You can't expect them to be very warm toward a stranger," he said,
excusing them according to what he knew to be their due.
"They're afraid you can't do it, they're telling one another your luck
will fail this time. Luck! that's all the sense there is in _that_ bunch
of cowards."
"They may be right," he said, thoughtfully.
"You know they're not right!" she flashed back, defending him against
himself as though he were another.
"I don't expect any generosity from them," he said, gentle in his tone
and undisturbed. "They're afraid if my luck should happen to turn
against me they'd have to pay for any friendship shown me here this
morning. Business is business, even in Ascalon."
"Luck!" she scoffed. "It's funny you're the only lucky man that's struck
this town in a long time, then. If it's all luck, why don't some of them
try their hands at rounding up the crooks and killers of this town and
showing them the road the way you did that gang yesterday? Yes, I know
all about that kind of luck."
Morgan walked with her toward Judge Thayer's office, whither she was
bound with the mail. Behind them the loafers snickered and passed quips
of doubtful humor and undoubted obscenity, but careful to present the
face of decorum until Morgan was well beyond their voices. No matter
what doubt they had of his luck holding with Seth Craddock, they were
not of a mind to make a trial of it on themselves.
"I think the best thing to do with this town is just let it go till it
dries up and blows away," she said, with the vindictive impatience of
youth. "What little good there is in it isn't worth the trouble of
cleaning up to save."
"Your father's got everything centered here, he told me. There must be a
good many honest people in the same boat."
"Maybe we could sell out for something, enough to take us away from
here. Of course we expected Ascalon to turn out a different town when we
came here, the railroad promised to do so much. But there's nothing to
make a town when the cattle are gone. We might as well let it begin to
die right now."
"You're gloomy this morning, Miss Thayer. You remember the Mennonites
that wanted to settle here and were afraid?"
"There's no use for you to throw your life away making the country safe
for them."
"Of course not. I hadn't thought of them."
"Nor any of these cold-nosed cowards that turn their backs on you for
fear your luck's going to change. Luck! the fools!"
"They don't figure in the case at all, Miss Thayer."
"If it's on account of your own future, if you're trampling down a place
in the briars to make your bed, as pa called it, then I think you can
find a nicer place to camp than Ascalon. It never will repay the peril
you'll run and the blood you'll lose--have lost already."
"I'm further out of the calculation than anybody, Miss Thayer."
"I don't see what other motive there can be, then," she reflected, eyes
bent to the ground as she walked slowly by his side.
"A lady asked me to undertake it. I'm doing it for her," he replied.
"She was a thoughtless, selfish person!" Rhetta said, her deep feeling
stressed in the flush of her face, her accusation as vehement as if she
laid charges against another. "Last night she thought it over; she had
time to realize the danger she'd asked a generous stranger to assume.
She wants to withdraw the request today--she asks you to give it up and
let Ascalon go on its wicked way."
"Tell her," said he gently, holding her pleading, pained eyes a moment
with his assuring gaze, "that a man can't drop a piece of work like this
and turn his back on it and walk away. They'd say in Ascalon that he was
a coward, and they'd be telling the truth."
"Oh! I oughtn't have argued you into it!" she regretted, bitter in her
self-blame. "But the thought of that terrible, cruel man, of all he's
killed, all he will kill if he comes back--made a selfish coward of me.
We had gone through a week of terror--you can't understand a woman's
terror of that kind of men, storming the streets at night uncurbed!"
"A man can only guess."
"I was so grateful to you for driving them away from here, for purifying
the air after them like a rain, that I urged you to go ahead and finish
the job, just as if we were conferring a great favor! I didn't think at
the time, but I've thought it all over since."
"You mustn't worry about it any more. It is a great favor, a great
honor, to be asked to serve you at all."
"You're too generous, Mr. Morgan. There are only a few of us here who
care about order and peace--you can see that for yourself this
morning--no matter what assurance they gave you yesterday. Let it go. If
you don't want to get your horse and ride away, you can at least resign.
You've got justification enough for that, you've seen the men that
promised to support you yesterday turn their backs on you when you came
up the street today. They don't want the town shut up, they don't want
it changed--not when it hits their pocketbooks. You can tell pa that,
and resign--or I'll tell him--it was my fault, I got you into it."
"You couldn't expect me to do that--you don't expect it," he chided, his
voice grave and low.
"I can want you to do it--I don't expect it."
"Of course not. We'll not talk about it any more."
They continued toward her father's office in silence, crossing the
stretch of barren in which the little catalpa tree stood. Rhetta looked
up into his face.
"You've never killed a man, Mr. Morgan," she said, more as a positive
statement than as a question.
"No, I never have, Miss Thayer," Morgan answered her, as ingenuously
sincere as she had asked it.
"I think I know it by the touch of a man's hand," she said, her face
growing pale from her deep revulsion. "I shudder at the touch of blood.
If you could be spared that in the ordeal ahead of you!"
"There's no backing out of it. The challenge has passed," he said.
"No, there's no way. He's coming--he knows you're waiting for him. But I
hope you'll not have to--I hope you'll come out of it _clean_! A curse
of blood falls on every man that takes this office. I wish--I hope, you
can keep clear of that."