In the Shadow of the Hills. George C. Shedd
same time he clapped a hand on Weir’s shoulder, closing it in a hard grasp.
Instantly Weir struck the hand off with his fist.
“Keep your dirty flippers to yourself,” he said, rising.
The blood faded from the other’s countenance, leaving it white with rage.
“Get out of this booth, or I’ll throw you out.”
It was Weir’s turn to act. Like a flash he caught Sorenson’s elbow, jerked him forward, spun him about and dropped him upon the chair.
“Sit there, you cradle-robber, until I’m through 35 with you,” he commanded. “And if you don’t want everybody in this restaurant to know about your business with this girl, you’ll lower your voice when you talk.”
Sorenson shot an uneasy glance towards the curtain and his wrath became not less furious but better controlled. Clearly public attention was the last thing he desired in this affair. He leaned back, staring at Steele Weir insolently, and produced a cigarette, at which he began to puff.
“Mary, get ready. We’ll be going in a minute,” said he.
“No, you’ll not, Sorenson. I’ve taken a hand in your game. This girl says you’re going to marry her, is that right?” The other rolled his eyes upward and began to whistle a jig tune softly. “Well, this is the plan she and I’ve made. She’ll remain at the hotel to-night––as will you and I––and to-morrow we’ll drive to another county seat in my car and you’ll secure a licence there. Then you’ll go to a minister’s, where I’ll act as a witness, and the ceremony will be performed. Afterwards the pair of you can proceed to Los Angeles, or elsewhere as you please, on your wedding journey.”
“You’re quite a little planner, aren’t you?” the other jeered.
“That’s the arrangement if you agree.”
“I don’t agree.”
Mary Johnson, in whose eyes a light of hope had dawned during Weir’s low-toned statement, began nervously to bite her lip.
“Won’t you do it, Ed?” she asked, timidly.
“We’ll do as I planned, or nothing,” he stated. Then with sudden spite he continued, “You’re responsible for this mixup. What did you let this fellow in here for 36 while I was gone? Didn’t you have sense enough to keep your mouth shut?”
Steele halted him by a gesture.
“Don’t begin abusing her; you’re not married to her yet. I overheard your talk and guessed the low-lived, scoundrelly trick you proposed to play on her.”
“You damned eavesdropper–––”
“Sure, eavesdropper is right,” Weir interrupted, coolly. “So I just stepped in here from my booth next door to discuss the situation with her; you can’t mislead an innocent girl like her with the intention of shaking her when you get her into a city, not if I know about it and am around. If you sincerely intend to marry her, and will do so to-morrow in my presence, then I’ll withdraw. Afterwards I mean, of course.”
Sorenson arose.
“Come, Mary. Stand aside, you!”
“She doesn’t go with you,” the engineer stated.
For a moment the men’s eyes locked, those of one full of blue fire and hatred, those of the other quiet as pieces of flint.
“And she shall keep with me while I telephone to your father that you brought her here under promise of marriage, a girl of sixteen, without her own parents’ consent, and now refuse to marry her,” Steele added.
A sneer twisted the other man’s mouth.
“My father happens to be in the east, where he’s been for a month,” he mocked. “If he were here, he wouldn’t believe you; he’d know you were a liar. He knows I’m engaged to marry–––” Bite off the words as he tried, they had escaped.
“Ah, that’s the way of it!” Weir remarked with a silky smoothness. “You expect to marry some other 37 girl––and have no intention whatever of marrying Mary here.”
“To hell with you and your opinions!”
“First, you coax her to Bowenville by a promise, then you persuade her by more promises to go to Los Angeles,” the engineer proceeded steadily, “and there you would betray and abandon her to a life on the streets, like the yellow cur you are.”
Sorenson snapped his fingers and moved round to the girl’s side.
“Pay no attention to him,” he addressed her. “He’s only a crazy fool.”
But she drew back against the wall, staring at him with a strained, searching regard.
“Will you marry me to-morrow as he asks?” she questioned anxiously.
“No. I explained the reason why once. Come on; let’s get away from him. Then I’ll make everything clear and satisfactory to you.”
For a moment she stood wavering, picking at her handkerchief, her face pale and unhappy, questioning his countenance. Finally she turned to look at Steele Weir, standing silently by.
“You never said you were engaged to another girl; you told me I was the only one you loved,” she muttered in a choked voice. “But I see now you won’t marry me. You wish me to go with you––but not to marry. I’m going away––away anywhere. By myself! Where I’ll never see any one!” Burying her face in her hands, she shook with sobs.
“This is what comes from your putting an oar in,” said Sorenson, lifting his fist in a burst of fury to strike Weir.
The latter at once smote him across the mouth with 38 open palm at the vile epithet that followed. Sorenson staggered, then lunged forward, tugging at something in his hip-pocket, while the table and dishes went over in a crash.
Before he could draw the weapon Steele’s fingers shot forth and seized his wrist; his other hand closed about Sorenson’s throat in an iron grasp. Slowly under that powerful grip the younger man’s struggles ceased, his eyes dilated, his knees yielded and gave way. The revolver was wrenched from his numbed hold. His eyeballs seemed afire; his breast heaved in violent spasms for the denied breath; and his heart appeared about to burst.
“You miserable skunk!” Weir said, barely moving his mouth. “I ought to choke the life out of you.” Then he released his hold. “I’ll keep this gun––and use it if you ever try to pull another on me! Now, make tracks. Remember, too, to pay your bill as you go out.”
When Sorenson had straightened his coat, giving Weir a malignant look during the process, he departed. His air of disdainful insolence had quite evaporated, but that he considered the action between them only begun was plain, though he spoke not a word. Weir, however, heard him give a quieting explanation to the waiter hovering outside, who had been drawn by the crash of dishes.
“Thought a fight was going on,” the aproned dispenser of food said to Steele when he and the girl emerged.
“Just an accident. Nothing broken, I imagine,” was the response.
“You couldn’t break those dishes with a hammer; they’re made for rough work.”
39
“If there’s any damage, this may cover it.” And Steele tossed the fellow a dollar.
Outside the restaurant he slipped his hand inside Mary Johnson’s arm and led her along the street. With him he had brought the old strapped grip.
“Where you taking me?” she asked, in a worried quaver.
“Home, Mary.”
“Oh, I’m afraid to go home.”
“Are