The Collected Western Classics & Adventures Novels. William MacLeod Raine
entered, a newspaper in her hand. Her eyes were strangely bright, even for her, and she had a manner of repressed excitement, Her face was almost colorless.
“Here’s some more in the Avalanche about our adventure near Gimlet Butte,” she told him, waving the paper.
“Nothing like keeping in the public eye,” said Steve, grinning. “I don’t reckon our little picnic at Bald Knob is likely to get in the Avalanche, though. It probably hasn’t any correspondent at Lost Valley. Anyhow, I’m hoping not.”
“Mr. Fraser, there is something in this paper I want you to explain. But tell me first when it was you shot this man Faulkner. I mean at just what time in the fight.”
“Why, I reckon it must have been just before I ducked.”
“That’s funny, too.” She fixed her direct, fearless gaze on him. “The evidence at the coroner’s jury shows that it was in the early part of the fight he was shot, before father and I left you.”
“No, that couldn’t have been, Miss Arlie, because——”
“Because——” she prompted, smiling at him in a peculiar manner.
He flushed, and could only say that the newspapers were always getting things wrong.
“But this is the evidence at the coroner’s inquest,” she said, falling grave again on the instant. “I understand one thing now, very clearly, and that is that Faulkner was killed early in the fight, and the other man was wounded in the ankle near the finish.”
He shook his head obstinately. “No, I reckon not.”
“Yet it is true. What’s more, you knew it all the time.”
“You ce’tainly jump to conclusions, Miss Arlie.”
“And you let them arrest you, without telling them the truth! And they came near lynching you! And there’s a warrant out now for your arrest for the murder of Faulkner, while all the time I killed him, and you knew it!”
He gathered together his lame defense. “You run ahaid too fast for me, ma’am. Supposing he was hit while we were all there together, how was I to know who did it?”
“You knew it couldn’t have been you, for he wasn’t struck with a revolver. It couldn’t have been dad, since he had his shotgun loaded with buckshot.”
“What difference did it make?” he wanted to know impatiently. “Say I’d have explained till kingdom come that I borrowed the rifle from a friend five minutes after Faulkner was hit—would anybody have believed me? Would it have made a bit of difference?”
Her shining eyes were more eloquent than a thousand tongues. “I don’t say it would, but there was always the chance. You didn’t take it. You would have let them hang you, without speaking the word that brought me into it. Why?”
“I’m awful obstinate when I get my back up,” he smiled.
“That wasn’t it. You did it to save a girl you had never seen but once. I want to know why.”
“All right. Have it your own way. But don’t ask me to explain the whyfors. I’m no Harvard professor.”
“I know,” she said softly. She was not looking at him, but out of the window, and there were tears in her voice.
“Sho! Don’t make too much of it. We’ll let it go that I ain’t all coyote, after all. But that don’t entitle me to any reward of merit. Now, don’t you cry, Miss Arlie. Don’t you.”
She choked back the tears, and spoke in deep self-scorn. “No! You don’t deserve anything except what you’ve been getting from me—suspicion and distrust and hard words! You haven’t done anything worth speaking of—just broke into a quarrel that wasn’t yours, at the risk of your life; then took it on your shoulders to let us escape; and, afterward, when you were captured, refused to drag me in, because I happen to be a girl! But it’s not worth mentioning that you did all this for strangers, and that later you did not tell even me, because you knew it would trouble me that I had killed him, though in self-defense. And to think that all the time I’ve been full of hateful suspicions about you! Oh, you don’t know how I despise myself!”
She let her head fall upon her arm on the table, and sobbed.
Fraser, greatly disturbed, patted gently the heavy coil of blue-black hair.
“Now, don’t you, Arlie; don’t you. I ain’t worth it. Honest, I ain’t. I did what it was up to me to do. Not a thing more. Dick would have done it. Any of the boys would. Now, let’s look at what you’ve done for me.”
From under the arm a muffled voice insisted she had done nothing but suspect him.
“Hold on, girl. Play fair. First off you ride sixty miles to help me when I’m hunted right hard. You bring me to your home in this valley where strangers ain’t over and above welcome just now. You learn I’m an officer and still you look out for me and fight for me, till you make friends for me. It’s through you I get started right with the boys. On your say-so they give me the glad hand. You learn I’ve lied to you, and two or three hours later you save my life. You sit there steady, with my haid in your lap, while some one is plugging away at us. You get me to a house, take care of my wounds, and hold the fort alone in the night till help comes. Not only that, but you drive my enemy away. Later, you bring me home, and nurse me like I was a long-lost brother. What I did for you ain’t in the same class with what you’ve done for me.”
“But I was suspicious of you all the time.”
“So you had a right to be. That ain’t the point, which is that a girl did all that for a man she thought might be an enemy and a low-down spy. Men are expected to take chances like I did, but girls ain’t. You took ‘em. If I lived a thousand years, I couldn’t tell you all the thanks I feel.”
“Ah! It makes it worse that you’re that kind of a man. But I’m going to show you whether I trust you.” Her eyes were filled with the glad light of her resolve. She spoke with a sort of proud humility. “Do you know, there was a time when I thought you might have—I didn’t really believe it, but I thought it just possible—that you might have come here to get evidence against the Squaw Creek raiders? You’ll despise me, but it’s the truth.”
His face lost color. “And now?” he asked quietly.
“Now? I would as soon suspect my father—or myself! I’ll show you what I think. The men in it were Jed Briscoe and Yorky and Dick France.”
“Stop,” he cried hoarsely.
“Is it your wound?” she said quickly.
“No. That’s all right. But you musn’t tell——”
“I’m telling, to show whether I trust you. Jed and Yorky and Dick and Slim——”
She stopped to listen. Her father’s voice was calling her. She rose from her seat.
“Wait a moment. There’s something I’ve got to tell you,” the Texan groaned.
“I’ll be back in a moment. Dad wants to see me about some letters.”
And with that she was gone. Whatever the business was, it detained her longer than she expected. The minutes slipped away, and still she did not return. A step sounded in the hall, a door opened, and Jed Briscoe stood before him.
“You’re here, are you?” he said.
The Texan measured looks with him. “Yes, I’m here.”
“Grand-standing still, I reckon.”
“If you could only learn to mind your own affairs,” the Texan suggested evenly.
“You’ll wish I could before I’m through with you.”
“Am I to thank you for that little courtesy from Bald Knob the other evening?”
“Not