The Girl of the Golden West (20 page)

The days that followed were all much like this one. Food was
brought up from The Polka and, by degrees, the patient's strength
came back. And it was but natural that he became so absorbed in his
newly-found happiness that he gradually was losing all sense of
danger. Late one night, however, when he was asleep, an incident
happened that warned the Girl that it was necessary to get her
lover away just as soon as he was able to ride a horse.

Lying on the rug in front of the fire she had been thinking of
him when, suddenly, her quick ear, more than ever alert in these
days, caught the sound of a stealthy footstep outside the cabin.
With no fear whatever except in relation to the discovery of her
lover, the Girl went noiselessly to the window and peered out into
the darkness. A man was making signs that he wished to speak with
her. For a moment she stood watching in perplexity, but almost
instantly her instinct told her that one of that race, for she
believed the man to be a Mexican, would never dare to come to her
cabin at that time of night unless it was on a friendly errand. So
putting her face close to the pane to reassure herself that she had
not been mistaken in regard to his nationality, she then went to
the door and held it wide open for the man to enter, at the same
time putting her finger to her lips as a sign that he should be
very still.

"What are you doin' here? What do you want?" she asked in a low
voice, at the same time leading him to the side of the room further
away from her lover.

Jose Castro's first words were in Spanish, but immediately
perceiving that he failed to make her understand, he nodded
comprehendingly, and said:

"All righta—I espeak Engleesh—I am Jose Castro too well known to
the 
Maestro
. I want to see 'im."

The Girl's intuition told her that a member of the band stood
before her, and she regarded him suspiciously. Not that she
believed that he was disloyal and had come there with hostile
intent, but because she felt that she must be absolutely sure of
her ground before she revealed the fact that Johnson was in the
cabin. She let some moments pass before she replied:

"I don't know nothin' about your master. Who is he?"

An indulgent smile crossed the Mexican's face.

"That ver' good to tella other peoples; but I know 'im here too
much. You trusta me—me quita safe."

All this was said with many gestures and an air that convinced
the Girl that he was speaking the truth. But since she deemed it
best that the invalid should be kept from any excitement, she
resolved to make the Mexican divulge to her the nature of his
important errand.

"How do you know he's here?" she began warily. "What do you want
'im for?"

The Mexican's shifty eyes wandered all over the room as if to
make certain that no inimical ears were listening; then he
whispered:

"I tella you something—you lika the 
Maestro
?"

Unconsciously the Girl nodded, which evidently satisfied the
Mexican, for he went on:

"You thinka well of him—yees. Now I tella you something. The man
Pedro 'e no good. 'E wisha the reward—the money for Ramerrez. 'E
and the woman—woman no good—tell Meester Ashby they thinka 'im
'ere."

The Girl felt the colour leave her cheeks, though she made a
gesture for him to proceed.

"Pedro not 'ere any longer," smiled the Mexican. "Me senda 'im
to the devil. Serva 'im right."

"An' the woman?" gasped the Girl.

"She gone—got away—Monterey by this time," replied Castro with
evident disappointment. "But Meester Ashby 'e know too much—'ees
men everywhere searched the camp—no safa 'ere now. To-norrow—"
Castro stopped short; the next instant with a joyful gleam in his
eyes he cried out: "
Maestro
!"

"Castro's right, Girl," said Johnson, who had waked and heard
the Mexican's last words; "it is not safe a moment more here, and I
must go."

With a little cry of loving protest the Girl abruptly left the
men to talk over the situation and sought the opposite side of the
room. There, her eyes half-closed and her lips pressed tightly
together she gave herself up to her distressing fears. After a
while it was made plain to her that she was being brought into the
conversation, for every now and then Castro would look curiously at
her; at length, as if it had been determined by them that nothing
should be undertaken without her advice, Johnson, followed by his
subordinate, came over to her and related in detail all the
startling information that Castro had brought.

Quietly the Girl listened and, in the end, it was agreed between
them that it would be safer for the men not to leave the cabin
together, but that Castro should go at once with the understanding
that he should procure horses and wait for the master at a given
point across the ravine. It was decided, too, that there was not a
moment to be lost in putting their plan into execution. In
consequence, Castro immediately took his departure.

The hour that passed before the time set for Johnson to leave
the cabin was a most trying one for both of them. It was not so
hard on the man, of course, for he was excited over the prospect of
escaping; but the Girl, whose mind was filled with the dread of
what might happen to him, had nothing to sustain her. Despite his
objection, she had stipulated that, with Jackrabbit as a companion,
she should accompany him to the outskirts of the camp. And so, at
the moment of departure, throwing about her a cloak of some rough
material, she went up to her lover and said with a quiver in her
voice:

"I'm ready, Dick, but I'm a-figurin' that I can't let you go
alone—you jest got to take me below with you, an' that's all there
is to it."

The man shook his head.

"There's very little risk, believe me. I'll join Castro and ride
all through the night. I'll be down below in no time at all. But we
must be going, dear."

The man passed through the door first. But when it came the
Girl's turn she hesitated, for she had seen a dark shadow flit by
the window. It was as if someone had been stealthily watching
there. In another moment, however, it turned out to be Jackrabbit
and, greatly relieved, the Girl whispered to Johnson that he was to
descend the trail between the Indian and herself, and that on no
account was he to utter a word until she gave him permission.

For another moment or so they stood in silence; Johnson,
appreciating fully what were the Girl's feelings, did not dare to
whisper even a word of encouragement to her. At last, she ordered
the Indian to lead the way, and they started.

The trail curved and twisted around the mountain, and in places
they had to use the greatest care lest a misstep should carry them
over a precipice with a drop of hundreds of feet. It was a perilous
descent, inasmuch as the path was covered with snow. Moreover, it
was necessary that as little noise as possible should be made while
they were making their way past the buildings of the camp below,
for the Mexican had not been wrong when he stated that Ashby's men
were quartered at, or in the immediate vicinity of, The Palmetto.
Fortunately, they passed through without meeting anyone, and before
long they came to the edge of the plateau beneath which was the
ravine which Johnson had to cross to reach the spot where it had
been agreed that Castro should be waiting with horses for his
master. It was also the place where the Girl was to leave her lover
to go on alone, and so they halted. A few moments passed without
either of them speaking; at length, the man said in as cheery a
voice as he could summon:

"I must leave you here. I remember the way well. All danger is
past."

The Girl's lips were quivering; she asked:

"An' when will you be back?"

The man noted her emotion, and though he himself was conscious
of a choking sensation he contrived to say in a most optimistic
tone:

"In two weeks—not more than two weeks. It will take all that
time to arrange things at the rancho. As it is, I hardly see my way
clear to dismissing my men—you see, they belong to me, almost,
and—but I'll do so, never fear. No power on earth could make me
take up the old life again."

The Girl said nothing in reply; instead she put both her arms
around his neck and remained a long time in his embrace. At last,
summoning up all her fortitude she put him resolutely from her, and
whispered:

"When you are ready, come. You must leave me now." And with a
curt command to the Indian she fled back into the darkness.

For an instant the road agent's eyes followed the direction that
she had taken; then, his spirits rising at the thought that his
escape was now well-nigh assured, he turned and plunged down the
ravine.

As has been said, it was a custom of the miners, whenever a
storm made it impossible for them to work in the mines, to turn the
dance-hall of the Polka Saloon into an Academy, the post of teacher
being filled by the Girl. It happened, therefore, that early the
following morning the men of Cloudy Mountain Camp assembled in the
low, narrow room with its walls of boards nailed across inside
upright beams—a typical miners' dance-hall of the late
Forties—which they had transformed into a veritable bower, so eager
were they to please their lovely teacher. Everyone was in high
spirits, Rance alone refraining from taking any part whatsoever in
the morning's activities; dejectedly, sullenly, he sat tilted back
in an old, weather-beaten, lumber chair before the heavily-dented,
sheet-iron stove in a far corner of the room, gazing abstractedly
up towards the stove's rusty pipe that ran directly through the
ceiling; and what with his pale, waxen countenance, his eyes red
and half-closed for the want of sleep, his hair ruffled, his
necktie awry, his waistcoat unfastened, his boots unpolished, and
the burnt-out cigar which he held between his white, emaciated
fingers, he was not the immaculate-looking Rance of old, but
presented a very sad spectacle indeed.

Outside, through the windows,—over which had been hung curtains
of red and yellow cotton,—could be seen the green firs on the
mountain, their branches dazzling under their burden of snow
crystals; and stretching out seemingly interminably until the line
of earth and sky met were the great hills white with snow except in
the spots where the wind had swept it away. But within the little,
low dance-hall, everywhere were evidences of festivity and good
cheer, the walls being literally covered with pine boughs and
wreaths of berries, while here and there was an eagle's wing or an
owl's head, a hawk or a vulture, a quail or a snow-bird, not to
mention the big, stuffed game cock that was mounted on a piece of
weather-beaten board, until it would seem as if every variety of
bird native to the Sierra Mountains was represented there.

Grouped together on one side of the wall were twelve buck horns,
and these served as a sort of rack for the miners to hang their
hats and coats during the school session. Several mottoes, likewise
upon the wall, were intended to attract the students' attention,
the most conspicuous being: "Live and Learn" and "God Bless Our
School." A great bear's skin formed a curtain between the
dance-hall and the saloon, while upon the door-frame was a large
hand rudely painted, the index-finger outstretched and pointing to
the next room. It said:

"To The Bar."

It was, however, upon the teacher's desk—a whittled-up,
hand-made affair which stood upon a slightly-raised platform—that
the boys had outdone themselves in the matter of decoration.
Garlanded both on top and around the sides with pine boughs and
upon the centre of which stood a tall glass filled with red and
white berries, it looked not unlike a sacrificial altar which, in a
way, it certainly was. A box that was intended for a seat for the
teacher was also decorated with pine branches; while several cheap,
print flags adorned the primitive iron holder of the large lamp
suspended from the ceiling in the centre of the room. Altogether it
was a most festive-looking Academy that was destined to meet the
teacher's eye on this particular morning.

For some time Nick had been standing near the window gazing in
the direction of the Girl's cabin. Turning, suddenly, to Rance, the
only other occupant of the room, he remarked somewhat sadly:

"I'd be willin' to lose the profits of the bar if we could git
back to a week ago—before Johnson walked into this room."

At the mention of the road agent's name Rance's eyes dropped to
the floor. It required no flash of inspiration to tell him that
things would never be what they had been.

"Johnson," he muttered, his face ashen white and a sound in his
throat that was something like a groan. "A week—a week in her
cabin—nursed and kissed…" he finished shortly.

Nick had been helping himself to a drink; he wheeled swiftly
round, confronting him.

"Oh, say, Rance, she—"

Rance took the words out of his mouth.

"Never kissed him! You bet she kissed him! It was all I could do
to keep from telling the whole camp he was up there." His eyes
blazed and his hands tightened convulsively.

"But you didn't…" Nick broke in on him quickly. "If I hadn't
been let into the game by the Girl I'd a thought you were a level
Sheriff lookin' for him. Rance, you're my ideal of a perfect
gent."

Rance braced up in his chair.

"What did she see in that Sacramento shrimp, will you tell me?"
presently he questioned, contempt showing on every line of his
face.

The little barkeeper did not answer at once, but filled a glass
with whisky which he handed to him.

"Well, you see, I figger it out this way, boss," at last he
answered, meeting him face to face frankly, earnestly, his foot the
while resting on the other's chair. "Love's like a drink that gits
a hold on you an' you can't quit. It's a turn of the head or a
touch of the hands, or it's a half sort of smile, an' you're doped,
doped, doped with a feelin' like strong liquor runnin' through your
veins, an' there ain't nothin' on earth can break it up once you've
got the habit. That's love."

Touched by the little barkeeper's droll philosophy, the Sheriff
dropped his head on his breast, while the hand which held the glass
unconsciously fell to his side.

"I've got it," went on Nick with enthusiasm; "you've got it; the
boy's got it; the Girl's got it; the whole damn world's got it.
It's all the heaven there is on earth, an' in nine cases out of ten
it's hell."

Rance opened his lips to speak, but quickly drew them in
tightly. The next instant Nick touched him lightly on the shoulder
and pointed to the empty glass in his hand, the contents having run
out upon the floor.

With a mere glance at the empty glass Rance returned it to Nick.
Presently, then, he took out his watch and fell to studying its
face intently, and only when he had finally returned the watch to
his pocket did he voice what was in his mind.

"Well, Nick," he said, "her road agent's got off by now."

Whereupon, the barkeeper, too, took out his watch and consulted
it.

"Left Cloudy at three o'clock this morning—five hours off…" was
his brief comment.

Once more a silence fell upon the room. Then, all of a sudden,
the sound of horses' hoofs and the murmur of rough voices came to
their ears, and almost instantly a voice was heard to cry out:

"Hello!"

"Hello!" came from an answering voice.

"Why, it's The Pony Express got through at last!" announced
Nick, incredulously; and so saying he took up the whisky bottle and
glasses which lay on the teacher's desk and dashed into the saloon.
He had barely left, however, than The Pony Express, muffled up to
his ears and looking fit to brave the fiercest of storms, entered
the room, hailing the boys with:

"Hello, boys! Letter for Ashby!"

The Deputy—who with Trinidad and Sonora had come running in, the
latter carrying a boot-leg and a stove-polishing brush in his
hand—took the letter and started in search of the Wells Fargo Agent
who, Rance had told them, had gone to sleep.

"Well, boys, how d'you like bein' snowed in for a week?" asked
The Pony Express, warming himself by the stove; and then without
waiting for an answer he rattled on: "There's a rumour at The Ridge
that you all let Ramerrez freeze an' missed a hangin'. Say, they're
roarin' at you, chaps!" And with a "So long, boys!" he strode out
of the room.

Sonora started in hot pursuit after him, hollering out:

"Wait! Wait!" And when The Pony Express halted, he added: "Says
you to the boys at The Ridge as you ride by, the Academy at Cloudy
is open to-day full blast!"

"Whoopee! Whoop!" chimed in Trinidad and began to execute
a 
pas seul
 in the middle of the room, dropping
into a chair just in time to avoid running into Nick, who hurriedly
returned with two glasses and a bottle.

"Help yourselves, boys," he said; which they did to the
accompaniment of a succession of joyous yells from Trinidad.

Meantime Rance had relighted the burnt-out cigar which he had
been holding for some time between his fingers, and was sending
curls of smoke upwards towards the ceiling.

"Academy," he sneered.

Sonora surveyed him critically for some moments; at length he
said:

"Say, Rance, what's the matter with you? We began this Academy
game together—we boys an' the Girl—an' there's a damn pretty piece
of sentiment back of it. She's taught some of us our letters,
and—"

"He's a wearin' mournin' because Johnson didn't fall alive into
his hands," interposed Trinidad with a laugh.

"Is that it?" queried Sonora.

"Ain't it enough, Rance, that he must be lyin' dead down some
canyon, with his mouth full of snow?" A mocking smile was on
Trinidad's face as he asked the question.

"You done all you could to git 'im," went on Sonora as if there
had been no interruption. "The boys is all satisfied he's
dead."

"Dead?" Rance fairly picked up the word. "Dead? Yes, he's dead,"
he declared tensely, and unconsciously arose and went over to the
window where he stood motionless, gazing through the parted
curtains at the snow-covered hills. Presently the boys saw a
cynical smile spread over his face, and a moment later, he added:
"The matter with me is that I'm a Chink."

This depreciation of himself was so thoroughly un-Rance like,
that it brought forth great bursts of laughter from the men, but
notwithstanding which, Rance went on to admit, in the same sullen
tone, that it was all up with him and the Girl.

"Throwed 'im!" whispered Trinidad to Sonora with a pleased look
on his face.

Sonora, likewise, was beaming with joy when almost instantly he
turned to Nick with:

"As sure's you live she's throwed 'im for me!"

Nick, among his other accomplishments, had a faculty for
dumbness and said nothing; but a smile which approached a grin
formed on his face as he stood eyeing quizzically first one and
then the other. Finally, picking up the empty glasses, he left the
room.

"Will old dog Tray remember me"—immediately sung out Trinidad,
gleefully. While Sonora, in the seventh heaven of delight, began to
caper about the room. Of a sudden Nick poked his head in through
the door to inquire into the cause of their hilarity, but they
ignored him completely. At the bar-room door, however, Sonora
halted and, glancing over his shoulder in the Sheriff's direction,
he added in a most tantalising manner:

"… for me!"

But while Trinidad and Sonora were going out through one door
the Deputy was entering through another. He was greatly agitated
and carried in his hand the letter which The Pony Express had
entrusted to his keeping for Ashby.

"Why, Ashby's skipped!" he announced uneasily. "Got off just
after three this morning—posse and all."

A question was in Nick's eyes as he turned upon the speaker with
the interjection:

"What!" And then as the Deputy made a dash for the bar-room, he
added with a swift change of manner: "Help yourself, Dep."

But if Nick was slow to realise the situation, not so the
Sheriff, who instantly awoke to the fact that the Wells Fargo Agent
was on Johnson's trail. His lips drew quickly back in a
half-grin.

"Ashby's after Johnson," presently he said with a savage little
laugh. "Nick, he was watchin' that greaser… Took him ten minutes to
saddle up—Johnson has ten minutes' start"—He broke off abruptly and
ended impatiently with: "Oh, Lord, they'll never get him! He's a
wonder on the road—you've got to take your hat off to the damn
cuss!" And with a dig at the other's ribs that was half-playful,
half-serious, he was off in pursuit of Ashby.

A moment later the miners began to pile in for school, whooping
and yelling, their feet covered with snow. Sonora led with an
armful of wood, which he deposited on the floor beside the stove;
then came Handsome Charlie and Happy Halliday, together with Old
Steady and Bill Crow, who immediately dropped on all fours and
began to play leap-frog.

"Boys gatherin' for school," observed Trinidad, hurriedly
opening the door; and while the men proceeded to flock in, he got
into his jacket which lay on a chair beside the teacher's desk.

"Here, Trin, here's the book!" cried out Happy Halliday; and the
book, which was securely tied in a red cotton handkerchief, went
flying through the air.

In those few words the signal was given; the fun was on in
earnest. Instantly the miners—veritable school-boys they were, so
genuine was their merriment—braced themselves for a catch of the
book, which had landed safely in Trinidad's hands. Now it was aimed
at Sonora, who caught it on the fly; from Sonora it travelled to
Old Steady, who sent it whizzing over to Handsome. Now the Deputy
made ready to receive it; but instead it landed once more in
Sonora's hands amidst cheers of "Come on, Sonora! Whoopee!
Whoop!"

"Sh-sh-sh, boys!" warned the Deputy as Sonora was about to send
the book on another expedition through the air; "here comes the noo
scholar from Watson's."

An ominous hush fell upon the room. One could have heard a pin
drop as the school settled itself down with anticipatory grins that
said, "What won't we do to Bucking Billy!" Therefore, there was not
an eye that was not upon the new pupil when with dinner-pail
swinging on one arm and the other holding tightly onto a small
slate, he slowly advanced towards them.

"Did you ever play Lame Soldier, m' friend?" was Sonora's
greeting, while the miners crowded around them.

"No," replied the big, raw-boned, gullible-looking fellow with a
grin.