The Girl of the Golden West (8 page)

"Then he asked for sardines."

"Sardines? Great Gilead! You tell 'im we have nothin' but
straight provisions here. We got pickled oysters, smokin' tobacco
an' the best whisky he ever saw," rapped out the Girl, proudly, and
turned her attention to the slate.

"You bet!" vouched Trinidad with a nod, as Nick departed on his
errand.

Finally, the Girl, having made her calculations, opened the
counter drawer and brought forth some silver Mexican dollars,
saying:

"Sonora, an' Mr. Ashby, your change!"

Ashby picked up his money, only to throw it instantly back on
the bar, and say gallantly:

"Keep the change—buy a ribbon at The Ridge—compliments of Wells
Fargo."

"Thank you," smiled the Girl, sweeping the money into the
drawer, but her manner showed plainly that it was not an unusual
thing for the patrons of The Polka to refuse to accept the
change.

Not to be outdone, Sonora quickly arose and went over to the
counter where, pointing to his stack of silver dollars, he
said:

"Girl, buy two ribbons at The Ridge;" and then with a
significant glance towards Ashby, he added: "Fawn's my colour."

And again, as before, the voice that said, "Thank you," was
colourless, while her eyes rested upon the ubiquitous Nick, who had
entered with an armful of wood and was intent upon making the room
warmer.

Rance snorted disapprovingly at Sonora's prodigality. That he
considered that both his and Ashby's attentions to the Girl had
gone far enough was made apparent by the severe manner in which he
envisaged them and drawled out:

"Play cyards?"

But to that gentleman's surprise the men did not move. Instead,
Ashby raising a warning finger to the Girl, went on to advise that
she should bank with them oftener, concluding with:

"And then if this road agent Ramerrez should drop in, you won't
lose so much—"

"The devil you say!" cut in Sonora; while Trinidad broke out
into a scornful laugh.

"Oh, go on, Mr. Ashby!" smilingly scoffed the Girl. "I keep the
specie in an empty keg now. But I've took to bankin' personally in
my stockin'," she confided without the slightest trace of
embarrassment.

"But say, we've got an awful pile this month," observed Nick,
anxiously, leaving the fireplace and joining the little ring of men
about her. "It makes me sort o' nervous—why, Sonora's got ten
thousand alone fer safe keepin' in that keg an'—"

"—Ramerrez' band's everywhere," completed Ashby with a start,
his quick and trained ear having caught the sound of horses'
hoofs.

"But if a road agent did come here, I could offer 'im a drink
an' he'd treat me like a perfect lady," contended the Girl,
confidently.

"You bet he would, the durned old halibut!" was Sonora's
comment, while Nick took occasion to ask the Girl for some
tobacco.

"Solace or Honeydew?" she inquired, her hands already on the
assortment of tobacco underneath the bar.

"Dew," was Nick's laconic answer.

And then it was that the Girl heard for the first time the sound
of the galloping hoofs; startled for the moment, she inquired
somewhat uneasily:

"Who's this, I wonder?"

But no sooner were the words spoken than a voice outside in the
darkness sung out sharply:

"Hello!"

"Hello!" instantly returned another voice, which the Girl
recognised at once as being that of the Deputy.

"Big holdup last night at The Forks!" the first voice was now
saying.

"Holdup!" repeated several voices outside in tones of
excitement.

"Ramerrez—" went on the first voice, at which ominous word all,
including Ashby, began to exchange significant glances as they
echoed:

"Ramerrez!"

The name had barely died on their lips, however, than Nick
precipitated himself into their midst and announced that The Pony
Express had arrived, handing up to the Girl, at the same time, a
bundle of letters and one paper.

"You see!" maintained Ashby, stoutly, as he watched her sort the
letters; "I was right when I told you…"

"Look sharp! There's a greaser on the trail!" rang out warningly
the voice of The Pony Express.

"A greaser!" exclaimed Rance, for the first time showing any
interest in the proceedings; and then without looking up and after
the manner of a man speaking to a good dog, he told the Deputy, who
had followed Nick into the room:

"Find him, Dep."

For some time the Girl occupied herself with cashing in the
chips which Nick brought to her—a task which she performed with
amazing correctness and speed considering that her knowledge of the
science of mathematics had been derived solely from the handling of
money at The Polka. Now she went over to Sonora, who sat at a table
reading.

"You got the newspaper, I see," she observed. "But you, Trin,
I'm sorry you ain't got nothin'," she added, with a sad, little
smile.

"So long!" hollered The Pony Express at that moment; whereupon,
Ashby rushed over to the door and called after him:

"Pony Express, I want you!" Satisfied that his command had been
heard he retraced his footsteps and found Handsome peering eagerly
over Sonora's shoulder.

"So, Sonora, you've got a newspaper," Handsome was saying.

"Yes, but the infernal thing's two months old," returned the
other disgustedly.

Handsome laughed, and wheeling round was just in time to see the
door flung open and a young fellow advance towards Ashby.

The Pony Express was a young man of not more than twenty years
of age. He was smooth-faced and unshaven and, needless to say, was
light of build, for these riders were selected for their weight as
well as for their nerve. He wore a sombrero, a buckskin
hunting-shirt, tight trousers tucked into high boots with spurs,
all of which were weather-beaten and faded by wind, rain, dust and
alkali. A pair of Colt revolvers could be seen in his holsters, and
he carried in his hands, which were covered with heavy gloves, a
mail pouch—it being the company's orders not to let
his 
muchilo
 of heavy leather out of his hands
for a second.

"You drop mail at the greaser settlement?" inquired Ashby in his
peremptory and incisive manner.

"Yes, sir," quickly responded the young man; and then
volunteered: "It's a tough place."

Ashby scrutinised the newcomer closely before going on with:

"Know a girl there named Nina Micheltoreña?"

But before The Pony Express had time to reply the Girl
interposed scornfully:

"Nina Micheltoreña? Why, they all know 'er! She's one o' them
Cachuca girls with droopy, Spanish eyes! Oh, ask the boys about
'er!" And with that she started to leave the room, stopping on her
way to clap both Trinidad and Sonora playfully on the back. "Yes,
ask the boys about 'er, they'll tell you!" And so saying she fled
from the room, followed by the men she was poking fun at.

"Hold her letters, you understand?" instructed Ashby who, with
the Sheriff, was alone now with The Pony Express.

"Yes, sir," he replied earnestly. A moment later there being no
further orders forthcoming he hastily took his leave.

Ashby now turned his attention to Rance.

"Sheriff," said he, "to-night I expect to see this Nina
Micheltoreña either here or at The Palmetto."

Rance never raised an eyebrow.

"You do?" he remarked a moment later with studied carelessness.
"Well, the boys had better look to their watches. I met that lady
once."

Ashby shot him a look of inquiry.

"She's looking to that five thousand reward for Ramerrez," he
told him.

Rance's interest was growing by leaps and bounds though he
continued to riffle the cards.

"What? She's after that?"

"Sure thing. She knows something…" And having delivered himself
of this Ashby strode over to the opposite side of the room where
his coat and hat were hanging upon an elk horn. While putting them
on he came face to face with the Girl who, having merely glanced in
at the dance-hall, was returning to take up her duties behind the
bar. "Well, I'll have a look at that greaser up the road," he said,
addressing her, and then went on half-jocularly, half-seriously:
"He may have his eye on the find in that stocking."

"You be darned!" was the Girl's parting shot at him as he went
out into the night.

There was a long and impressive pause in which, apparently, the
Sheriff was making up his mind to speak of matters scarcely
incident to the situation that had gone before; while fully
conscious that she was to be asked to give him an answer—she whose
answer had been given many times—the Girl stood at the bar in an
attitude of amused expectancy, and fussing with things there. At
length, Rance, glancing shyly over his shoulder to make sure that
they were alone, became all at once grave and his voice fell soft
and almost caressingly.

"Say, Girl!"

The young woman addressed stole a look at him from under her
lashes, all the while smiling a wise, little smile to herself, but
not a word did she vouchsafe in reply.

Again Rance called to her over his shoulder:

"I say, Girl!"

The Girl took up a glass and began to polish it. At last she
deigned to favour him with "Hm?" which, apparently, he did not
hear, for again a silence fell upon them. Finally, unable to bear
the suspense any longer, the Sheriff threw down his cards on the
table, and facing her he said:

"Say, Girl, will you marry me?"

"Nope," returned the Girl with a saucy toss of the head.

Rance rose and strode over to the bar. Looking fixedly at her
with his steely grey eyes he demanded the reason.

"'Cause you got a wife in Noo Orleans—or so the mountain breezes
say," was her ready answer.

Rance gave no sign of having heard her. Throwing away the cigar
he was smoking he asked in the most nonchalant manner:

"Give me some of them cigars—my kind."

Reaching for a box behind her the Girl placed it before him.

"Them's your kind, Jack."

From an inside pocket of his broadcloth coat Rance took out an
elaborate cigar-case, filled it slowly, leaving out one cigar which
he placed between his lips. When he had this one going
satisfactorily he rested both elbows on the edge of the bar, and
said bluntly:

"I'm stuck on you."

The Girl's lips parted a little mockingly.

"Thank you."

Rance puffed away for a moment or two in silence, and then with
sudden determination he went on:

"I'm going to marry you."

"Think so?" questioned the Girl, drawing herself up proudly. And
while Rance proceeded to relight his cigar, it having gone out, she
plumped both elbows on the bar and looked him straight in the eye,
and announced: "They ain't a man here goin' to marry me."

The scene had precisely the appearance of a struggle between two
powerful wills. How long they would have remained with elbows
almost touching and looking into each other's eyes it is difficult
to determine; but an interruption came in the person of the
barkeeper, who darted in, calling: "One good cigar!"

Instantly the Girl reached behind her for the box containing the
choicest cigars, and handing one to Nick, she said:

"Here's your poison—three bits. Why look at 'em," she went on in
the next breath to Rance; "there's Handsome with two wives I know
of somewhere East. And—" She broke off short and ended with: "Nick,
who's that cigar for?"

"Tommy," he told her.

"Here, give that back!" she cried quickly putting out her hand
for it. "Tommy don't know a good cigar when he's smokin' it." And
so saying she put the choice cigar back in its place among its
fellows and handed him one from another box with the remark: "Same
price, Nick."

Nick chuckled and went out.

"An' look at Trin with a widow in Sacramento. An' you—" The Girl
broke off short and laughed in his face. "Oh, not one o' you
travellin' under your own name!"

"One whisky!" ordered Nick, coming into the room with a rush.
Without a word the Girl took down a bottle and poured it out for
him while he stood quietly looking on, grinning from ear to ear.
For Rance's weakness was known to him as it was to every other man
in Manzaneta County, and he believed that the Sheriff had taken
advantage of his absence to press his hopeless suit.

"Here you be!" sang out the Girl, and passed the glass over to
him.

"He wants it with water," returned Nick, with a snicker.

With a contemptuous gesture the Girl put the bottle back on the
shelf.

"No—no you don't; no fancy drinks here!" she objected.

"But he says he won't take it without water," protested Nick,
though there was a twinkle in his eye. "He's a fellow that's jest
rode in from The Crossin', so he says."

The Girl folded her arms and declared in a tone of finality:

"He'll take it straight or git."

"But he won't git," contended Nick chuckling. There was an
ominous silence. Such behaviour was without a parallel in the
annals of Cloudy. For much less than this, as the little barkeeper
very well knew, many a man had been disciplined by the Girl. So,
with his eyes fixed upon her face, he was already revelling in the
situation by way of anticipation, and rejoicing in the coming
requital for his own rebuff when the stranger had declined to leave
as ordered. It was merely a question of his waiting for the words
which would, as he put it, "take the fellow down a peg." They were
soon forthcoming.

"You jest send 'im to me," commanded the Girl. "I'll curl his
hair for him!"

Nick's face showed that the message was to his liking. It was
evident, also, that he meant to lose no time in delivering it. A
moment after he disappeared, Rance, who had been toying with a
twenty dollar gold piece which he took from his pocket, turned to
the Girl and said with great earnestness: