Nevada (1995) (48 page)

Hettie complied, with emotions changing, rising again in a flood
,
new, bewildering, looming darkly to threaten her with panic.

Marvie rode right upon her before halting.

"Say, you look like the devil!" he ejaculated, with anxiou
s
concern.

"Marv, that's the way I feel," replied Hettie.

Rose joined them, to crowd her pony close, eager yet shy, with eye
s
alight and lips parted. "Oh, Miss Hettie!" she cried, rapturously.

"Marvie's brought me to you. I--I'll never go back--to th
e
brakes."

"My dear, you're welcome to my home," returned Hettie, warmly
,
leaning to kiss the flushed face.

"Hettie, you've seen a ghost--the same ghost I seen," declare
d
Marvie, shrewdly.

"Oh, Marvie lad--a ghost indeed!" moaned Hettie. "Nevada! . . .

He just left me--to--to kill Dillon!"

"No news to me," shouted Marvie, fiercely. "I've got to se
e
that. . . . Fetch Rose. But go round. Keep away from th
e
corrals."

The last he delivered over his shoulder as he urged his horse int
o
the trail and beat him into a run. In a moment he passed out o
f
sight among the pines. The swift patter of hoofs died away.

"Come, Rose--ride," suddenly cried Hettie, with a start, strikin
g
her horse.

The spirited animal, unused to that, broke into a gallop, and the
n
a run. Hettie looked back. The girl was close behind, her hai
r
flying in the wind, her face flashing. Her pony was fast and sh
e
could ride. Hettie turned her attention to the trail and the lo
w
branches of pines and the obstructing brush. Soon she was flyin
g
at a tremendous gait through the forest. The speed, the violenc
e
added to her agitation.

Where the trail emerged from the pines, to drop down on the sag
e
and cedar slope adjacent to the ranch land, Hettie turned her hors
e
and kept to the top of the slope. Soon she passed Nevada's bi
g
black horse grazing on the sage. Her heart took a great burstin
g
leap. "An' shore sunset for me!" Nevada's words of resignatio
n
and sadness rang in her ears like bells of doom.

Suddenly she imagined she heard a shot. She turned her ear to th
e
left. Another! A gun-shot--then two sharp cracks, clear on th
e
breeze. She reeled in her saddle. Almost she put her horse at th
e
ranch fence. But she kept on in wild flight, forgetting Rose
,
clutching with left hand at her breast, where uncertainty augmente
d
to supreme agony.

Her fast horse, keen at the freedom afforded him, swept on as in
a
race, on by the corrals and gardens, up over the low bench, an
d
through the woods to her cabin, where her mother stood wavin
g
frantically from the porch. Hettie rode on, over the swayin
g
bridge, into the shady green glade before Ben's house.

Here she pulled her iron-jawed horse to a snorting halt. She sa
w
men running. She heard Rose's pony come clattering over th
e
bridge. Then Marvie's horse appeared over the rise of groun
d
toward the corral. What breakneck speed! How he thundered up th
e
drive!

One sight of Marvie's flashing face answered Hettie. She coul
d
have screamed in her frenzy. Marvie reached her at the moment Ros
e
came up. His horse reared and pounded. Marvie jerked him dow
n
with powerful arm, and closed with Hettie.

"Nevada's down there--handcuffed!" he whispered, pantingly.

"Dillon's dead! . . . Oh, there'll be--hell now! . . . But not
a
word from--you an' Rose!"

The boy's heated face, the horses, Rose so white and rapt, th
e
running riders, the houses and the pines--all blurred in Hettie'
s
sight. She had to fight fiercely to recover. She felt the girl'
s
strong hand on her, steadying her in the saddle. The deadl
y
faintness passed. Her eyes cleared and her breast lifted to giv
e
rein to a tumult there.

Ben and Judge Franklidge were striding out to meet the runnin
g
cowboys.

"Judge, I told you I heard shots," Ben was saying. "Somethin'
s
happened!"

"Seems like. But don't let it upset you," replied the judge.

"There's Marvie. . . . Has he gone loco?" exclaimed Ben, in amaze
,
as the boy, riding wildly, scattered the men coming up the slope.

"By thunder! Ben," replied Franklidge, suddenly espying Hettie an
d
Rose, as they rode in upon the lawn.

At that juncture the first cowboys reached Ben to blurt out:

"Boss, Jim Lacy's here! He just killed Dillon."

"Wha--at?" shouted Ben, incredulously.

As the cowboy repeated his news Raidy arrived at the head of thre
e
more of Ben's hands, and all began to jabber pantingly.

"One at a time," ordered Ben, harshly. "What the hell's wrong?

Raidy!"

The old foreman drew himself up steadily, though with heavin
g
breast.

"Boss, I have to report--Dillon's been killed--Jim Lacy!"

Ben Ide leaped straight up in sudden ungovernable fury. His fac
e
turned dusk red. He clenched his fists high above his head.

"On my own place?" he thundered.

"Yes, sir. Right on the cook-house porch."

"Dillon dead?"

"He is indeed, sir," replied Raidy. "Lacy shot him through th
e
middle--then put out his right eye."

"Murder!" gasped Ben.

"Not much! . . . It was an even break. Lacy dropped out of th
e
clouds, seems like. Dillon was game, sir, an' quick--but not quic
k
enough."

"Killed! My best man," rasped out Ben, stridently. "Where's thi
s
Jim Lacy?"

"He's sittin' on the cook-house porch," replied Raidy.

"Handcuffed, sir. . . . The sheriffs put him in irons."

Ben cracked a hard fist into his palm. "They got him, then. . . .

Judge Franklidge, I knew we'd land that gunman-rustler."

"Ide, it's a little embarrassing to know what to do with this--thi
s
Jim Lacy--now we've got him," replied the judge, dryly.

"Damn him! I'll show you."

"An', boss," interrupted Raidy, "Tom Day has rid in with hi
s
outfit. They wanted to lynch Lacy. But Tom roared at them like
a
mad bull. Reckon you'd better hurry down."

Ina came running from the house. "Ben, what--in the--world'
s
happened?" she asked, in alarm.

"Ina, it's all over, so don't get scared," returned Ben. "Dillo
n
has been shot by that bloody devil, Jim Lacy. Why, the man must b
e
insane! Comin' here to carry out his queer feud! Right at my bac
k
door!"

"Dillon? Is--is he dead?" asked Ina, fearfully.

"Yes, ma'am," interposed Raidy, touching his sombrero.

"Oh, how dreadful!" Then Ina caught sight of Hettie and Rose. Sh
e
ran to them. "Hettie, isn't it awful? That Dillon! I wonder. . . .

You look sort of wild, Hettie. Who's this girl with you?"

"Rose Hatt. Marvie's friend," replied Hettie, bending down. "Oh
,
Ina, I've--"

Ben, striding away with his men, turned to call out, "Ina, sta
y
back, an' keep those girls with you!"

"But why can't I come, too?" burst out Ina.

"No place for women," he returned, curtly. "There's one dead ma
n
now an' soon there'll be another."

Ina halted with a revulsion of feeling too strong for curiosity.

"Hettie, we mustn't go," she said.

"Listen, old girl. Chucks for Ben Ide. There's not enough men i
n
Arizona to keep me away," declared Hettie, wildly. Then she ben
t
down over Ina to whisper. "Jim Lacy is Nevada!"

Ina put a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. Then she gasped
,
"No!"

"Yes! I've known it for long. And I MET him today. . . .

O God! . . . But I--I can't talk now. Come."

Hettie, with Rose on her left, rode at the heels of the stridin
g
men. Ina ran beside Hettie, clinging to the stirrup, looking u
p
now and then with dark bright eyes.

They traversed the short lane to enter the wide square, on th
e
other side of which stood the quarters of the ranch hands. Ther
e
were ten or more saddle horses standing bridles down. Hettie'
s
startled sight included a dark group of men massed in front of th
e
cook-house. There! Nevada must be there--soon to be confronted b
y
Ben. How terrible for Ben--for both of them! Hettie's stat
e
became one of palpitating suspense, of nerve-racking torture. Ye
t
an overwhelming, incomprehensible curiosity consumed her.

They reached the crowd of cowboys and men strange to Hettie, som
e
of whom faced around.

"Open up here," shouted Ben, in a loud hard voice. "Sprea
d
out. . . . Let me see this man."

The crowd split in a hurry, leaving a wide V-shaped space, at th
e
apex of which sat the prisoner on the edge of the porch. The dea
d
man lay on the ground, covered with a blanket.

Hettie recognized Nevada, though his head was bowed and hi
s
sombrero hid his face. His hands, in irons, hung over his knees.

What a strange, pathetic figure! Hettie's sore heart failed her.

What mystery was here? The moment seemed charged with indefinabl
e
and profound portent.

Macklin, the Winthrop sheriff, beaming and bristling with hi
s
importance, advanced a stride, with pompous gesture.

"Wal, Mr. Ide, here's your man. I've got him in irons," he boomed.

Ben advanced, his gaze passing from the dead man on the ground t
o
the slumping prisoner.

"Jim Lacy," he called, sternly.

There was no movement from Nevada, except that he seemed t
o
contract. Nobody else stirred. The air was fraught with tragi
c
suggestion, with inscrutable meaning that yet transfixed th
e
onlookers.

"Lacy, I'm goin' to hang you!" rang out Ben Ide.

Still no response from this notorious gunman, whose daring, whos
e
cold nerve, had long been a subject for campfire gossip.

"Stand up. Let me look at you," ordered Ben, suddenly.

With a violent wrench the prisoner jerked out of his dejecte
d
posture, to slip off the porch and stand erect. He ducked hi
s
head, removing the sombrero, which fell to the ground. Compose
d
and pale then he faced his judge.

Ben Ide seemed struck by lightning.

"My God! . . . Who--is this--man?" he faltered, almost inaudibly.

There was no answer. The crowd of onlookers gazed spellbound.

"WHO ARE YOU?"

"Wal, Ben, I'm shore sorry we met this heah way," came the reply
,
in the old slow cool accents. "But I reckon it had to be."

"NEVADA!"

With the hoarse wondering cry, Ben leaped forward to clasp his ol
d
friend in a close embrace and hold him so a long moment.