The Girl of the Golden West (11 page)

"Ashby!" The road agent started in alarm.

"Ashby—" reiterated Castro and stopped on seeing that Nick had
returned to see that all was well.

"All right, Nick, everything's all right," Johnson reassured
him.

The outlaw's position remained unchanged until Nick had
withdrawn. From where he stood he now saw for the first time the
preparations that were being made for his capture: the red
torchlights and white candle-lighted lanterns which were reflected
through the windows; and a moment more he heard the shouts of the
miners calling to one another. Of a sudden he was aroused to a
consciousness, at least, of their danger by Castro's warning:

"By to-morrow's twilight you must be safe in your rancho."

The road agent shook his head determinedly.

"No, we raid on."

Castro was visibly excited.

"There are a hundred men on your track."

Johnson smiled.

"Oh, one minute's start of the devil does me, Jose."

"Ah, but I fear the woman—Nina Micheltoreña—I fear her terribly.
She is close at hand—knowing all, angry with you, and jealous—and
still loving you."

"Loving me? Oh, no, Jose! Nina, like you, loves the spoils, not
me. No, I raid on…"

A silence fell upon the two men, which was broken by Sonora
calling out:

"Bring along the greaser, Dep!"

"All right!" answered the loud voice of the Deputy.

"You hear—we start," whispered Castro to his master. "Give the
signal." And notwithstanding, the miners were coming through the
door for him and stood waiting, torches in hand, he contrived to
finish: "Antonio awaits for it. Only the woman and her servant will
stay behind here."

"Adios!" whispered the master.

"Adios!" returned his man simultaneously with the approach of
the Deputy towards them.

It was then that the Girl's gay, happy voice floated in on them
from the dance-hall; she cried out:

"Good-night, boys, good-night! Remember me to The Ridge!"

"You bet we will! So long! Whoop! Whooppee!" chorussed the men,
while the Deputy, grabbing the Mexican by the collar, ordered him
to, "Come on!"

The situation was not without its humorous side to the road
agent; he could not resist following the crowd to the door where he
stood and watched his would-be captors silently mount; listened to
the Sheriff give the word, which was immediately followed by the
sound of horses grunting as they sprang forward into the darkness
in a desperate effort to escape the maddening pain of the
descending quirts and cruel spurs. It was a scene to set the blood
racing through the veins, viewed in any light; and not until the
yells of the men had grown indistinct, and all that could be heard
was the ever-decreasing sound of rushing hoofs, did the outlaw turn
back into the saloon over which there hung a silence which, by
contrast, he found strangely depressing.

There was a subtle change, an obvious lack of warmth in
Johnson's manner, which the Girl was quick to feel upon returning
to the now practically deserted saloon.

"Don't it feel funny here—kind o' creepy?" She gave the words a
peculiar emphasis, which made Johnson flash a quick, inquisitorial
look at her; and then, no comment being forthcoming, she went on to
explain: "I s'pose though that's 'cause I don't remember seein' the
bar so empty before."

A somewhat awkward silence followed, which at length was broken
by the Girl, who ordered:

"Lights out now! Put out the candle here, too, Nick!" But while
the little barkeeper proceeded to carry out her instructions she
turned to Johnson with an eager, frank expression on her face, and
said: "Oh, you ain't goin', are you?"

"No—not yet—no—" stammered Johnson, half-surprisedly,
half-wonderingly.

The Girl's face wore a pleased look as she answered:

"Oh, I'm so glad o' that!"

Another embarrassing silence followed. At last Nick made a
movement towards the window, saying:

"I'm goin' to put the shutters up."

"So early? What?" The Girl looked her surprise.

"Well, you see, the boys are out huntin' Ramerrez, and there's
too much money here…" said Nick in a low tone.

The Girl laughed lightly.

"Oh, all right—cash in—but don't put the head on the keg—I ain't
cashed in m'self yet."

Rolling the keg to one side of the room, Nick beckoned to the
Girl to come close to him, which she did; and pointing to Johnson,
who was strolling about the room, humming softly to himself, he
whispered:

"Say, Girl, know anythin' about—about him?"

But very significant as was Nick's pantomime, which included the
keg and Johnson, it succeeded only in bringing forth a laugh from
the Girl, and the words:

"Oh, sure!"

Nevertheless, the faithful guardian of the Girl's interests sent
a startled glance of inquiry about the room, and again asked:

"All right, eh?"

The Girl ignored the implication contained in the other's
glance, and answered "Yep," in such a tone of finality that Nick,
reassured at last, began to put things ship-shape for the night.
This took but a moment or two, however, and then he quietly
disappeared.

"Well, Mr. Johnson, it seems to be us a-keepin' house here
to-night, don't it?" said the Girl, alone now with the road
agent.

Her observation might easily have been interpreted as purposely
introductory to an intimate scene, notwithstanding that it was made
in a thoroughly matter-of-fact tone and without the slightest trace
of coquetry. But Johnson did not make the mistake of misconstruing
her words, puzzled though he was to find a clue to them. His
curiosity about her was intense, and it showed plainly in the voice
that said presently:

"Isn't it strange how things come about? Strange that I should
have looked everywhere for you and in the end find you here—at The
Polka."

Johnson's emphasis on his last words sent a bright red rushing
over her, colouring her neck, her ears and her broad, white
forehead.

"Anythin' wrong with The Polka?"

Johnson was conscious of an indiscreet remark; nevertheless he
ventured:

"Well, it's hardly the place for a young woman like you."

The Girl made no reply to this but busied herself with the
closing-up of the saloon. Johnson interpreted her silence as a
difference of opinion. Nevertheless, he repeated with emphasis:

"It is decidedly no place for you."

"How so?"

"Well, it's rather unprotected, and—"

"Oh, pshaw!" interrupted the Girl somewhat irritably. "I tol'
Ashby only to-night that I bet if a rud agent come in here I could
offer 'im a drink an' he'd treat me like a perfect lady." She
stopped and turned upon him impulsively with: "Say, that reminds
me, won't you take somethin'?"

Before answering, Johnson shot her a quick look of inquiry to
see whether there was not a hidden meaning in her words. Of course
there was not, the remark being impelled by a sudden consciousness
that he might consider her inhospitable. Nevertheless, her going
behind the bar and picking up a bottle came somewhat as a relief to
him.

"No, thank you," at last he said; and then as he leaned heavily
on the bar: "But I would very much like to ask you a question."

Instantly, to his great surprise, the Girl was eyeing him with
mingled reproach and coquetry. So he was going to do it! Was it
possible that he thought so lightly of her, she wondered. With all
her heart she wished that he would not make the same mistake that
others had.

"I know what it is—every stranger asks it—but I didn't think you
would. You want to know if I am decent? Well, I am, you bet!" she
returned, a defiant note creeping into her voice as she uttered the
concluding words.

"Oh, Girl, I'm not blind!" His eyes quailed before the look that
flamed in hers. "And that was not the question."

Instinctively something told the Girl that the man spoke the
truth, but notwithstanding which, she permitted her eyes to express
disbelief and "Dear me suz!" fell from her lips with an odd little
laugh. On the other hand, Johnson declined to treat the subject
other than seriously. He had no desire, of course, to enlarge upon
the unconventionality of her attitude, but he felt that his
feelings towards her, even if they were only friendly, justified
him in giving her a warning. Moreover, he refused to admit to
himself that this was a mere chance meeting. He had a
consciousness, vague, but nevertheless real that, at last, after
all his searching, Fate had brought him face to face with the one
woman in all the world for him. Unknown to himself, therefore,
there was a sort of jealous proprietorship in his manner towards
her as he now said:

"What I meant was this: I am sorry to find you here almost at
the mercy of the passer-by, where a man may come, may drink, may
rob you if he will—" and here a flush of shame spread over his
features in spite of himself—"and where, I daresay, more than one
has laid claim to a kiss."

The Girl turned upon him in good-natured contempt.

"There's a good many people claimin' things they never git. I've
got my first kiss to give."

Once more a brief silence fell upon them in which the Girl
busied herself with her cash box. She was not unaware that his eyes
were upon her, but she was by no means sure that he believed her
words. Nor could she tell herself, unfortunately for her peace of
mind, that it made no difference to her.

"Have you been here long?" suddenly he asked.

"Yep."

"Lived in The Polka?"

"Nope."

"Where do you live?"

"Cabin up the mountain a little ways."

"Cabin up the mountain a little ways," echoed Johnson,
reflectively. The next instant the little figure before him had
faded from his sight and instead there appeared a vision of the
little hut on the top of Cloudy Mountain. Only a few hours back he
had stood on the precipice which looked towards it, and had felt a
vague, indefinable something, had heard a voice speak to him out of
the vastness which he now believed to have been her spirit calling
to him.

"You're worth something better than this," after a while he
murmured with the tenderness of real love in his voice.

"What's better'n this?" questioned the Girl with a toss of her
pretty blonde head. "I ain't a-boastin' but if keepin' this saloon
don't give me sort of a position 'round here I dunno what
does."

But the next moment there had flashed through her mind a new
thought concerning him. She came out from behind the bar and
confronted him with the question:

"Look 'ere, you ain't one o' them exhorters from the
Missionaries' Camp, are you?"

The road agent smiled.

"My profession has its faults," he acknowledged, "but I am not
an exhorter."

But still the Girl was nonplussed, and eyed him steadily for a
moment or two.

"You know I can't figger out jest exactly what you are?" she
admitted smilingly.

"Well, try…" he suggested, slightly colouring under her
persistent gaze.

"Well, you ain't one o' us."

"No?"

"Oh, I can tell—I can spot my man every time. I tell you,
keepin' saloon's a great educator." And so saying she plumped
herself down in a chair and went on very seriously now: "I dunno
but what it's a good way to bring up girls—they git to know things.
Now," and here she looked at him long and earnestly, "I'd trust
you."

Johnson was conscious of a guilty feeling, though he said as he
took a seat beside her:

"You would trust me?"

The Girl nodded an assent and observed in a tone that was
intended to be thoroughly conclusive:

"Notice I danced with you to-night?"

"Yes," was his brief reply, though the next moment he wondered
that he had not found something more to say.

"I seen from the first that you were the real article."

"I beg your pardon," he said absently, still lost in
thought.

"Why, that was a compliment I handed out to you," returned the
Girl with a pained look on her face.

"Oh!" he ejaculated with a faint little smile.

Now the Girl, who had drawn up her chair close to his, leaned
over and said in a low, confidential voice:

"Your kind don't prevail much here. I can tell—I got what you
call a quick eye."

As might be expected Johnson flushed guiltily at this remark. No
different, for that matter, would have acted many a man whose
conscience was far clearer.

"Oh, I'm afraid that men like me prevail—prevail, as you
say,—almost everywhere," he said, laying such stress on the words
that it would seem almost impossible for anyone not to see that
they were shot through with self-depreciation.

The Girl gave him a playful dig with her elbow.

"Go on! What are you givin' me! O' course they don't…!" She
laughed outright; but the next instant checking herself, went on
with absolute ingenuousness: "Before I went on that trip to
Monterey I tho't Rance here was the genuine thing in a gent, but
the minute I kind o' glanced over you on the road I—I seen he
wasn't." She stopped, a realisation having suddenly been borne in
upon her that perhaps she was laying her heart too bare to him. To
cover up her embarrassment, therefore, she took refuge, as before,
in hospitality, and rushing over to the bar she called to Nick to
come and serve Mr. Johnson with a drink, only to dismiss him the
moment he put his head through the door with: "Never mind, I'll
help Mr. Johnson m'self." Turning to her visitor again, she said:
"Have your whisky with water, won't you?"

"But I don't—" began Johnson in protest.

"Say," interrupted the Girl, falling back into her favourite
position of resting both elbows on the bar, her face in her hands,
"I've got you figgered out. You're awful good or awful bad." A
remark which seemed to amuse the man, for he laughed heartily.

"Now, what do you mean by that?" presently he asked.

"Well, I mean so good that you're a teetotaller, or so bad that
you're tired o' life an' whisky."

Johnson shook his head.

"On the contrary, although I'm not good, I've lived and I've
liked life pretty well. It's been bully!"

Surprised and delighted with his enthusiasm, the Girl raised her
eyes to his, which look he mistook—not unnaturally after all that
had been said—for one of encouragement. A moment more and the
restraint that he had exercised over himself had vanished
completely.

"So have you liked it, Girl," he went on, trying vainly to get
possession of her hand, "only you haven't lived, you haven't
lived—not with your nature. You see I've got a quick eye, too."

To Johnson's amazement she flushed and averted her face.
Following the direction of her eyes he saw Nick standing in the
door with a broad grin on his face.

"You git, Nick! What do you mean by…?" cried out the Girl in a
tone that left no doubt in the minds of her hearers that she was
annoyed, if not angry, at the intrusion.

Nick disappeared into the dance-hall as though shot out of a
gun; whereupon, the Girl turned to Johnson with:

"I haven't lived? That's good!"

Johnson's next words were insinuating, but his voice was cold in
comparison with the fervent tones of a moment previous.

"Oh, you know!" was what he said, seating himself at the poker
table.

"No, I don't," contradicted the Girl, taking a seat opposite
him.

"Yes, you do," he insisted.

"Well, say it's an even chance I do an' an even chance I don't,"
she parried.

Once more the passion in the man was stirring.

"I mean," he explained in a voice that barely reached her, "life
for all it's worth, to the uttermost, to the last drop in the cup,
so that it atones for what's gone before, or may come after."

The Girl's face wore a puzzled look as she answered:

"No, I don't believe I know what you mean by them words. Is it
a—" She cut her sentence short, and springing up, cried out: "Oh,
Lord—Oh, excuse me, I sat on my gun!"

Johnson looked at her, genuine amusement depicted on his
face.

"Look here," said the Girl, suddenly perching herself upon the
table, "I'm goin' to make you an offer."

"An offer?" Johnson fairly snatched the words out of her mouth.
"You're going to make me an offer?"

"It's this," declared the Girl with a pleased look on her face.
"If ever you need to be staked—"

Johnson eyed her uncomprehendingly.

"Which o' course you don't," she hastened to add. "Name your
price. It's yours jest for the style I git from you an' the
deportment."

"Deportment? Me?" A half-grin formed over Johnson's face as he
asked the question; then he said: "Well, I never heard before that
my society was so desirable. Apart from the financial aspect of
this matter, I—"