The Girl of the Golden West (13 page)

"Try to recall, Señor Ashby, what strangers were in The Polka
to-night?"

At these ominous words the men started and regarded each other
questioningly. Their keen and trained intelligences were greatly
distressed at being so utterly in the dark. For an instant, it is
true, the thought of the greaser that Ashby had brought in rose
uppermost in their minds, but only to be dismissed quickly when
they recalled the woman's words concerning the way that the road
agent was dressed. A moment more, however, and a strange thought
had fastened itself on one of their active minds—a thought which,
although persisting in forcing itself upon the Sheriff's
consideration, was in the end rejected as wholly improbable. But
who was it then? In his intensity Rance let his cigar go out.

"Ah!" at last he cried. "Johnson, by the eternal!"

"Johnson?" echoed Ashby, wholly at sea and surprised at the look
of corroboration in Nina's eyes.

"Yes, Johnson," went on Rance, insistently. Why had he not seen
at once that it was Johnson who was the road agent! There could be
no mistake! "You weren't there," he explained hurriedly, "when he
came in and began flirting with the Girl and—"

"Ramerrez making love to the Girl?" broke in Ashby. "Ye
Gods!"

"The Girl? So that's the woman he's after now!" Nina laughed
bitterly. "Well, she's not destined to have him for long, I can
tell you!" And with that she reached out for the bottle on the
table and poured herself a small glass of whisky and swallowed it.
When she turned her lips were tightly shut over her brilliant
teeth, a thousand thoughts came rushing into her brain. There was
no longer any compunction—she would strike now and deep. Through
her efforts alone the man would be captured, and she gloried in the
thought.

"Here—here is something that will interest you!" she said; and
putting her hand in her bosom drew out a soiled, faded photograph.
"There—that will settle him for good and all! Never again will he
boast of trifling with Nina Micheltoreña—with me, a Micheltoreña in
whose veins runs the best and proudest blood of California!"

Ashby fairly snatched the photograph out of her hand and, after
one look at it, passed it over to the Sheriff.

"Good of him, isn't it?" sneered Nina; and then seemingly trying
by her very vehemence to impress upon herself the impossibility of
his ever being anything but an episode in her life, she added: "I
hate him!"

The picture was indeed an excellent one. It represented Ramerrez
in the gorgeous dress of a 
caballero
—and the outlaw
was a fine specimen of that spectacular class of men. But Rance
studied the photograph only long enough to be sure that no mistake
was possible. With a quick movement he put it away in his pocket
and looked long and hard at the figure of the degraded woman
standing before him and revelling in her treachery. In that time he
forgot that anyone had ever entertained a kind thought about her;
he forgot that she once was respected as well as admired; he was
conscious only of regarding her with a far deeper disgust and
repugnance than he held towards others much her inferior in birth
and education. But, presently, his face grew a shade whiter, if
that were possible, and he cursed himself for not having thought of
the danger to which the Girl might even now be exposed. In less
than a minute, therefore, both men stood ready for the work before
them. But on the threshold just before going out into the fierce
storm that had burst during the last few minutes, he paused and
called back:

"You Mexican devil! If any harm comes to the Girl, I'll strangle
you with my own hands!" And not waiting to hear the woman's mocking
laughter he passed out, followed by Ashby, into the storm.

In the still black night and with no guide other than the
dimly-lighted lantern which she carried, the Girl had started for
home—a bit of shelter in the middle of a great silence, a little
fortress in the wilderness, as it were, with its barred doors and
windows—on the top of Cloudy Mountain. To be sure, it was not the
first time that she had followed the trail alone: Day and night,
night and day, for as long, almost, as she could remember, she had
been doing it; indeed, she had watched the alders, oaks and dwarf
pines, that bordered the trail, grow year by year as she herself
had grown, until now the whispering of the mountain's night winds
spoke a language as familiar as her own; but never before had she
climbed up into the clean, wide, free sweep of this unbounded
horizon, the very air untainted and limitless as the sky itself,
with so keen and uncloying a pleasure. But there was a new
significance attached to her home-coming to-night: was she not to
entertain there her first real visitor?

At the threshold of her cabin the Girl, her cheeks aglow and
eyes as bright, almost, as the red cape that enveloped her lithe,
girlish figure, paused, and swinging her lantern high above her
head so that its light was reflected in the room, she endeavoured
to imagine what would be the impression that a stranger would
receive coming suddenly upon these surroundings.

And well might she have paused, for no eye ever rested upon a
more conglomerate ensemble! Yet, withal, there was a certain
attractiveness about this log-built, low, square room, half-papered
with gaudy paper—the supply, evidently, having fallen short,—that
was as unexpected as it was unusual.

Upon the floor, which had a covering of corn sacks, were many
beautiful bear and wolf skins, Indian rugs and Navajo blankets;
while overhead—screening some old trunks and boxes neatly piled up
high in the loft, which was reached by a ladder, generally swung
out of the way—hung a faded, woollen blanket; from the opposite
corner there fell an old, patchwork, silk quilt. Dainty white
curtains in all their crispness were at the windows, and upon the
walls were many rare and weird trophies of the chase, not to
mention the innumerable pictures that had been taken from "Godey's
Lady Book" and other periodicals of that time. A little book-shelf,
that had been fashioned out of a box, was filled with old and
well-read books; while the mantel that guarded the fireplace was
ornamented with various small articles, conspicuous among which
were a clock that beat loud, automatic time with a brassy
resonance, a china dog and cat of most gaudy colours, a whisky
bottle and two tumblers, and some winter berries in a jar.

There were two pieces of furniture in the room, however, which
were placed with an eye to attract attention, and these the Girl
prized most highly: one was a homemade rocking-chair that had been
made out of a barrel and had been dyed, unsuccessfully, with indigo
blue, and had across its back a knitted tidy with a large,
upstanding, satin bow; the other was a homemade, pine wardrobe that
had been rudely decorated by one of the boys of the camp and in
which the Girl kept her dresses, and was piled up high towards the
ceiling with souvenirs of her trip to Monterey, including the
hat-boxes and wicker basket that had come well nigh to loading down
the stage on that memorable journey.

But it was upon her bed and bedroom fixings that the greatest
attempt at decoration had been made; partitioning off the room, as
it were, and at the same time forming a canopy about the bed, were
curtains of cheap, gaudy material, through the partings of which
there was to be had a glimpse of a daintily-made-up bed, whose
pillows were made conspicuous by the hand-made lace that trimmed
their slips, as was the bureau-cover, and upon which, in charming
disarray, were various articles generally included in a woman's
toilet, not to mention the numberless strings of coloured beads and
other bits of feminine adornment. A table standing in the centre of
the room was covered with a small, white cloth, while falling in
folds from beneath this was a faded, red cotton cover. The table
was laid for one, the charlotte "rusks" and "lemming"
turn-over—each on a separate plate—which Nick had been commissioned
to procure, earlier in the evening, from the Palmetto restaurant,
looming up prominently in the centre; and on another plate were
some chipped beef and biscuits. A large lamp was suspended from the
ceiling in the centre of the room and was quaintly, if not
grotesquely, shaded; while other lamps flanked by composition metal
reflectors concentrated light upon the Girl's bureau, the
book-shelf and mantel, leaving the remainder of the room in variant
shadow.

All in all, what with the fire that was burning cheerily in the
grate and the strong odour of steaming coffee, the room had a soft
glow and home-like air that was most inviting.

In that brief moment that the Girl stood in the doorway
reviewing her possessions, a multitude of expressions drifted
across her countenance, a multitude of possibilities thrilled
within her bosom. But however much she would have liked to analyse
these strange feelings, she resisted the inclination and gave all
her attention to the amusing scene that was being enacted before
her eyes.

For some time Billy Jackrabbit had been standing by the table
looking greedily down upon the charlotte russes there. He was on
the point of putting his finger through the centre of one of them
when Wowkle—the Indian woman-of-all-work of the cabin, who sat upon
the floor before the fire singing a lullaby to the papoose strapped
to its cradle on her back—turning suddenly her gaze in his
direction, was just in time to prevent him.

"Charlotte rusk—Palmetto rest'rant—not take," were her warning
words.

Jackrabbit drew himself up quickly, but he was furious at
interference from a source where it was wholly unexpected.

"Hm—me honest," he growled fiercely, flashing her a malignant
look.

"Huh?" was Wowkle's monosyllabic observation delivered in a
guttural tone.

All of a sudden, Jackrabbit's gaze was arrested by a piece of
paper which lay upon the floor and in which had been wrapped the
charlotte russes; he went over to it quickly, picked it up, opened
it and proceeded to collect on his finger the cream that had
adhered to it.

"Huh!" he growled delightedly, holding up his finger for
Wowkle's inspection. The next instant, however, he slumped down
beside her upon the floor, where both the man and the woman sat in
silence gazing into the fire. The man was the first to speak.

"Send me up—Polka. Say, p'haps me marry you—huh?" he said,
coming to the point bluntly.

Wowkle's eyes were glued to the fire; she answered dully:

"Me don't know."

There was a silence, and then:

"Me don't know," observed Jackrabbit thoughtfully. A moment
later, however, he added: "Me marry you—how much me get give
fatha—huh?"

Wowkle raised her narrowing eyes to his and told him with
absolute indifference:

"Huh—me don't know."

Jackrabbit's face darkened. He pondered for a long time.

"Me don't know—" suddenly he began and then stopped. They had
been silent for some moments, when at last he ventured: "Me give
fatha four dolla"—and here he indicated the number with his two
hands, the finger with the cream locking those of the other
hand—"and one blanket."

Wowkle's eyes dilated.

"Better keep blanket—baby cold," was her ambiguous answer.

Whereupon Jackrabbit emitted a low growl. Presently he handed
her his pipe, and while she puffed steadily away he fondled
caressingly the string of beads which she wore around her neck.

"You sing for get those?" he asked.

"Me sing," she replied dully, beginning almost instantly in
soft, nasal tones:

"My days are as um grass"—

Jackrabbit's face cleared.

"Huh!" he growled in rejoicement.

Immediately Wowkle edged up close to him and together they
continued in chorus:

"Or as um faded flo'r,
 Um wintry winds sweep o'er um plain,
 We pe'ish in um ho'r."

"But Gar," said the man when the song was ended, at the same
time taking his pipe away from her, "to-morrow we go
missionary—sing like hell—get whisky."

But as Wowkle made no answer, once more a silence fell upon
them.

"We pe'ish in um ho'r," suddenly repeated Jackrabbit,
half-singing, half-speaking the words, and rising quickly started
for the door. At the table, however, he halted and inquired: "All
right—go missionary to-morrow—get marry—huh?"

Wowkle hesitated, then rose, and finally started slowly towards
him. Half-way over she stopped and reminded him in a most apathetic
manner:

"P'haps me not stay marry to you for long."

"Huh—seven monse?" queried Jackrabbit in the same tone.

"Six monse," came laconically from the woman.

In nowise disconcerted by her answer, the Indian now asked:

"You come soon?"

Wowkle thought a moment; then suddenly edging up close to him
she promised to come to him after the Girl had had her supper.

"Huh!" fairly roared the Indian, his coal-black eyes glowing as
he looked at her.

It was at this juncture that the Girl, after hanging up her
lantern on a peg on the outer door, broke in unexpectedly upon the
strange pair of lovers.

Dumbfounded, the woman and the man stood gaping at her. Wowkle
was the first to regain her composure, and bending over the table
she turned up the light.

"Hello, Billy Jackrabbit!" greeted the Girl, breezily. "Fixed
it?"

"Me fix," he grunted.

"That's good! Now git!" ordered the Girl in the same happy tone
that had characterised her greeting.

Slowly, stealthily, Jackrabbit left the cabin, the two women,
though for different reasons, watching him go until the door had
closed behind him.

"Now, Wowkle," said the Girl, turning to her with a smile, "it's
for two to-night."

Wowkle's eyelashes twinkled up inquisitorially.

"Huh?"

"Yep."

Wowkle's eyes narrowed to pin-points.

"Come anotha? Never before come anotha," was her significant
comment.

"Never you mind." The Girl voiced the reprimand without the
twitching of an eyelid; and then as she hung up her cape upon the
wardrobe, she added: "Pick up the room, Wowkle!"

The big-hipped, full-bosomed woman did not move but stood in all
her stolidness gazing at her mistress like one in a dream;
whereupon the Girl, exasperated beyond measure at the other's
placidity, rushed over to her and shook her so violently that she
finally awakened to the importance of her mistress' request.

"He's comin' now, now; he's comin'!" the Girl was saying, when
suddenly her eyes were attracted to a pair of stockings hanging
upon the wall; quickly she released her hold on the woman and with
a hop, skip and a jump they were down and hid away in her bureau
drawer.

"My roses—what did you do with them, Wowkle?" she asked a trifle
impatiently as she fumbled in the drawer.

"Ugh!" grunted Wowkle, and pointed to a corner of the bureau
top.

"Good!" cried the Girl, delightedly, as she spied them. The next
instant she was busily engaged in arranging them in her hair,
pausing only to take a pistol out of her pocket, which she laid on
the edge of the bureau. "No offence, Wowkle," she went on
thoughtfully, a moment later, "but I want you to put your best foot
forward when you're waitin' on table to-night. This here company o'
mine's a man o' idees. Oh, he knows everythin'! Sort of a damme
style."

Wowkle gave no sign of having heard her mistress' words, but
kept right on tidying the room. Now she went over to the cupboard
and took down two cups, which she placed on the fireplace base. It
was while she was in the act of laying down the last one that the
Girl broke in suddenly upon her thoughts with:

"Say, Wowkle, did Billy Jackrabbit really propose to you?"

"Yep—get marry," spoke up Jackrabbit's promised wife without
looking up.

For some moments the Girl continued to fumble among her
possessions in the bureau drawer; at last she brought forth an
orange-coloured satin ribbon, which she placed in the Indian
woman's hands with her prettiest smile, saying:

"Here, Wowkle, you can have that to fix up for the weddin'."

Wowkle's eyes glowed with appreciation.

"Huh!" she ejaculated, and proceeded to wind the ribbon about
the beads around her neck.

Turning once more to the bureau, the Girl took out a small
parcel done up in tissue paper and began to unwrap it.

"I'm goin' to put on them, if I can git 'em on," she said,
displaying a pair of white satin slippers. The next instant she had
plumped herself down upon the floor and was trying to encase her
feet in a pair of slippers which were much too small for them.
"Remember what fun I made o' you when you took up with Billy
Jackrabbit?" suddenly she asked with a happy little smile. "What
for? sez I. Well, p'r'aps you was right. P'r'aps it's nice to have
someone you really care for—who belongs to you. P'r'aps they ain't
so much in the saloon business for a woman after all, and you don't
know what livin' really is until—" She stopped abruptly and threw
upon the floor the slipper that refused to give to her foot. "Oh,
Wowkle," she went on, taking up the other slipper, "it's nice to
have someone you can talk to, someone you can turn your heart
inside out to."

At last she had succeeded in getting into one slipper and,
rising, tried to stand in it; but it hurt her so frightfully that
she immediately sank down upon the floor and proceeded to pat and
rub and coddle her foot to ease the pain. It was while she was thus
engaged that a knock came upon her cabin door.