The Girl of the Golden West (17 page)

A glance at the photograph, which she fairly snatched out of his
hands, convinced the Girl of the truthfulness of his assertion.
With a movement of pain she threw it upon the floor, crying out
bitterly:

"Nina Micheltoreña! Nina Micheltoreña!" Turning to Ashby with an
abrupt change of manner she said contritely: "I'm sorry, Mr. Ashby,
I vouched for 'im."

The Wells Fargo Agent softened at the note in the Girl's voice;
he was about to utter some comforting words to her when suddenly
she spoke again.

"I s'pose they had one o' them little lovers' quarrels an' that
made 'er tell you, eh?" She laughed a forced little laugh, though
her heart was beating strangely as she kept on: "He's the kind o'
man who sort o' polkas with every girl he meets." And at this she
began to laugh almost hysterically.

Rance, who resented her apologising to anyone but himself, stood
scowling at her.

"What are you laughing at?" he questioned.

"Oh, nothin', Jack, nothin'," half-cried, half-laughed the Girl.
"Only it's kind o' funny how things come out, ain't it? Took in!
Nina Micheltoreña! Nice company he keeps—one o' them Cachuca girls
with eyelashes at half-mast!"

Once more, she broke out into a fit of laughter.

"Well, well," she resumed, "an' she sold 'im out for money! Ah,
Jack Rance, you're a better guesser'n I am!" And with these words
she sank down at the table in an apathy of misery. Horror and
hatred and hopelessness had possession of her. A fierce look was in
her eyes when a moment later she raised her head and abruptly
dismissed the boys, saying:

"Well, boys, it's gittin' late—good-night!"

Sonora was the first to make a movement towards the door.

"Come on, boys," he growled in his deep bass voice; "don't you
intend to let a lady go to bed?"

One by one the men filed through the door which Nick held open
for them; but when all but himself had left, the devoted little
barkeeper turned to the Girl with a look full of meaning, and
whispered:

"Do you want me to stay?"

"Me? Oh, no, Nick!" And with a "Good-night, all! Good-night,
Sonora, an' thank you! Good-night, Nick!" the Girl closed the door
upon them. The last that she heard from them was the muffled
ejaculation:

"Oh, Lordy, we'll never git down to Cloudy to-night!"

Now the Girl slid the bolts and stood with her back against the
door as if to take extra precautions to bar out any intrusion, and
with eyes that blazed she yelled out:

"Come out o' that, now! Step out there, Mr. Johnson!"

Slowly the road agent parted the curtains and came forward in an
attitude of dejection.

"You came here to rob me," at once began the Girl, but her anger
made it impossible for her to continue.

"I didn't," denied the road agent, quietly, his countenance
reflecting how deeply hurt he was by her words.

"You lie!" insisted the Girl, beside herself with rage.

"I don't—"

"You do!"

"I admit that every circumstance points to—"

"Stop! Don't you give me any more o' that Webster Unabridged.
You git to cases. If you didn't come here to steal you came to The
Polka to rob it, didn't you?"

Johnson, his eyes lowered, was forced to admit that such were
his intentions, adding swiftly:

"But when I knew about you—" He broke off and took a step
towards her.

"Wait! Wait! Wait where you are! Don't you take a step further
or I'll—" She made a significant gesture towards her bosom, and
then, laughing harshly, went on denouncingly: "A road agent! A road
agent! Well, ain't it my luck! Wouldn't anybody know to look at me
that a gentleman wouldn't fall my way! A road agent! A road agent!"
And again she laughed bitterly before going on: "But now you can
git—git, you thief, you imposer on a decent woman! I ought to have
tol' 'em all, but I wa'n't goin' to be the joke o' the world with
you behind the curtains an' me eatin' charlotte rusks an' lemming
turnovers an' a-polkyin' with a road agent! But now you can
git—git, do you hear me?"

Johnson heard her to the end with bowed head; and so scathing
had been her denunciations of his actions that the fact that pride
alone kept her from breaking down completely escaped his notice.
With his eyes still downcast be said in painful fragments:

"One word only—only a word and I'm not going to say anything in
defence of myself. For it's all true—everything is true except that
I would have stolen from you. I 
am
 called
Ramerrez; I 
have
 robbed;
I 
am
 a road agent—an outlaw by profession. Yes,
I'm all that—and my father was that before me. I was brought up,
educated, thrived on thieves' money, I suppose, but until six
months ago when my father died, I did not know it. I lived much in
Monterey—I lived there as a gentleman. When we met that day I
wasn't the thing I am to-day. I only learned the truth when my
father died and left me with a rancho and a band of thieves—nothing
else—nothing for us all, and I—but what's the good of going into
it—the circumstances. You wouldn't understand if I did. I was my
father's son; I have no excuse; I guess, perhaps, it was in me—in
the blood. Anyhow, I took to the road, and I didn't mind it much
after the first time. But I drew the line at killing—I wouldn't
have that. That's the man that I am, the blackguard that I am.
But—" here he raised his eyes and said with a voice that was
charged with feeling—"I swear to you that from the moment I kissed
you to-night I meant to change, I meant to—"

"The devil you did!" broke from the Girl's lips, but with a
sound that was not unlike a sob.

"I did, believe me, I did," insisted the man. "I meant to go
straight and take you with me—but only honestly—when I could
honestly. I meant to work for you. Why, every word you said to me
to-night about being a thief cut into me like a knife. Over and
over again I have said to myself, she must never know. And
now—well, it's all over—I have finished."

"An' that's all?" questioned the Girl with averted face.

"No—yes—what's the use…?"

The Girl's anger blazed forth again.

"But there's jest one thing you've overlooked explainin', Mr.
Johnson. It shows exactly what you are. It wasn't so much your
bein' a road agent I got against you. It's this:" And here she
stamped her foot excitedly. "You kissed me—you got my first
kiss."

Johnson hung his head.

"You said," kept on the Girl, hotly, "you'd ben thinkin' o' me
ever since you saw me at Monterey, an' all the time you walked
straight off an' ben kissin' that other woman." She shrugged her
shoulder and laughed grimly. "You've got a girl," she continued,
growing more and more indignant. "It's that I've got against you.
It's my first kiss I've got against you. It's that Nina
Micheltoreña that I can't forgive. So now you can git—git!" And
with these words she unbolted the door and concluded tensely:

"If they kill you I don't care. Do you hear, I don't care…"

At those bitter words spoken by lips which failed so utterly to
hide their misery, the Girl's face became colourless.

With the instinct of a brave man to sell his life as dearly as
possible, Johnson took a couple of guns from his pocket; but the
next moment, as if coming to the conclusion that death without the
Girl would be preferable, he put them back, saying:

"You're right, Girl."

The next instant he had passed out of the door which she held
wide open for him.

"That's the end o' that—that's the end o' that," she wound up,
slamming the door after him. But all the way from the threshold to
the bureau she kept murmuring to herself: "I don't care, I don't
care… I'll be like the rest o' the women I've seen. I'll give that
Nina Micheltoreña cards an' spades. There'll be another hussy
around here. There'll be—" The threat was never finished. Instead,
with eyes that fairly started out of their sockets, she listened to
the sound of a couple of shots, the last one exploding so loud and
distinct that there was no mistaking its nearness to the cabin.

"They've got 'im!" she cried. "Well, I don't care—I don't—" But
again she did not finish what she intended to say. For at the sound
of a heavy body falling against the cabin door she flew to it,
opened it and, throwing her arms about the sorely-wounded man,
dragged him into the cabin and placed him in a chair. Quick as
lightning she was back at the door bolting it.

With his eyes Johnson followed her action.

"Don't lock that door—I'm going out again—out there. Don't bar
that door," he commanded feebly, struggling to his feet and
attempting to walk towards it; but he lurched forward and would
have fallen to the floor had she not caught him. Vainly he strove
to break away from her, all the time crying out: "Don't you see,
don't you see, Girl—open the door." And then again with almost a
sob: "Do you think me a man to hide behind a woman?" He would have
collapsed except for the strong arms that held him.

"I love you an' I'm goin' to save you," the Girl murmured while
struggling with him. "You asked me to go away with you; I will when
you git out o' this. If you can't save your own soul—" She stopped
and quickly went over to the mantel where she took down a bottle of
whisky and a glass; but in the act of pouring out a drink for him
there came a loud rap on the window, and quickly looking round she
saw Rance's piercing eyes peering into the room. For an instant she
paled, but then there flashed through her mind the comforting
thought that the Sheriff could not possibly see Johnson from his
position. So, after giving the latter his drink, she waited quietly
until a rap at the door told her that Rance had left the window
when, her eye having lit on the ladder that was held in place on
the ceiling, she quickly ran over to it and let it down,
saying:

"Go up the ladder! Climb up there to the loft You're the man
that's got my first kiss an' I'm goin' to save you…"

"Oh, no, not here," protested Johnson, stubbornly.

"Do you want them to see you in my cabin?" she cried
reproachfully, trying to lift him to his feet.

"Oh, hurry, hurry…!"

With the utmost difficulty Johnson rose to his feet and catching
the rounds of the ladder he began to ascend. But after going up a
few rounds he reeled and almost fell off, gasping:

"I can't make it—no, I can't…"

"Yes, you can," encouraged the Girl; and then, simultaneously
with another loud knock on the door: "You're the man I love an' you
must—you've got to show me the man that's in you. Oh, go on, go on,
jest a step an' you'll git there."

"But I can't," came feebly from the voice above. Nevertheless,
the next instant he fell full length on the boarded floor of the
loft with the hand outstretched in which was the handkerchief he
had been staunching the blood from the wound in his side.

With a whispered injunction that he was all right and was not to
move on any account, the Girl put the ladder back in its place. But
no sooner was this done than on looking up she caught sight of the
stained handkerchief. She called softly up to him to take it away,
explaining that the cracks between the boards were wide and it
could plainly be seen from below.

"That's it!" she exclaimed on observing that he had changed the
position of his hand. "Now, don't move!"

Finally, with the lighted candle in her hand, the Girl made a
quick survey of the room to see that nothing was in sight that
would betray her lover's presence there, and then throwing open the
door she took up such a position by it that it made it impossible
for anyone to get past her without using force.

"You can't come in here, Jack Rance," she said in a resolute
voice. "You can tell me what you want from where you are."

Roughly, almost brutally, Rance shoved her to one side and
entered.

"No more Jack Rance. It's the Sheriff coming after Mr. Johnson,"
he said, emphasizing each word.

The Girl eyed him defiantly.

"Yes, I said Mr. Johnson," reiterated the Sheriff, cocking the
gun that he held in his hand. "I saw him coming in here."

"It's more 'n I did," returned the Girl, evenly, and bolted the
door. "Do you think I'd want to shield a man who tried to rob me?"
she asked, facing him.

Ignoring the question, Rance removed the glove of his weaponless
hand and strode to the curtains that enclosed the Girl's bed and
parted them. When he turned back he was met by a scornful look and
the words:

"So, you doubt me, do you? Well, go on—search the place. But
this ends your acquaintance with The Polka. Don't you ever speak to
me again. We're through."

Suddenly there came a smothered groan from the man in the loft;
Rance wheeled round quickly and brought up his gun, demanding:

"What's that? What's that?"

Leaning against the bureau the Girl laughed outright and
declared that the Sheriff was becoming as nervous as an old woman.
Her ridicule was not without its effect, and, presently, Rance
uncocked his gun and replaced it in its holster. Advancing now to
the table where the Girl was standing, he took off his cap and
shook it before laying it down; then, pointing to the door, his
eyes never leaving the Girl's face, he went on accusingly:

"I saw someone standing out there against the snow. I fired. I
could have sworn it was a man."

The Girl winced. But as she stood watching him calmly remove his
coat and shake it with the air of one determined to make himself at
home, she cried out tauntingly:

"Why do you stop? Why don't you go on—finish your search—only
don't ever speak to me again."

At that, Rance became conciliatory.

"Say, Min, I don't want to quarrel with you."

Turning her back on him the Girl moved over to the bureau where
she snapped out over her shoulder:

"Go on with your search, then p'r'aps you'll leave a lady to
herself to go to bed."