The Girl of the Golden West (22 page)

"You bet they died hard!" cut in Trinidad, rolling his eyes
upward in a comical imitation of the Indians.

"Land of the Pilgrim's pride,
 From every mountain side
 Let freedom ring."

All the while the Indians were singing the last lines of the
hymn the Girl's face was a study in reminiscent dreams, but when
they had finished and were leaving the room, she came back to
earth, as it were, and clapped her hands, an appreciation which
brought forth from Wowkle a grateful "Huh!"

"I would like to read you a little verse from a book of poems,"
presently went on the teacher; and when the men had given her their
attention, she read with much feeling:

"'No star is ever lost we once have seen,
 We always may be what we might have been.'"

"Why, what's the matter?" inquired Sonora, greatly moved at the
sight of the tears which, of a sudden, began to run down the
teacher's cheeks.

"Why, what's—?" came simultaneously from the others, words
failing them.

"Nothin', nothin', only it jest came over me that I'll be
leavin' you soon," stammered the Girl. "How can I do it? How can I
do it?" she wailed.

Sonora gazed at her unbelievingly.

"Do what?" he said.

"What did she say?" questioned Trinidad.

Now Sonora went over to her, and asked:

"What d'you say? Why, what's the matter?"

Slowly the Girl raised her head and looked at him through
half-closed lids, the tears that still clung to them, blinding her
almost. Plainly audible in the silence of the room the seconds
ticked away on the clock, and still she did not speak; at last she
murmured:

"Oh, it's nothin', nothin', only I jest remembered I've promised
to leave Cloudy soon an', p'r'aps, we might never be together
again—you an' me an' The Polka. Oh, it took me jest like that when
I seen your dear, ol' faces, your dear, plucky, ol' faces an'
realised that—" She could not go on, and buried her face in her
hands, her glistening blonde head shaking with her sobs.

It was thus that the Sheriff, entering a moment later, found
her. Without a word he resumed his seat in front of the fire.

Sonora continued to stare blankly at her. He was too dazed to
speak, much less to think. He broke silence slowly.

"What—you leavin' us?"

"Leavin' us?" inquired Happy, incredulously.

"Careful, girl, careful," warned Nick, softly.

The Girl hesitated a moment, and then went recklessly on:

"It's bound to happen soon."

Sonora looked more puzzled than ever; he rested his hand upon
her desk as if to support himself, and said:

"I don't quite understand. Great Gilead! We done anythin' to
offend you?"

"Oh, no, no, no!" she hastened to assure him, at the same time
letting her hand rest upon his.

But this explanation did not satisfy Sonora. Anxious to discover
what she had at heart he went on sounding:

"Tired of us? Ain't we got style enough for you?"

The Girl did not answer; her breathing, swift and short,
painfully intensified the hush that had fallen on the room; at
last, the boys becoming impatient began to bombard her with
questions.

"Be you goin' to show them Ridge boys we've petered out an'
culture's a dead dog here?" began Happy, rising.

"Do you want them to think Academy's busted?" asked
Handsome.

"Ain't we your boys no more?" put in Trinidad, wistfully.

"Ain't I your boy?" asked Sonora, sentimentally. "Why, what is
it, Girl? Has anybody—tell me—perhaps—"

The Girl raised her head and dried her eyes; when she spoke one
could have heard a pin drop.

"Oh, no, no, no," she said with averted face, and added
tremulously: "There, we won't say no more about it. Let's forgit
it. Only when I go away I want to leave the key o' my cabin with
Old Sonora here, an' I want you all to come up sometimes, an' to
think o' me as the girl who loved you all, an' sometimes is wishin'
you well, an' I want to think o' little Nick here runnin' my bar
an' not givin' the boys too much whisky." Her words died away in a
sob and her head fell forward, her hand, the while, resting upon
Nick's shoulder.

At last, Sonora saw what lay beneath her tears; the situation
was all too clear to him now.

"Hold on!" he cried hoarsely. "There's jest one reason for the
Girl to leave her home an' friends—only one: There must be some
fellow away from here that she—that she likes better 'n she does
any of us." And turning once more upon the Girl, he demanded
excitedly: "Is that it? Speak!"

The Girl raised her tear-stained face and looked him in the
eye.

"Likes—" she repeated with a world of meaning in her voice—"in a
different way, yes."

"Well, so help me!" ejaculated Happy, unhappily, while Sonora,
with head bent low, went over to his seat.

The next moment the boys of the front rows had joined those of
the rear and were grouping themselves together to discuss the
situation.

"Sure you ain't makin' a mistake?" Trinidad questioned
suddenly.

The Girl came down from her seat on the platform and went over
to them.

"Mistake," she repeated dreamily. "Oh, no, no, no, boys, there's
no mistake about this. Oh, Trin!" she burst out tearfully, and two
soft arms crept gently about his neck. "An' Sonora—Ah, Sonora!" She
raised herself on her tiny toes and kissed him on the left
cheek.

The next instant she was gone.

Whatever may be said to the contrary, there are few more
humiliating moments in a man's life than when he learns that some
other person has supplanted him in the affections of his adored
one. And it was the Girl's knowledge of this, together with her
desire to spare the feelings of her two old admirers,—for in her
nature there was ever that thoughtfulness of others which never
permitted her to do a mean thing to anyone,—that had caused her to
flee so precipitously from the room.

But painful as was their humiliation as they stood in silence,
gazing with saddened faces at the door through which the Girl had
gone out, their cup of bitterness was not yet full. The next moment
the Sheriff, his lips curled inscrutably, said mockingly:

"Well, boys, the right man has come at last. Take your medicine,
gentlemen."

His words cut Sonora to the quick, and it was with difficulty
that he braced himself to hear the worst.

"Who's the man?" he inquired gruffly.

The Sheriff's eyes fastened themselves upon him; at length with
deadly coldness he drawled out:

"Johnson's the man."

All the colour went out of Sonora's face, while his lips
ejaculated:

"Gol A'mighty!"

"You lie!" blazed Trinidad in the next breath, and made a quick
movement towards the Sheriff.

But Rance was not to be denied. Seeing Nick advancing towards
them he called upon him to verify his words; but that individual
merely looked first at one and then the other and did not answer,
which silence infuriated Sonora.

"Why, you tol' me…?" he said with an angry look in his eye.

"Tol' you, Sonora? Why he tol' me the same thing," protested
Trinidad with an earnestness that, at any other time, would have
sent his listeners into fits of laughter.

This was too much for Sonora; he flew into a paroxysm of
rage.

"Well, for a first-class liar…!"

"You bet!" corroborated Trinidad, relapsing, despite his anger,
into his pet phrase.

For some minutes the dejected suitors continued in this strain,
now arguing and then condoling with one another, the boys,
meanwhile, proceeding to clear the school-room of the benches,
casks and planks, lifting or rolling them back into place as if
they were made of paper.

All of a sudden Sonora's face cleared perceptibly. Turning
swiftly to the sheriff, who sat tilted back in a chair before the
fire, he said with unexpected cheerfulness of voice:

"Why, Johnson's dead. He got away, an'—"

"Yes, he got away," remarked Rance, dully, shaking the ashes
from his cigar, which answer, together with the peculiar look which
Sonora saw on the other's face, made him at once suspicious that
something was being held back from them which they had a right to
know. It came about, therefore, that, with a hasty movement towards
the Sheriff, his eyes glaring, his voice husky, Sonora
demanded:

"Jack Rance, I call on you as Sheriff for Johnson! He was in
your county."

Instantly the cry was taken up by the others, but it was
Trinidad who, shaking his fist in Rance's face, supplemented:

"You hustle up an' run a bridle through your p'int o' teeth or
your boom for re-election 's over, you lily-fingered gambler!"

But the Sheriff did not move a muscle, though after a moment he
answered coolly:

"Oh, I don't know as I give a damn…!" Which reply, to say the
least, was somewhat disconcerting to the men who had surrounded him
and were eyeing him threateningly.

"No talk—we want Johnson," insisted Trinidad, hotly.

"We want Johnson," echoed the crowd in low, tense voices, their
fists clenched.

And still Rance did not waver, but calmly puffing sway at his
long, black cigar he looked blankly into space. Presently a voice
outside calling, "Boys!" sounded throughout the room and brought
him back to actuality. He sat straight up in his chair while Nick,
shifting uneasily about on his feet, muttered:

"Why, that's Ashby!"

"Oh, if—" began the Sheriff and stopped. The next instant the
Wells Fargo Agent, a cool, triumphant look on his face, stood
framed in the doorway. With a hasty movement towards him Rance
asked tensely: "Did you get him?"

The answer came back, almost before the question was asked:

"Yes—we've got him."

"Not Johnson?" demanded Sonora, truculently.

"Yes, Johnson," affirmed the Wells Fargo Agent with a hard
laugh, his eyes the while upon Handsome, who, unaided, was lifting
a heavy cask to a bench nearby.

"Not alive?" questioned Trinidad, unwilling to trust his own
ears.

"You bet!" was Ashby's sententious confirmation, at which
pandemonium broke loose, Nick alone appearing dejected and
morose-looking. For his love and devotion to the Girl were too
genuine to permit of his taking any part whatsoever in what he
believed was opposed to her happiness. On the other hand, Rance, as
may be inferred, was inwardly rejoicing, though when he perceived
that Nick was eyeing him steadily he was careful to lower his eyes
lest the little barkeeper should see the triumph shining beneath
them. And, finally, unable to bear Nick's scrutiny any longer, he
explained with a feeble attempt at self-defence:

"Well, I didn't do it, Nick, I didn't do it." But a moment
later, his face hard and set, he added: "Now he be damned! There's
an end of Johnson!"

The words were hardly out of his mouth, however, than Johnson,
his arms bound, followed by the Deputy, strode into the room with
the courage of one who has long faced death, and stood before the
men who glared at him with fire in their eyes and murder in their
hearts.

"How do you do, Mr. Johnson. I think, Mr. Johnson, five minutes
will do for you." Rance gave to the words a peculiar accent and
inflection, but this caused the prisoner to look even more composed
and calm than before; he returned crisply:

"I think so."

"So this is the gentleman the Girl loves?" Sonora's face wore a
cruel grin as he stood with arms folded leering at the
prisoner.

The biting humour of the thought appealed to Rance, and he
smiled grimly to himself.

"That's the gentleman"—he was saying when a voice outside broke
in upon his words with:

"Nick! Boys! Boys!"

"It's the Girl!" cried Nick in dismay, at the same time rushing
over to the door to intercept her; while Ashby, desirous of
preventing any communication between the Girl and the prisoner took
up a position between them—unnecessary precautions, since the Girl
had no intention of re-entering the room, but wished merely to say
that she had forgotten that it was recess and that the boys might
have one drink.

At the sound of her voice Johnson paled. He listened to her
retreating steps, then turning towards Nick he asked him to lock
the door.

"Why, the devil…!" objected the Sheriff, angrily.

"Please," urged the prisoner with such a look of entreaty in his
eyes that Nick could not find it in his heart to deny him, and went
forthwith to the door and locked it.

"Why, you—" began Sonora with a hurried movement towards the
prisoner.

"You keep out of this, Sonora," enjoined the Sheriff, coming
forward to take a hand in the proceedings. "I handle the rope—pick
the tree…"

"Then hurry…" said Sonora, impatiently, while Trinidad
interposed with his usual, "You bet!"

"One moment," said the prisoner as the miners started to go out;
and, strange to relate, the Sheriff ordered the men to halt.
Turning once more to the prisoner, he said:

"Be quick—what is it?"

"It is true," began the unfortunate road agent in an even,
unemotional voice, "that I love the Girl."

At these words Rance's arms flew up threateningly, while a
mocking smile sprang to his lips.

"Well, you won't in a minute," he reminded him grimly.

The taunt brought no change of expression to the prisoner's face
or change of tone in his voice as he went on to say that he did not
care what they did to him; that he was prepared for anything; and
that every man who travelled the path that he did faced death every
day for a drink of water or ten minutes' sleep, concluding
calmly:

"You've got me and I wouldn't care but for the Girl."

"You've got just three minutes!" A shade almost of contempt was
in Sonora's exclamation.

"Yes…!" blazed Trinidad.

There was an impressive silence; then in a voice that trembled
strangely between pride and humility Johnson continued:

"I don't want her to know my end. Why, that would be an awful
thought for her to go on with all her life—that I died out
there—near at hand. Why, boys, she couldn't stay here after
that—she couldn't…"

"That's understood," replied Rance, succinctly.

"I'd like her to think," went on the prisoner, with difficulty
choking back the tears, "that I got away clear and went East and
changed my way of living. So you just drag me a good ways from here
before you—" He stopped abruptly and began to swallow nervously.
When he spoke again it was with a perceptible change of manner.
"And when I don't write and she never hears why she will say, 'he's
forgotten me,' and that will be about enough for her to remember,
because she loved me before she knew what I was—and you can't
change love in a minute."

All the while Johnson had been speaking the Sheriff's jealousy
had been growing steadily until, finally, turning upon the other
with a succession of oaths he struck him a fierce blow in the
face.

"I don't blame you," returned the prisoner without a trace of
malice in his voice. "Strike me again—strike me—one death is not
enough for me. Damn me—I wish you could… Oh, why couldn't I have
let her pass! I'm sorry I came her way—but it's too late now, it's
too late…"

Rance, not in the least affected by what the prisoner had been
saying, asked if that was his last word.

Johnson nodded.

Trinidad, simultaneously with his nod, snapped his finger,
indicating that the prisoner's time was up.

"Dep!" called the Sheriff, sharply.

The Deputy came forward and took his prisoner in charge.

"Good-bye, sir!" said Nick, who was visibly affected.

"Good-bye!" returned the prisoner, briefly. "You tell the
Girl—no, come to think of it, Nick, don't say anything…"

"Come on, you!" ordered Happy.

Whereupon with a shout and an imprecation the men removed en
masse to the door.

"Boys," intervened Nick at this juncture, rushing into their
midst, "when Alliger was hanged Rance let 'im see his sweetheart. I
think, considerin' as how she ain't goin' to see no more o' Mr.
Johnson here, an' knowin' the Girl's feelin's—well, I think she
ought to have a chance to—"

Nick was not allowed to finish, for instantly the men were up in
arms raising a most vigorous objection to his proposal; but,
notwithstanding, Nick, evidently bent upon calling the Girl,
started for the door.

"No," objected Rance, obstinately.

The road agent took a step forward and, turning upon the Sheriff
with a desperately hopeless expression upon his face, he said:

"Jack Rance, there were two of us—I've had my chance. Inside of
ten minutes I'll be dead and it will be all your way. Couldn't you
let me—"

He paused, and ended almost piteously with:

"Oh, I thought I'd have the courage not to ask, but, Oh,
couldn't you let me—couldn't you—"

Once more Nick intervened by shrewdly prevaricating:

"Here's the Girl, boys!"

But this ruse of Nick's met with no greater success than his
previous efforts, for Rance, putting his foot down heavily upon the
stove, voiced a vigorous protest.

"All right," said the prisoner, resignedly. Nevertheless, his
face reflected his disappointment. Turning now to Nick he thanked
him for his efforts in his behalf.

"You must excuse Rance," remarked the little barkeeper with a
significant look at the Sheriff, "for bein' so small a man as to
deny the usual courtesies, but he ain't quite himself."

Weary of their cavilling, for he believed that in the end the
Sheriff would carry his point, and determined to go before his
courage failed him, Johnson made a movement towards the door.
Speaking bravely, though his voice trembled, he said:

"Come, boys—come."

But, odd as it may seem, Nick's words had taken root.

"Wait a minute," Rance temporised.

The prisoner halted.

"I don't know that I'm so small a man as to deny the usual
courtesies, since you put it that way," continued Rance. "I always
have extended them. But we'll hear what you have to say—that's our
protection. And it might interest some of us to hear what the Girl
will have to say to you, Mr. Johnson—after a week in her cabin
there may be more to know than—"

Fire leapt to Johnson's eyes; he cried hoarsely—

"Stop!"

"Rance, you don't know what you're sayin'," resented Nick,
casting hard looks at him; while Sonora put a heavy hand upon the
Sheriff and threatened him with:

"Now, Rance, you stop that!"

"We'll hear every word he has to say," insisted the Sheriff,
doggedly.

"You bet!" affirmed Trinidad.

"Nick! Nick!" called the Girl once more, and while the little
barkeeper went over to admit her the Wells Fargo Agent took his
leave, calling back after him:

"Well, boys, you've got him safe—I can't wait—I'm off!"

"Dep, untie the prisoner! Boys, circle round the bar! Trin, put
a man at that door! And Sonora, put a couple of men at those
windows!" And so swift were the men in carrying out his
instructions, that even as he spoke, everyone was at his post, the
Sheriff himself and Sonora remaining unseen but on guard at the
doors, while the prisoner, edging up close to the door, was not in
evidence when the Girl entered.

"You can think of something to tell her—lie to her," had been
the Sheriff's parting suggestion.