Langford of the Three Bars Part 26

Sometimes, she had thought he might care,-that day crossing the river for instance; but he was so reserved-he never said-and it was much, much better that he did not care, now that she was going away and would never come back. There was nothing in all the world that could make her come back to this big, bleak, lonesome land where she belonged to n.o.body. But she was sorry for him. He looked sad and lonely. He didn't belong to anybody here, either, yet he wasn't going to run away as she was. Well, but he was a man, and men were different.

And now she noticed that his head had sunk down onto his arms. How still he sat! The minutes pa.s.sed away. Still he sat motionless, his face buried.

It was dark. The yellow gleam streaming out of the window only served to make the surrounding darkness denser. The lamp on the table cast a pale circle immediately in front of the office. There was no other flicker of light on the street. Into this circle there moved a shadow. It retreated,-advanced again,-glided back into obscurity. Was it something alive, or did the moving of the lamp cause the shadows to thus skip about? But the lamp had not been moved. It burned steadily in the same position. The relaxed form of the unconscious man was still bent over the table. Nothing had changed within. Probably some dog locked out for the night had trotted within the radius of light. Maybe a cotton-tail had hopped into the light for a second. Louise did not know whether rabbits ever came into the town, but it was likely they did. It might have been one of the strayed cattle wandering about in search of food.

That was the most probable supposition of all. Of course it might have been only her imagination. The little pinch of fright engendered of the moving shadow and the eerie hour pa.s.sed away. Her eyes grew pensive again. How still it was! Had Gordon fallen asleep? He lay so quietly.

Had he grieved himself into slumber as a girl would do? No-men were not like that.

Ah! There was the moving shadow again! She caught her breath quickly.

Then her eyes grew wide and fixed with terror. This time the shadow did not slink away again. It came near the window, crouching. Suddenly, it stood up straight. Merciful Father! Why is it that a human being, a creature of reason and judgment, prowling about at unnatural hours, inspires ten-fold more terror to his kind than does a brute in like circ.u.mstances of time and place? Louise tried to scream aloud. Her throat was parched. A sudden paralysis held her speechless. It was like a nightmare. She writhed and fought desperately to shake herself free of this dumb horror. The cold damp came out on her forehead. Afterward she remembered that she knew the man and that it was this knowledge that had caused her nightmare of horror to be so unspeakably dreadful. Now she was conscious only of the awfulness of not being able to cry out. If she could only awaken Mary! The man lifted his arm. He had something in his hand. Its terrible import broke the spell of her speechlessness.

"Mary! Mary!"

She thought she shrieked. In reality, she gasped out a broken whisper; but it thrilled so with terror and pleading that Mary was awakened on the instant. She sprang out of bed. As her feet touched the floor, a pistol shot rang out, close by. She had been trained to quick action, and superb health left no room for cobwebs to linger in the brain when she was suddenly aroused. She had no need for explanations. The shot was enough. If more was needed, there was the lighted window across the way and here was Louise crouched before their own. Swiftly and silently, she seized her revolver from the bureau, glided to the window, and fired three times in rapid succession, the reports mingling with the sound of shattered gla.s.s.

"I think I hit him the second time, Louise," she said, with a dull calm.

"I can't be sure."

She lighted a lamp and began to dress mechanically. Louise stayed not to answer. In the hall, she encountered Paul Langford, just as another shot rang out.

"Go back, Miss Dale," he cried, hurriedly but peremptorily. "You mustn't come. I am afraid there has been foul play."

She looked at him. It hurt, that look.

"He is dead," she whispered, "I am going to him," and glided away from his detaining hand.

He hurried after her. Others had been aroused by the nearness of the pistol shots. Doors were thrown open. Voices demanded the meaning of the disturbance. Putting his arm around the trembling girl, Langford hastened across the street with her. At the door of Gordon's office, he paused.

"I will go in first, Louise. You stay here."

He spoke authoritatively; but she slipped in ahead of him. Her arms fell softly over the bowed shoulders. Her cheek dropped to the dark, gray-streaked hair. There was little change, seemingly. The form was only a little more relaxed, the att.i.tude only a little more helpless. It seemed as if he might have been sleeping. There was a sound, a faint drip, drip, drip, in the room. It was steady, monotonous, like drops falling, from rain pipes after the storm is over. Langford opened the door.

"Doc! Doc Lockhart! Some one send Doc over here quick! Gordon's office!

Be quick about it!" he cried, in a loud, firm voice. Then he closed the door and locked it. In response to his call, footsteps were heard running. The door was tried. Then came loud knocking and voices demanding admittance.

"No one can come in but Doc," cried Langford through the keyhole. "Send him quick, somebody, for G.o.d's sake! Where's Jim Munson? He'll get him here. Quick, I tell you!"

He hastened back to the side of his friend and pa.s.sed his hand gently over the right side to find the place whence came that heartbreaking drip. Disappointed in their desire to get in, men crowded before the window. Louise stepped softly forward and drew the blind between him and the ma.s.s of curious faces without. She was very pale, but quiet and self-possessed. She had rallied when Langford had whispered to her that Gordon's heart was still beating. The doctor rapped loudly, calling to Langford to open. Paul admitted him and then stepped out in full sight of all, his hand still on the k.n.o.b. The late moon was just rising. A faint light spread out before him.

"Boys," he cried, a great grief in his stern voice, "it's murder. d.i.c.k Gordon's murdered. Now get-you know what for-and be quick about it!"

They laid him gently on the floor, took off his coat, and cut away the blood soaked shirts. Louise a.s.sisted with deft, tender hands. Presently, the heavy lids lifted, the gray eyes stared vacantly for a moment-then smiled. Paul bent over him.

"What happened, old man?" the wounded man whispered gropingly. It required much effort to say this little, and a shadow of pain fell over his face.

"Hush, d.i.c.k, dear boy," said Langford, with a catch in his voice.

"You're all right now, but you mustn't talk. You're too weak. We are going to move you across to the hotel."

"But what happened?" he insisted.

"You were shot, you know, d.i.c.k. Keep quiet, now! I'm going for a stretcher."

"Am I done for?" the weak voice kept on. But there was no fear in it.

"You will be if you keep on talking like that"

Obeying a sign from the doctor, he slipped away and out. Gordon closed his eyes and was still for a long time. His face was white and drawn with suffering.

"Has he fainted?" whispered Louise.

The eyes opened quickly. They fell upon Louise, who had not time to draw away. The shadow of the old, sweet smile came and hovered around his lips.

"Louise," he whispered.

"Yes, it is I," she said, laying her hand lightly on his forehead. "You must be good until Paul gets back."

"I'm done for, so the rest of the criminal calendar will have to go over. You can go back to-G.o.d's country-sooner than you thought."

"I am not going back to-G.o.d's country," said Louise, unexpectedly. She had not meant to say it, but she meant it when she said it.

"Come here, close to me, Louise," said Gordon, in a low voice. He had forgotten the doctor. "You had better-I'll get up if you don't. Closer still. I want you to-kiss me before Paul gets back."

Louise grew whiter. She glanced hesitatingly at the doctor, timidly at the new lover in the old man. Then she bent over him where he lay stretched on the floor and kissed him on the lips. A great light came into his eyes before he closed them contentedly and slipped into unconsciousness again.

Langford rounded up Jim Munson and sent him across with a stretcher, and then ran up stairs for an extra blanket off his own bed. It was bitterly cold, and d.i.c.k must be well wrapped. On the upper landing, he encountered Mary alone. Something in her desolate att.i.tude stopped him.

"What's the matter, Mary," he demanded, seizing her hands.

"Nothing," she answered, dully. "How is he?"

"All right, I trust and pray, but hurt terribly, wickedly."

He did not quite understand. Did she love Gordon? Was that why she looked so heart-broken? Taking her face in his two hands, he compelled her to look at him straight.

"Now tell me," he said.

"Did I kill him?" she asked.

"Kill whom?"

"Why, him-Jesse Black."

Then he understood.

"Mary, my girl, was it you? Were those last shots yours?" All the riotous love in him trembled on his tongue.

"Did I?" she persisted.

"G.o.d grant you did," he said, solemnly. "There is blood outside the window, but he is gone."