Nan of Music Mountain Part 21

"Perhaps his salary had better be raised," conceded Jeffries reflectively.

"I figure," pursued Lefever, "that he has already saved the company fifty thousands in depredations during the next year or two. The Calabasas gang is busted for five years--they would eat out of his hand--isn't that so, Bob?"

"The Calabasas gang, yes; not the Morgans."

John's eyes opened on Scott with that solemnity he could a.s.sume to bolster a baldly unconvincing statement. "Not now, Bob. Not now, I admit; but they will."

Scott only smiled. "What do you make out of the way he acts?"

persisted Lefever, resenting his companion's incredulity.

"I can't make anything of it," premised Bob, "except that he has something on his mind. If you'll tell me what happened from the time he jumped through the window at Calabasas till he walked into his room that night at the barn, I'll tell you what he's thinking about."

"What do you mean, what happened?"

"Henry left some things out of his story."

"How do you know?"

"I heard him tell it."

Jeffries, acting without delay on the suspicion that de Spain was getting ready to resign, raised his salary. To his surprise, de Spain told him that the company was already paying him more than he was worth and declined the raise; yet he took n.o.body whomsoever into his confidence.

However, the scent of something concealed in de Spain's story had long before touched Lefever's own nostrils, and he was stimulated by mere pride to run the secret down. Accordingly, he set himself to find, in a decent way, something in the nature of an explanation.

De Spain, in the interval, made no progress in his endeavor to see Nan. The one man in the country who could have surmised the situation between the two--the barn boss, McAlpin--if he entertained suspicions, was far too pawky to share them with any one.

When two weeks had pa.s.sed without de Spain's having seen Nan or having heard of her being seen, the conclusion urged itself on him that she was either ill or in trouble--perhaps in trouble for helping him; a moment later he was laying plans to get into the Gap to find out.

Nothing in the way of a venture could be more foolhardy--this he admitted to himself--nothing, he consoled himself by reflecting, but something stronger than danger could justify it. Of all the motley Morgan following within the mountain fastness he could count on but one man to help him in the slightest degree--this was the derelict, Bull Page. There was no choice but to use him, and he was easily enlisted, for the Calabasas affair had made a heroic figure of de Spain in the barrooms. De Spain, accordingly, lay in wait for the old man and intercepted him one day on the road to Sleepy Cat, walking the twenty miles patiently for his whiskey.

"You must be the only man in the Gap, Bull, that can't borrow or steal a horse to ride," remarked de Spain, stopping him near the river bridge.

Page pushed back the broken brim of his hat and looked up. "You wouldn't believe it," he said, imparting a cheerful confidence, "but ten years ago I had horses to lend to every man 'tween here and Thief River." He nodded toward Sleepy Cat with a wrecked smile, and by a dramatic chance the broken hat brim fell with the words: "They've got 'em all."

"Your fault, Bull."

"Say!" Up went the broken brim, and the whiskied face lighted with a shaking smile, "you turned some trick on that Calabasas crew--some fight," Bull chuckled.

"Bull, is old Duke Morgan a Republican?"

Bull looked surprised at the turn of de Spain's question, but answered in good faith: "Duke votes 'most any ticket that's agin the railroad."

"How about picking a couple of good barnmen over in the Gap, Bull?"

"What kind of a job y'got?"

"See McAlpin the next time you're over at Calabasas. How about that girl that lives with Duke?"

Bull's face lighted. "Nan! Say! she's a little hummer!"

"I hear she's gone down to Thief River teaching school."

"Came by Duke's less'n three hours ago. Seen her in the kitchen makin'

bread."

"They're looking for a school-teacher down there, anyway. Much sickness in the Gap lately, Bull?"

"On'y sickness I knowed lately is what you're responsible for y'self,"

retorted Bull with a grin. "Pity y' left over any chips at all from that Calabasas job, eh?"

"See McAlpin, Bull, next time you're over Calabasas way. Here"--de Spain drew some currency from his pocket and handed a bill to Page.

"Go get your hair cut. Don't talk too much--wear your whiskers long and your tongue short."

"Right-o!"

"You understand."

"Take it from old Bull Page, he's a world's wonder of a sucker, but he knows his friends."

"But remember this--you don't know me. If anybody knows you for a friend of mine, you are no good to me. See?"

Bull was beyond expressing his comprehension in words alone. He winked, nodded, and screwed his face into a thousand wrinkles. De Spain, wheeling, rode away, the old man blinking first after him, and then at the money in his hand. He didn't profess to understand everything in the high country, but he could still distinguish the princ.i.p.al figures at the end of a bank-note. When he tramped to Calabasas the next day to interview McAlpin he received more advice, with a strong burr, about keeping his own counsel, and a little expense money to run him until an opening presented itself on the pay-roll.

But long before Bull Page reached Calabasas that day de Spain had acted. When he left Bull at the bridge, he started for Calabasas, took supper there, ordered a saddle-horse for one o'clock in the morning, went to his room, slept soundly and, shortly after he was called, started for Music Mountain. He walked his horse into the Gap and rode straight for Duke Morgan's fortress. Leaving the horse under a heavy mountain-pine close to the road, de Spain walked carefully but directly around the house to the east side. The sky was cloudy and the darkness almost complete. He made his way as close as he could to Nan's window, and raised the soft, crooning note of the desert owl.

After a while he was able to distinguish the outline of her cas.e.m.e.nt, and, with much patience and some little skill remaining from the boyhood days, he kept up the faint call. Down at the big barn the chained watch-dog tore himself with a fury of barking at the intruder, but mountain-lions were common in the Gap, and the noisy sentinel gained no credit for his alarm. Indeed, when the dog slackened his fierceness, de Spain threw a stone over his way to encourage a fresh outburst. But neither the guardian nor the intruder was able to arouse any one within the house.

Undeterred by his failure, de Spain held his ground as long as he dared. When daybreak threatened, he withdrew. The following night he was in the Gap earlier, and with renewed determination. He tossed a pebble into Nan's open window and renewed his soft call. Soon, a light flickered for an instant within the room and died out. In the darkness following this, de Spain thought he discerned a figure outlined at the cas.e.m.e.nt. Some minutes later a door opened and closed. He repeated the cry of the owl, and could hear a footstep; the next moment he whispered her name as she stood before him.

"What is it you want?" she asked, so calmly that it upset him. "Why do you come here?"

Where he stood he was afraid of the sound of her voice, and afraid of his own. "To see you," he said, collecting himself. "Come over to the pine-tree."

Under its heavy branches where the darkness was most intense, he told her why he had come--because he could not see her anywhere outside.

"There is nothing to see me about," she responded, still calm. "I helped you because you were wounded. I was glad to see you get away without fighting--I hate bloodshed."

"But put yourself in my place a little, won't you? After what you did for me, isn't it natural I should want to be sure you are well and not in any trouble on my account?"

"It may be natural, but it isn't necessary. I am in no trouble. No one here knows I even know you."

"Excuse me for coming, then. I couldn't rest, Nan, without knowing something. I was here last night."

"I know you were."

He started. "You made no sign."

"Why should I? I suspected it was you. When you came again to-night I knew I should have to speak to you--at least, to ask you not to come again."