The Crimson Gardenia and Other Tales of Adventure Part 40

That's a cinch!" He cast a worried glance over his shoulder and saw a hideous blanched face smile at him between a pair of red curtains. He glared back at the woman, and his cheeks grew hot. Meanwhile the little girl continued her unwinking examination.

She wore a ridiculous fur parka, scarcely larger than Daniels's cap, and tiny mukluks that made her legs look shorter and fatter than they were.

Her mittens were the littlest things he had ever seen and he was regarding them wonderingly when she amazed him by approaching and laying one in his hand.

Now, this frank and full declaration of friendship reduced Daniels to a helpless condition; he had never been more troubled in his life. He was vaguely frightened, and yet he thrilled in an unaccountable manner at the touch. He was half minded to withdraw his hand from his glove and retreat, leaving it in her possession, but thought again of these evil surroundings, and of the responsibility that had devolved upon him with her surrender. In the midst of his dumbness the young lady burst into a bubbling and intimate recital of her adventures, which doubtless would have been perfectly intelligible to her mother, but which left the discoverer of John Daniels Creek floundering for a translation.

He concealed his disgraceful ignorance by an easy a.s.sumption of understanding. He nodded, he winked, he grinned. He eyed the infinitesimal hand that lay in his, then gingerly removed his own glove the better to safeguard its treasure, whereupon the small mitten promptly closed over one of his big knuckled fingers. Daniels gasped and held his digit as rigid as a pick-handle. Escape was no longer possible.

Having finished her recital the tot burst into a funny gurgle which plainly established a deep and undying intimacy between them, then, like all maidens who have pledged their affections, she made plain her readiness to accompany her protector to the end of the world.

But the puppy held back and delayed progress as effectively as a ship's anchor, so, fearing to exert too great a strain upon his extended finger, Daniels gave the animal bodily into her embrace. One short arm encircled the dog's neck, whereupon, as if by habit, it limply resigned itself to misery. The three went slowly out of that sin-ridden place, the man dazed and delighted, the child loquacious and trustful, the puppy with lolling tongue and legs protruding stiffly.

Daniels had mastered many dialects in his time, from Chinook to Pidgin English, but to save himself he could make nothing out of this language.

Some words were plain, but they were lost in a bubbling flow of strange, moist, lisping articulations that left the general meaning obscure.

She answered all his questions eagerly, fully, and he acknowledged:

"She knows what she's sayin', all right, but I'm as rattled as a tenderfoot."

Nevertheless he derived a preposterous delight from this experience, until he realized that they were wandering aimlessly. Then thoughts of a possible encounter with a distracted parent filled him with such dismay that he appealed to the first woman he met.

"Lady! If you know where this baby lives--"

"Certainly I know."

"Then take her home. Her mother'll think I'm a kidnapper." Daniels perspired at the thought.

The woman laughingly accepted the responsibility of a full explanation, but as she lifted the child it turned up its face to Daniels, quite as a matter of course. The rosebud lips awaited him, yet he did not understand. He inquired, blankly:

"_Now_ what does she want?"

"A kiss. Don't you, dearie?"

"G.o.d'lmighty!" breathed the man. Then he lowered his bearded face.

He was trembling when the strangers had gone; he felt those moist baby lips against his and the sensation almost overcame him. He didn't like the woman's appearance, but she seemed tender-hearted and--there was no better way of insuring the safety of his little charge than to give her over.

But that kiss! It remained upon his lips more fragrant, more holy than anything he had ever conceived. It left him conscious of his own uncleanliness and shortcomings.

Still in a daze, he looked down at his index finger, which remained rigid; it was blue with the cold, but he felt nothing except the clasp of a tiny woolen mitt.

"_Well!_" he exploded. "I--don't _seem_ to be dreaming. She liked me--she must of--or she wouldn't of kissed me. She sure did, and I--G.o.d!

I'd trade Discovery for another one."

He felt no further interest in Arcadia; he thought only of the child and the amazing adventure that had come to him; he could think of nothing else during the afternoon. More than once he touched his lips timidly with his tongue and bared his hand to stare at his big finger.

When he had dined that evening he began a leisurely round of the saloons and gambling-halls, pausing in each to invite every one to drink, as befitted a man of wealth. He played, more or less, without knowing whether he won or lost, for his thoughts were directed in other and stranger channels.

The Elite was the most pretentious place of amus.e.m.e.nt in Arcadia and it was running full blast when he strolled in, late that night. The show was over in the theater, but a dance was going on. Beyond the people at the gambling-tables he saw swiftly moving figures and heard the caller's shouts through the rhythmic beat of the orchestra.

He looked on with some interest until he could engage the attention of a bartender, then said:

"Call everybody up for a drink."

When the fellow eyed him distrustfully he explained:

"I'm John Daniels."

He was amused at the instant, almost ludicrous change of expression, and at the alacrity with which the crowd responded to his invitation. They stampeded, the games were deserted, the "sleepers" roused themselves, even the dancers came trooping forth with his name upon their lips. The music ended discordantly and the musicians followed them. The long bar was lined six deep by people who elbowed one another for a glimpse of the famous John Daniels. Those who succeeded beheld a huge, grim-featured man, bearded to the cheek-bones, who seemed deaf to their remarks and heedless of their stares. His hair was long and gray, his eyes were small and bright and hard; he looked like a Mormon elder.

It took time to serve such an a.s.semblage, and during the delay Daniels stood motionless, vaguely resenting this curiosity. When the bartender said "All set!" he raised his gla.s.s and exclaimed, "Drink hearty!"

As the gla.s.s left his lips his eyes ran down the bar and along the bank of faces, clear to the end, where the dance-hall girls had squeezed themselves in. There they rested, and widened.

His hand fell heavily, crushing the gla.s.s beneath it, for facing him, clinging to the rail as if about to fall, stood his wife. Their eyes met fairly. Daniels saw in hers the first flaming light of recognition, then that expression of deathly terror that he remembered; he felt the floor sinking, saw the near-by figures whirling, heard the clamor die.

After his first start not a muscle of his face moved, but his eyes began slowly to search through the crowd as if for some one, and, seeing that, she understood. With a hand to her throat she groped her way blindly out of the crush, then made for the rear, but her knees forsook her and she paused, leaning against the wall. It never occurred to her that she might escape.

She knew without looking when he came toward her. He spoke in an emotionless tone, saying, "Come!" and she followed, half swooning--followed him up the stairs to the curtained boxes that ran round the gallery.

When they were alone, she faced him, managing to utter: "So! _You_--are John Daniels! They said you were dead."

She expected some violence--death, perhaps, but he only looked at her silently with an expression she could not read. She felt she must scream. She swayed, her eyes were filmed with terror.

"Well! Why don't you do it, McGill? Why don't you--?" she cried, hysterically.

"Where is Barclay?" he inquired.

"He's here--somewhere. We came three weeks ago--We--I didn't know--"

He saw that she was not the woman he had known: she was frail, broken; her fluttering hands were thin and bloodless; she had no spirit.

"So! He's got you working, eh? You're one of these--_rustlers_!"

"I had to do something. All I know is stage work."

"This ain't stage work!"

She nodded wearily. "He made me go the--limit."

"_Made_ you! Did you get a divorce?"

"N-no!"

Daniels cursed so harshly that she flinched, although she had long since grown accustomed to profanity. Then he turned away, but, reading murder in his face, she seized him with fingers that were like claws.

"Wait! Don't do that!"

"You love him, don't you?"