The Fighting Shepherdess Part 51

"Money! h.e.l.l! What's money good for to me? Money's only to blow after you've got enough to eat. What do you spose I want? I want you!"

"What do you mean?"

"Just that." An oath came between his clenched teeth. "I'm stuck on you!

I want you so I hate you, if you can understand that--and always have.

I'd like to take you off like a dog packs a bone away for himself. I've dealt you and your sheep all the misery I could, because every step you took up was just so far from me. What I've done," savagely, "is nothin'

to what I'll do when I git out of this, if you don't say yes."

Kate's face, that had gone scarlet, was a grayish white as she got up slowly from her knees.

Her breathing was labored as she demanded:

"You--mean--that--you'll--not--tell me anything more unless I do what you ask?"

"You got it right."

Kate's nerves and self-control gave way as a taut string snaps. In the center of a black disc she saw only the mocking eyes and evil face of Mullendore.

"I'm going to kill you, Pete! I'm--going--to choke you--to death!

You--shan't torment me--any more!"

Her strong hands were close to his throat while he shrank from the white fury in her face. Suddenly her arms dropped to her sides. Such a feeling of physical repulsion swept over her that she could not touch him even in her rage.

"Lost your nerve?" he mocked. "Old Pete wins again, eh, Kate?"

She did not answer but stepped out on the wagon tongue that the cool rain might patter in her face. Her knees were shaking beneath her and she felt nauseated--sick with a feeling of absolute defeat.

CHAPTER XXIII

WHEN THE BLACK SPOT HIT

Teeters moved in a mysterious way his wonders to perform.

Outwardly, there would seem to be no possible connection between his presence in the living room at Happy Wigwam making himself even more than ordinarily agreeable, and the confession he desired to wring from the murderer of Mormon Joe.

Years of "Duding," however, had given Teeters a confidence in himself and his diplomacy which would seem to be justified, for, as he rightly argued, "A man who can handle dudes can do anything."

Now, he knew that if he had come to Mrs. Taylor and bluntly asked the use of her supernatural gifts in Kate's behalf she would have refused him.

Kate had gone to Teeters in despair after her failure with Mullendore, hoping that he might have something to suggest which had not occurred to her. She had told him all that had happened, and among other things, that she knew now that the "breed" had negro blood in him.

"It probably accounts for his secret belief in an old-fashioned, brimstone h.e.l.l," she had added. "He denies it, of course, but I'm sure it's the one thing he's really afraid of."

The information had impressed Teeters.

"You go back and keep the varmit alive until I git there," he had advised her. "I got a black speck in my brain, and every time it hits the top of my head I get an idea--I think it's goin' to strike directly."

The present visit was evidence that it had done so. The situation was one which demanded all his subtlety, but what possible bearing the deep interest with which he was eying the garment Mrs. Taylor was repairing could have upon it, the most astute would have found it difficult to imagine.

The bifurcated article of wearing apparel was of outing flannel, roomy where amplitude was most needed, gathered at the waist with a drawstring, confined at the ankle by a deep ruffle--a garment of amazing ugliness.

"I suppose," Teeters ventured guilelessly, "them things is handier than skirts to git over fences and do ch.o.r.es in?" Then, with an antic.i.p.atory air, he waited.

He was not disappointed. Mrs. Taylor laid down her work and, throwing back her head, burst into laughter that was ringing, Homeric, reverberating through the house like some one shouting in a canyon. It continued until Teeters was alarmed lest he had overdone matters.

She subsided finally and, wiping her streaming eyes on a ruffle, shook a playful finger at him:

"Clarence, you are killing--simply killing!"

Teeters did not deny it. He had not yet recovered from the fear that he might be. But he had accomplished what he had intended--he had furnished Mrs. Taylor with the "one good laugh a day" which she declared her health and temperament demanded.

After a pensive silence Teeters looked up wistfully:

"I wonder if you and Miss Maggie would sing somethin'. I git a reg'lar cravin' to hear good music."

Mrs. Taylor laid down her work with a pleased expression.

"Certainly, Clarence. Is there anything in particular?"

"If it ain't too much trouble, I'd like, 'Oh, Think of the Home Over There.'"

"I'm delighted that your mind sometimes turns in that direction. I've sometimes feared, Clarence, that you were not religious."

Mr. Teeters looked pained at the suggestion.

"I don't talk about religion much," he replied earnestly, "but there's somethin' come up the last few days that set me thinkin' pretty serious."

Mrs. Taylor looked her curiosity.

"It's a turrible thing," Teeters wagged his head solemnly, "to see a feller layin' on his death-bed denyin' they's a Hereafter."

"Why, how dreadful! Who is it?"

"A sheepherder. He says they ain't no h.e.l.l--nor nothin'."

"The po-oo-or soul! Is there any way I could talk to him?"

"I was hopin' you'd say that, but I didn't like to ask you, seein' as he's a sheepherder."

"They're human beings, Clarence," reproved Mrs. Taylor.

"I've heerd that questioned," declared Teeters, "but anyhow, a person with a heart in him no bigger than a bullet would have to be sorry to see this feller goin' to his everlasting punishment without repentin'.

He's done murder."

"Murder!"