The Range Boss Part 30

Randerson got Hagar into the saddle, recognizing the pony and speaking about it. When she told him that Ruth was at her cabin, his face lighted.

He thought about the written resignation lying in his room, and he smiled.

"I come mighty near not havin' to use it," he said to himself.

CHAPTER XXIV

REALIZING A Pa.s.sION

Ruth stood for a long time on the porch after Hagar's departure, gripped by emotions, that had had no duplicates in all her days. Never before had she thought herself capable of experiencing such emotions. For the man she loved was in danger. She knew at this minute that she loved him, that she had loved him all along. And she was not able to go to him; she could not even learn, until Hagar returned, whether the girl had been in time, or whether he had succ.u.mbed to the blind frenzy of the avenger. The impotence of her position did much to aggravate her emotions, and they surged through her, sapping her strength. It was hideous--the dread, the uncertainty, the terrible suspense, the dragging minutes. She walked back and forth on the porch, her hands clenched, her face drawn and white, praying mutely, fervently, pa.s.sionately, that Hagar might be in time.

Thinking to divert her mind, she at last went into the cabin and began to walk about, looking at various objects, trying to force herself to take an interest in them.

She saw, back of a curtain, a number of the dresses and other garments she had given Hagar, and she could not disperse the thought that perhaps if she had not given the clothing to Hagar, Masten might not have been attracted to her. She drew the curtain over them with something near a shudder, considering herself not entirely blameless.

She endeavored to interest herself in Catherson's pipe and tobacco, on a shelf near the stove; wondering over the many hours that he had smoked in this lonesome place, driving away the monotony of the hours. What a blow this must be to him! She began to understand something of the terrible emotions that must have seized him with the revelation. And _she_ had brought Masten here, too! Innocent, she was to blame there! And she unconsciously did something, as she walked about, that she had never before attempted to do--to put herself into other persons' positions, to try to understand their emotions--the motives that moved them to do things which she had considered vicious and inhuman. She had forced her imagination to work, and she succeeded in getting partial glimpses of the viewpoints of others, in experiencing flashes of the pa.s.sions that moved them. She wondered what she would do were Hagar _her_ daughter, and for an instant she was drunken with the intensity of the pa.s.sion that gripped her.

Before her trip around the interior of the cabin was completed, she came upon a six-shooter--heavy, c.u.mbersome, like the weapon she had used the day Randerson had taught her to shoot. It reposed on a shelf near the door that led to the porch, and was almost concealed behind a box in which were a number of miscellaneous articles, broken pipes, pieces of hardware, buckles, a file, a wrench. She examined the weapon. It was loaded, in excellent condition. She supposed it was left there for Hagar's protection. She restored it to its place and continued her inspection.

She had grown more composed now, for she had had time to reflect.

Catherson had not had much of a start; he would not ride so fast as Hagar; he did not know where, on the range, he might find Randerson.

Hagar was sure to catch him; she _would_ catch him, because of her deep affection for Randerson. And so, after all, there was nothing to worry about.

She was surprised to discover that she could think of Masten without the slightest regret; to find that her contempt for him did not cause her the slightest wonder. Had she always known, subconsciously, that he was a scoundrel? Had that knowledge exerted its influence in making her reluctant to marry him?

Standing at a rear window she looked out at the corral, and beyond it at a dense wood. She had been there for about five minutes, her thoughts placid, considering the excitement of the day, when at a stroke a change came over her. At first a vague disquiet, which rapidly grew into a dread fear, a conviction, that some danger lurked behind her.

She was afraid to turn. She did not turn, at once, listening instead for any sound that might confirm her premonition. No sound came. The silence that reigned in the cabin was every bit as intense as that which surrounded it. But the dread grew upon her; a cold chill raced up her spine, spreading to her arms and to her hands, making them cold and clammy; to her head, whitening her face, making her temples throb. And then, when it seemed that she must shriek in terror, she turned. In the doorway, leaning against one of the jambs, regarding her with narrowed, gleaming eyes, a pleased, appraising smile on his face, was Tom Chavis.

Her first sensation was one of relief. She did not know what she had expected to see when she turned; certainly something more dire and terrible than Tom Chavis. But when she thought of his past actions, of his cynical, skeptical, and significant looks at her; of his manner at this minute; and reflected upon the fact that she was alone, she realized that chance could have sent nothing more terrible to her.

He noted her excitement, and his smile broadened. "Scared?" he said. "Oh, don't be." His att.i.tude toward her became one of easy a.s.surance. He stepped inside and walked to the rough table that stood near the center of the room, placing his hands on it and looking at her craftily.

"n.o.body here," he said, "but you--eh? Where's Catherson? Where's Hagar?"

"They've gone to the Flying W," she answered, trying to make her voice even, but not succeeding. There was a quaver in it. "You must have seen them," she added, with a hope that some one at the ranchhouse might have seen _him_. She would have felt more secure if she had known that someone _had_ seen him.

"Nothin' doin'," he said, a queer leap in his voice. "I come straight from the shack, by the Lazette trail. How does it come that you're here, alone? What did Catherson an' Hagar go to the Flyin' W for? How long will they be gone?"

"They will be back right away," she told him, with a devout hope that they would.

"You're lyin', Ruth," he said familiarly. "You don't know when they'll be back." He grinned, maliciously. "I reckon I c'n tell you why you're here alone, too. Hagar's took your cayuse. Hagar's is in the corral. You see,"

he added triumphantly as he saw the start that she could not repress.

"I've been nosin' around a little before I come in. I wasn't figgerin' on runnin' into Abe Catherson." He laughed thickly, as though some sort of pa.s.sion surged over him. "So you're all alone here--eh?"

She grew weak at the significance of his words, and leaned against the window-sill for support. And then with the realization that she must not seem to quail before him, she stood erect again and forced her voice to steadiness.

"Yes," she said, "I am alone. Is there any need to repeat that? And being alone, I am in charge, here, and I don't want you here for company."

He laughed, making no move to withdraw.

"I'm here on business."

"You can't have any business with me. Come when the Cathersons are here."

"The waitin's good," he grinned. He walked around to the side of the table, and with one hand resting on its top, looked closely at her, suspicion in his eyes. "Say," he said in a confidential whisper, "it looks peculiar to me. Catherson an' Hagar both gone. Hagar's got your cayuse, leavin' you here alone. Has ol' Catherson tumbled to Masten bein'

thick with Hagar?"

"I don't know," she said, flushing. "It is no affair of mine!"

"It ain't--eh?" he said with a laugh, low and derisive. "You don't care what Masten does-eh? An' you're goin' to marry him, Monday. Masten's lucky," he went on, giving her a look that made her shudder; "he's got two girls. An' one of them don't care how much he loves the other." He laughed as though the matter were one of high comedy.

His manner, the half-veiled, vulgar significance of his words and voice, roused her to a cold fury. She took a step toward him and stood rigid, her eyes flashing.

"You get out of this cabin, Tom Chavis!" she commanded. "Get out--instantly!" No longer was she afraid of him; she was resolute, unflinching.

But Chavis merely smiled--seemingly in huge enjoyment. And then, while he looked at her, his expression changed to wonder. "Holy smoke!" he said.

"Where's Masten's eyes? He said you didn't have any spirit, Ruth, that you was too cold an' distant. I reckon Masten don't know how to size up a girl--a girl, that is, which is thoroughbred. Seems as though his kind is more like Hagar!" He grinned cunningly and reached into a pocket, drawing out a paper. He chuckled over it, reading it. Then, as though she were certain to appreciate the joke, he held it out to her. "Read it, Ruth,"

he invited, "it's from Masten, askin' Hagar to meet him, tomorrow, down the crick a ways. He's dead scared to come here any more, since Randerson's aimin' to perforate him!"

Only one conscious emotion afflicted her at this minute: rage over Chavis' inability to understand that she was not of the type of woman who could discuss such matters with a man. Evidently, in his eyes, all women were alike. She knew that such was his opinion when, refusing to take the paper, she stepped back, coldly, and he looked at her in surprise, a sneer following instantly.

"Don't want to read it--eh? Not interested? Jealous, mebbe--eh?" He grinned. "Sure--that's it, you're jealous." He laughed gleefully. "You women are sure jokes. Masten can't wake you up--eh? Well, mebbe Masten--"

He paused and licked his lips. "I reckon I don't blame you, Ruth. Masten ain't the sort of man. He's too cold-blooded, hisself to make a woman sort of fan up to him. But there's other guys in this country, Ruth, an'--"

She had seized the first thing that came to her hands, a gla.s.s jar that had set on the window sill behind her, and she hurled it furiously and accurately. It struck him fairly on the forehead and broke into many pieces, which clattered and rang on the bare board floor. The sound they made, the smashing, dull impact as the jar had struck Chavis, caused her heart to leap in wild applause--tw.a.n.ging a cord of latent savagery in her that set her nerves singing to its music. It was the first belligerent act of her life. It awakened in her the knowledge that she could defend herself, that the courage for which she had prayed that night when on the rock where Randerson had found her, was lurking deep, ready to answer her summons. She laughed at Chavis, and when she saw him wipe the blood from his face and look at her in bewilderment, she challenged him peremptorily:

"Go--now, you beast!"

His answer was a leering grin that made his face hideous. He looked like a wounded animal, with nothing but concentrated pa.s.sion in his eyes. Her act had maddened him.

"I'll fix you, you hussy!" he sneered cursing.

She saw now that he was aroused past all restraint, and when he came toward her, crouching, she knew that other missiles would not suffice, that to be absolutely safe she must get possession of the big pistol that reposed on the shelf near the door. So when he came toward her she slipped behind the table. He grasped it by its edge and tried to swing it out of the way, and when she held it he suddenly swooped down, seizing it by the legs and overturning it. As it fell he made a lunge at her, but she eluded him and bounded to the door. The box holding the miscellaneous articles she knocked out of its place, so that it fell with a tinkling crash, throwing its contents in all directions. Her fingers closed on the stock of the pistol, and she faced Chavis, who was a few feet away, leveling the big weapon at him. Her voice came firmly; she was surprised at her own calmness:

"Don't move, Chavis, don't dare to take a step, or I'll kill you!"

Chavis halted, his face a dirty, chalkish white. Twice his lips opened, in astonishment or fear, she could not tell which, but no sound came from them. He stood silent, watching her, furtive-eyed, crouching.

In this interval her thoughts rioted in chaos, like dust before a hurricane. But a question dominated all: could she carry out her threat to kill Chavis, if he took the step?

She knew she would. For in this crisis she had discovered one of nature's first laws. She had never understood, before, but in the last few minutes knowledge had come to her like a burst of light in the darkness. And a voice came to her also--Randerson's; she mentally repeated the words he had spoken on the day he had told her about the rustlers: "I reckon you'd fight like a tiger, ma'am, if the time ever come when you had to."

Yes, she would fight. Not as a tiger would fight, but as Randerson himself had fought--not with a l.u.s.t to do murder, but in self-protection.

And in this instant the spirit of Randerson seemed to stand beside her, applauding her, seeming to whisper words of encouragement to her. And she caught something of his manner when danger threatened; his cold deliberation, his steadiness of hand and eye, his grim alertness. For she had unconsciously studied him in the few minutes preceding the death of Pickett, and she was as unconsciously imitating him now.