The Trail Horde Part 29

"I presume I shall have to go to Willets--since I have to lie!" she said, wrathfully.

"Yes," said Lawler incisively; "it takes courage to be truthful, Miss Wharton. But if a person always tells the truth----"

"Shut up!" she said savagely; "you make me sick!" She glared malignantly at him. "Ugh, I positively loathe you! I must have been crazy when I thought I saw something in you!" She paused for an instant to get her breath, and then she resumed, vindictively:

"I hope they arrest you for killing those two men--Link and Givens. I hope they hang you. And they will hang you, because you can't prove you acted in self-defense. You'll be sorry you didn't marry me when you realize that I might have saved you by telling the truth about the fight!"

"Well," he said; "you can't testify without admitting you were here, you know."

"And I will never tell!" she declared; "I will never admit it!" she added, exultingly. "You'll change your mind about marrying me--you'll have to, to save your neck!"

Lawler shook his head negatively.

"You wouldn't marry me to save your life?" asked the girl, incredulously.

"Not to save my life, Miss Wharton."

"Well," she said slowly; "you're a d.a.m.ned fool!"

Lawler smiled and turned away. He heard Della moving about in the cabin, but he did not look around.

But later, after there had been a deep silence for a time, he ventured a backward glance. During the day he had kept the dividing blanket rolled up out of the way, fastening it with two loops that he had suspended from the ceiling. The blanket was now down--it was the first time Della had touched it.

Lawler smiled, pulled a chair over near the fireplace, rolled a cigarette, and puffed slowly at it, reflecting that life in the cabin would now be more monotonous than ever.

Della did not get out of her bunk during the day. She ate nothing, nor did she reply to Lawler when he invited her to partake of the food he had prepared.

Late that afternoon Lawler noted a glow of light coming through the north window. He went to the door, opened it and looked out. The snow had ceased and the wind had gone down. Far over in the west a cold sun, hanging its rim on a mountain peak, bathed the world with a shimmering, glittering, blinding light.

Lawler went outside and shielding his eyes with his hands, peered out over the gleaming waste. He noted that the snow had drifted much, but that there were ridges where no snow had settled, as well as vast sections of plain where the wind had swept the snow clear. There would be no difficulty in reaching Willets, for the wind that was coming over the plains now was mild--almost warm.

He went inside, told Della, and began to make preparations for the ride.

And later that night, moving swiftly northward, under straggling clouds that obscured the moon, the two journeyed--Della swathed in clothing that a.s.sured her of warmth, and still preserving a sullen silence; Lawler riding ahead, breaking trail.

CHAPTER XXIV

DELLA'S HANDKERCHIEF

Dawn was just breaking when Lawler dropped from Red King at the windbreak near the line cabin. He put the big horse in the dugout, closed the dugout door and entered the cabin. Then he breathed a sigh of relief.

There were still some glowing embers in the fireplace, and he soon had a roaring fire, in front of which he stood for a while, meditating.

He had got Della Wharton into the Willets Hotel without, he felt certain, attracting attention. For when they had ridden into town--taking the back way in order to avoid any sleepless citizens that might be about--it was past midnight. Lawler had timed himself to reach town at about that hour, knowing that with the exception of a brothel or two, Willets would be dark.

He had been fortunate. At his first knock on the rear door of the hotel, Keller had appeared; and Keller had instantly grasped the situation--though he plainly told Della that she was "goin' to a whole lot of unnecessary trouble." "Why, good Lord, ma'am, I reckon you had a right to hole up with Lawler! n.o.body'd be blamin' you. They's a dozen men in this town that would make a colander out of anybody that'd hint things about a deal like that. Lawsy, ma'am, folks has got sense, ain't they? But if you doubt 'em, I reckon we can take care of you."

Lawler prepared and ate breakfast. It had been a tiresome ride, and after eating, knowing that there was no occasion for haste in his return to the Circle L--except that his mother would wonder over his whereabouts--he stretched out in one of the lower bunks--the one he had occupied during Della's stay in the cabin.

He had not barred the door; and when, some hours later he awoke, he saw half a dozen men in the cabin. They were standing near the door, watching him. Foremost among them was Gary Warden.

Lawler swung around in the bunk and sat on its edge, facing the men.

They were Two Diamond men, for he recognized some of them.

Lawler got to his feet. He saw no friendliness in the faces of the men; and Warden was pale, scowling.

But Lawler smiled. "Looking for something, boys?" he said.

"We're looking for two men and a woman, Lawler. Have you seen anything of them?"

"I've seen two men, Warden; but no woman."

Warden's eyes quickened. Some color surged into his face.

"How long have you been here, Lawler?"

"Since the day the storm broke. Davies and Harris went to town for a spree, and I've been subst.i.tuting for them."

He felt a savage amus.e.m.e.nt over Warden's attempt to conceal his disappointment. He could see that the man was consumed with curiosity over the outcome of the fence cutting, though he dared not voice it.

"Lawler," said Warden; "we've lost two men--Link and Givens; and Della Wharton--who was staying at the Two Diamond."

"I've seen no woman, Warden. But I've seen Link and Givens. You'll find them out by the windbreak. I had to kill them."

Lawler saw the men behind Warden grow rigid; Warden's face grew ghastly.

Lawler's smile had gone. He was coldly alert, watching the men behind Lawler, aware that his news was a shock to them; divining they would not hesitate to do violence if an explanation was not quickly offered.

But there was cold malice in Lawler's heart toward Warden; and he stood, silent, watchful, until Warden recovered from his astonishment. He was determined to compel Warden to ask the question that, plainly, was in his mind.

And at last Warden asked it:

"What did you kill them for?"

"I caught them cutting my fence, Warden. At just about the time the storm struck. I brought them here--after lifting their guns. I intended to take them to Sheriff Moreton, at Willets. But during the night I sent them out for wood, and when they re-entered the cabin they attacked me--Link with an axe, and Givens with a piece of cordwood. You can see where the axe landed--where it stuck in the floor, when Link missed me as I opened the door for him."

The door opened and the men filed out, eager to ascertain the truth of Lawler's story. Warden did not move; but his eyes, the expression of his face, indicated that he did not doubt Lawler's story. But he sought to discredit it.

"What would my men cut your fence for, Lawler?"

Lawler laughed. He had no intention of telling Warden about the confession the men had signed.

"You ought to know, Warden--they were your men."

"Meaning that I sent them to cut the fence?" demanded Warden. His face was red with a wrath that was plainly artificial, or that had been aroused over the knowledge that Link and Givens had failed.