Whispering Smith Part 14

But the encounter nerved her to her resolve. Some leaden moments pa.s.sed, and McCloud, galloping at a far milder pace toward the fork of the roads, checked his speed as he approached. He saw a woman on horseback waiting in his path.

"Mr. McCloud!"

"Miss Dunning!"

"I could not forgive myself if I waited too long to warn you that threats have been made against your life. Not of the kind you heard to-day. My cousin is not a murderer, and never could be, I am sure, in spite of his talk; but I was frightened at the thought that if anything dreadful should happen his name would be brought into it.

There are enemies of yours in this country to be feared, and it is against these that I warn you. Good-night!"

"Surely you won't ride away without giving me a chance to thank you!"

exclaimed McCloud. d.i.c.ksie checked her horse. "I owe you a double debt of grat.i.tude," he added, "and I am anxious to a.s.sure you that we desire nothing that will injure your interests in any way in crossing your lands."

"I know nothing about those matters, because my cousin manages everything. It is growing late and you have a good way to go, so good-night."

"But you will allow me to ride back to the house with you?"

"Oh, no, indeed, thank you!"

"It will soon be dark and you are alone."

"No, no! I am quite safe and I have only a short ride. It is you who have far to go," and she spoke again to Jim, who started briskly.

"Miss Dunning, won't you listen just a moment? Please don't run away!"

McCloud was trying to come up with her. "Won't you hear me a moment? I have suffered some little humiliation to-day; I should really rather be shot up than have more put on me. I am a man and you are a woman, and it is already dark. Isn't it for me to see you safely to the house? Won't you at least pretend I can act as an escort and let me go with you? I should make a poor figure trying to catch you on horseback----"

d.i.c.ksie nodded navely. "With that horse."

"With any horse--I know that," said McCloud, keeping at her side.

"But I _can't_ let you ride back with me," declared d.i.c.ksie, urging Jim and looking directly at McCloud for the first time. "How could I explain?"

"Let me explain. I am famous for explaining," urged McCloud, spurring too.

"And will you tell me what _I_ should be doing while you were explaining?" she asked.

"Perhaps getting ready a first aid for the injured."

"I feel as if I ought to run away," declared d.i.c.ksie, since she had clearly decided not to. "It will have to be a compromise, I suppose.

You must not ride farther than the first gate, and let us take this trail instead of the road. Now make your horse go as fast as you can and I'll keep up."

But McCloud's horse, though not a wonder, went too fast to suit his rider, who divided his efforts between checking him and keeping up the conversation. When McCloud dismounted to open d.i.c.ksie's gate, and stood in the twilight with his hat in his hand and his bridle over his arm, he was telling a story about Marion Sinclair, and d.i.c.ksie in the saddle, tapping her knee with her bridle-rein, was looking down and past him as if the light upon his face were too bright. Before she would start away she made him remount, and he said good-by only after half a promise from her that she would show him sometime a trail to the top of Bridger's Peak, with a view of the Peace River on the east and the whole Mission Range and the park country on the north. Then she rode away at an amazing run, nodding back as he sat still holding his hat above his head.

McCloud galloped toward the pa.s.s with one determination--that he would have a horse, and a good one, one that could travel with Jim, if it cost him his salary. He exulted as he rode, for the day had brought him everything he wished, and humiliation had been swallowed up in triumph. It was nearly dark when he reached the crest between the hills. At this point the southern grade of the pa.s.s winds sharply, whence its name, the Elbow; but from the head of the pa.s.s the grade may be commanded at intervals for half a mile. Trotting down this road with his head in a whirl of excitement, McCloud heard the crack of a rifle; at the same instant he felt a sharp slap at his hat. Instinct works on all brave men very much alike. McCloud dropped forward in his saddle, and, seeking no explanation, laid his head low and spurred Bill Dancing's horse for life or death. The horse, quite amazed, bolted and swerved down the grade like a snipe, with his rider crouching close for a second shot. But no second shot came, and after another mile McCloud ventured to take off his hat and put his finger through the holes in it, though he did not stop his horse to make the examination. When they reached the open country the horse had settled into a fast, long stride that not only redeemed his reputation but relieved his rider's nerves.

When McCloud entered his office it was half-past nine o'clock, and the first thing he did before turning on the lights was to draw the window-shades. He examined the hat again, with sensations that were new to him--fear, resentment, and a hearty hatred of his enemies. But all the while the picture of d.i.c.ksie remained. He thought of her nodding to him as they parted in the saddle, and her picture blotted out all that had followed.

CHAPTER XVI

AT THE WICKIUP

Two nights later Whispering Smith rode into Medicine Bend. "I've been up around Williams Cache," he said, answering McCloud's greeting as he entered the upstairs office. "How goes it?" He was in his riding rig, just as he had come from a late supper.

When he asked for news McCloud told him the story of the trouble with Lance Dunning over the survey, and added that he had referred the matter to Glover. He told then of his unpleasant surprise when riding home afterward.

"Yes," a.s.sented Smith, looking with feverish interest at McCloud's head; "I heard about it."

"That's odd, for I haven't said a word about the matter to anybody but Marion Sinclair, and you haven't seen her."

"I heard up the country. It is great luck that he missed you."

"Who missed me?"

"The man that was after you."

"The bullet went through my hat."

"Let me see the hat."

McCloud produced it. It was a heavy, broad-brimmed Stetson, with a bullet-hole cut cleanly through the front and the back of the crown.

Smith made McCloud put the hat on and describe his position when the shot was fired. McCloud stood up, and Whispering Smith eyed him and put questions.

"What do you think of it?" asked McCloud when he had done.

Smith leaned forward on the table and pushed McCloud's hat toward him as if the incident were closed. "There is no question in my mind, and there never has been, but that Stetson puts up the best hat worn on the range."

McCloud raised his eyebrows. "Why, thank you! Your conclusion clears things so. After you speak a man has nothing to do but guess."

"But, by Heaven, George," exclaimed Smith, speaking with unaccustomed fervor, "Miss d.i.c.ksie Dunning is a hummer, _isn't_ she? That child will have the whole range going in another year. To think of her standing up and lashing her cousin in that way when he was browbeating a railroad man!"

"Where did you hear about that?"

"The whole Crawling Stone country is talking about it. You never told me you had a misunderstanding with d.i.c.ksie Dunning at Marion's.

Loosen up!"

"I will loosen up in the way you do. What scared me most, Gordon, was waiting for the second shot. Why didn't he fire again?"

"Doubtless he thought he had you the first time. Any man big enough to start after you is not used to shooting twice at two hundred and fifty yards. He probably thought you were falling out of the saddle; and it was dark. I can account for everything but your reaching the pa.s.s so late. How did you spend all your time between the ranch and the foothills?"

McCloud saw there was no escape from telling of his meeting with d.i.c.ksie Dunning, of her warning, and of his ride to the gate with her.

Every point brought a suppressed exclamation from Whispering Smith.

"So she gave you your life," he mused. "Good for her! If you had got into the pa.s.s on time you could not have got away--the cards were stacked for you. He overestimated you a little, George; just a little.

Good men make mistakes. The sport of circ.u.mstances that we are! The sport of circ.u.mstances!"

"Now tell me how _you_ heard so much about it, Gordon, and where?"