Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1169
“Lady, shut your door,” called Kalispel, and whipped out his gun. He hardly expected any trouble from the offending Romeo he had knocked down, but he had lived to distrust these incidents so often forced upon him.
“It’s Borden,” rang out a hoarse voice. “Dead — or damn near it.”
“Back of his head all bloody,” spoke up another man. “Must have been hit with an ax. Hold up, mebbe. Thet Casper outfit in town. He had a big roll on him. I seen him flash it today. Search him, boss.”
“Hold the lamp, somebody.... Nope — no hold up. Here’s his money an’ watch.”
“He’s not dead, either. He’s comin’ to.”
Kalispel stepped to the head of the stairway. “Hey, down there!” he called.
There followed a tense pause, then, “Hey yourself!”
“Who is that man?”
“What man?”
“Why, the one I just rapped gently on the chin.”
“Ha! It must have been orful gentle, stranger.”
“Wal, come out with it. Who an’ what is he?”
“His name’s Cliff Borden. An’ he’s well known hyar.
Part owner of the Spread Eagle. Buys minin’ claims, and—”
“Forces his way into a young lady’s bedroom,” interrupted Kalispel, scornfully. “An’ wouldn’t get out when she ordered him out.... Now listen, you Salmon gentlemen. Drag Mister Borden out of this lodgin’-house an’ when he comes to his senses tell him he’d better steer clear of me.”
“An’ who might you be, young fellar?” queried the gruff leader below.
“My name is Emerson an’ I hail from Kalispel.”
A whispering ensued, which soon gave place to the clearer voices of men engaged in lifting and carrying Borden out of the house.
After a moment Kalispel sheathed his gun and stood irresolute. Should he not assure the girl that the incident was past? The fact of her door being ajar emboldened him, and he knocked.
“Who is there?” came the quick response.
“It’s me, Miss Blair.”
The door opened wide. Kalispel had intended to inform the girl that all was well, but sight of her sent his thoughts whirling. She had thrown a dressing-gown over her shoulders, the effect of which simply enhanced a beauty he had only faintly grasped upon first sight.
“Oh!... Is — is he dead?” she faltered, with great, dark eyes upon him.
“Goodness no, miss!” exclaimed Kalispel, hastily. “I only hit him. Shore he fell hard an’ must have busted his head below. They said it was all bloody. Don’t you fear for him, miss. He’s not hurt much.”
“You misunderstand me. I don’t fear for him. I wouldn’t care — if — if you had killed him.”
“Aw, now!” ejaculated Kalispel, staring. A flush came over the whiteness of her cheek. Her face was the loveliest thing Kalispel had ever gazed upon. He felt something terrible happening to his heart.
“I thank you for saving me — I — I don’t know what,” she said, tremulously.
“Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad as it looked,” replied Kalispel, lamely. “He might have made a mistake about your door — an’ then, after he was in — just lost his head, you know — which wouldn’t be no wonder.”
“You are generous to him, and — and—” she replied, suddenly to check her reply and to blush scarlet. “But I should tell you that he followed me today. He spoke to me twice. He knew this was my room.”
“I stand corrected, Miss Blair,” returned Kalispel. “It will be just as well for Mr. Cliff Borden to keep out of sight tomorrow.”
“I heard what you told those men to tell him.”
“Yes? I’m sorry. That wasn’t nice talk for a girl new to the West.”
“I’m new, all right,” she breathed, almost passionately. “I’m a most atrocious tenderfoot — and I — I ha-hate this West.”
“I’m terrible sorry to hear that, miss,” replied Kalispel, earnestly. “It’s shore tough on newcomers. I know. I came from Missouri years ago.... But you’ll love it some day.... Here I am keepin’ you up! I only wanted to tell you everythin’ was all right.”
“But it’s not,” she said. “There’s no lock on my door. That’s why I was reading while waiting for Dad. His room is next to mine. Only, he stays out so late. And he comes in—”
She broke off confusedly, evidently in her serious train of thought about to betray something not favorable to her father.
“You’ll be all right. Never mind when your Dad comes in. Shut your door tight an’ brace it with a chair under the knob. My room is just at the head of the stairs. An’ havin’ been a cowboy, I sleep with one eye open. I’d hear if a mouse came sneakin’ up this hall.”
“Thank you,” she replied, shyly. “I will see you tomorrow.... Good night, Mr. Kalispel.”
He bade her good night and went to his room, to light his lamp and sit upon his bed, for long so absorbed that he had no idea where he was nor what he was doing.
Around midnight Kalispel heard voices below in the lower hall. He opened his door slightly. Blair had evidently been accompanied, if not escorted, back to the lodging-house by his Western acquaintances. They were hot on his trail. Kalispel heard him stumble over the broken steps and come up breathing heavily, to open and close a door. Kalispel undressed and went to bed.
He was up early, the first to await breakfast in the restaurant. From there he went to the largest store in town and presented his list of supplies, and told how he wanted them packed for a hard trip into the mountains. His next errand was out to the pasture. This proved to be unfruitful, as the owner was in town, whereupon Kalispel went back.
He remarked to himself that he had seen the sun shine before, he had seen the pearly, fuzzy buds opening on the willows, he had been out on many and many a cold sparkling spring morning with the gold and rose on the hills; but no morning nor one of the things he noted had ever been so beautiful and heart-swelling as now.
“Must of been Sam’s gold-strike,” he mused as he swung along. But he knew that was a lie.
In front of the tavern he encountered Blair talking to the proprietor and another man.
“Here’s your Kalispel fellar now,” said the former. “Kalispel? — I met this young man last night,” returned Blair. “How do you do, sir? It appears I’m indebted to you for a service in my daughter’s behalf.”
“Mornin’.... Nothin’ a-tall, Mr. Blair,” replied Kalispel. “Some gazabo named Borden had been annoyin’ Miss Blair all day. An’ last night he busted into her room. I happened to be goin’ up an’ heard her order him out. But he didn’t come, so I investigated.”
“Haw! Haw!” laughed the proprietor. “Who’s gonna pay for the damage to my stairs?”
“Damn if I will. You make Borden pay,” retorted Kalispel. “I’ll gladly foot the bill,” interposed Blair, hurriedly. “Young man, I’m greatly obliged to you. Excuse me if I persist. Sydney, my daughter, told me about it. Very different from your version. She’s very much worried this morning. She fears there’ll be a fight.”
“Mr. Blair, your daughter didn’t waste any fears on Borden last night. She’d been glad if I had shot him.”
“Naturally.... But now it’d distress her — and me too — if Borden and you — —”
“Not much chance, Mr. Blair,” interrupted Kalispel, shortly. “I know his stripe.”
The proprietor interposed. “Wal, young fellar, with all due respect to your nerve I’m givin’ you a hunch somethin’ will come of it. But sure I don’t need to tell you to keep an eye peeled.” After this trenchant speech he went indoors with his companion.
“Here’s my daughter now,” spoke up Blair.
Kalispel, with a strange sensation of dread and rapture combined, turned to see a slender, graceful young woman almost at his elbow. He did not recognize her. But the shy greeting she gave him, the blush that suffused her face, the way she slipped her hand under Blair’s arm, appeared to establish the fact that she was his daughter.
He doffed his ragged sombrero in some embarrassment. “Mornin’, lady. I shore hope you slept well,” he said.
“Not so very well,” she replied.
In the bright sunshine, Kalispel discovered that the girl’s hair was of a chestnut-gold color, and the eyes which he had imagined matched her dark tresses were violet in hue. In her street clothes she seemed taller, too, but somehow Kalispel began to associate her with the lovely creature of last night.
“What’s your name?” asked Blair.
“Emerson. Lee Emerson. I got the nickname Kalispel out on the Montana range.”
“Pray overlook my curiosity, Emerson.... There seems to be an idea in this town that you’re — what did they call it? — a bad hombre. Last night, one of those men you met with me — Pritchard — he gave you a hard—”
“Pritchard!” interrupted Kalispel, sharply. “I knew I’d seen him somewhere. Mr. Blair, that man is a gambler — a shady customer. Look out for him an’ all of them. Don’t drink with them, or gamble, or consider any deals whatsoever.”
“Thanks. I’ll admit I’d grown a little leary. There might be a reason for Pritchard calling you a bad hombre.”
“Aw, I am a bad hombre,” admitted Kalispel, coldly. “But that’s no reason why I can’t do a good turn for newcomers to the West.”
“May I ask just what is a bad hombre?” inquired Sydney Blair, her disturbing violet eyes searching his.
“It’s no compliment, Miss Blair, I’m sorry to say,” replied Kalispel, returning her intent glance.
“Don’t embarrass him, Sydney,” said Blair. “See here, Emerson. I’ve got considerable cash on my person. Is it safe for me to carry it around?”
“I should smile not. If you’re going to be here after dark, put your money in the bank pronto.”
“Thanks. That’s straight talk. I’ll ask you another. I came West to go into a mining deal with a Boise man, a promotor named Leavitt. I met Pritchard on the stage coming from Bannock. I told him. He discouraged me. And he and his partners are endeavoring to interest me in mining enterprizes here. What do you think of it?”
“Highway robbery, in the majority of cases. Of course some minin’ claims pan out well. But if I were you I wouldn’t risk it.”
“Emerson, I’ll go deposit my money in the bank at once. Then I’ll want to talk to you again.”
“All right, Mr. Blair. I’ll be around town today an’ I reckon most of tomorrow,” called Kalispel after him as he hurried away.
“I’d like to talk to you, too,” said the girl, shyly, yet with sweet directness. “We are strangers, and I’m beginning to realize we’re such tenderfeet.... Won’t you come somewhere with me, so we can talk? Not in here. How about the restaurant? It’s lunch-time and I haven’t had any breakfast.”
“You’d take me to lunch — even after I’ve admitted I’m a bad hombre?” he asked, smiling at her.
“Yes, I would. You don’t seem so — so very bad to me,” she replied, returning the smile.
“But I shore look disreputable,” he protested, with a gesture inviting her to note his ragged apparel.
“I haven’t seen any dressed-up Westerners yet,” she rejoined, demurely, and with a flash of eyes took him in as far down as the cartridge-studded belt and swinging gun. “Perhaps you mean — that,” she went on. “It is rather fearful.... Please come. I don’t care what your reputation is. I know there’s no reason why I — I should be ashamed to — to—”
“How do you know, Miss Blair?” he interposed, gravely.
“I — You... Well, it’s the way you look at me....”
“Miss Blair, I’ve been a pretty wild cowboy, but there’s no reason I can’t look you straight in the eyes.”
“Well then, what else matters?”
“But mine’s a Westerner’s point of view,” he rejoined, soberly, driven to stand clear in his conscience before this girl. “For a range-rider in these days, rustlin’ a few cattle, gamblin’-hells an’ dance-hall girls — red liquor an’ gun-play — all in the day’s work!”
“It’s honest of you to tell me,” she said, losing her color. “I’m sorry I forced you to.... But if I am to live in this — this beautiful, terrible West, I must learn. I must meet people — see things. I feel so — so lonely, and you’re the only person I’ve met that I’ve wanted to talk to.... Won’t you come?”
And that was how Kalispel Emerson found himself seated at a table in the corner of the little restaurant, opposite this lovely violet-eyed girl. He accepted the miracle and tried to battle against his sensations, to be worthy for the moment of the trust she placed in a stranger and to help her. Ordering the lunch from the waitress took a little time and added to his composure, after which he faced the girl across the table.
“I am Sydney Blair,” she began, impulsively. “You may not believe that I’m only nineteen. We are from Ohio. Owing to an unsatisfactory partnership and poor health, my father decided to sell out his business and go West. I was the only child. My mother is dead. I had a — a — something happen to — that made me want to leave Ohio forever.”
As she paused, almost faltering, Kalispel saw a slight bit of color come and go in her cheeks.
“Miss Blair, that’s to the great gain of the West,” he replied, gallantly, as she hesitated. “People come out here from everywhere — to begin anew, to make the West what it will be some day.... I reckon you feel lonesome an’ homesick an’ scared. It’s hard on young women — this West, especially if they are pretty like you. But you’ll learn to stand what seems so rough an’ crude now — you’ll fit in, an’ some day love it.... Reckon I speak for all Westerners when I say I just can’t be sorry you came.”
“It’s not so much to me just now — my comfort, my adapting myself to new people and conditions. It is concern for my father. He has responded strangely to Western influences that we knew nothing of. He drinks, he gambles, he makes friends with any and everyone he meets. He leaves me alone at night, as you know. And I am beginning to worry myself sick over what to do.”
“Ah-huh. An’ that’s why you wanted to talk to some one,” replied Kalispel, kindly. “Well, that happens to ‘most every man who comes out here. In your case, Miss Blair, you’ve got just two things to do to keep him from goin’ plumb to hell.”
“Oh! — What are they?” she exclaimed, eagerly.
“You must get hold of his money an’ hang on to it.”
“Yes. I thought of that myself. I can do it.... What’s the other?”
“Let him get to hard work at whatever his heart is set on.”
“It is this gold-mining. Dad is mad about that. Please tell me all about it.”
Kalispel did not need to draw upon imagination or hearsay to acquaint the young woman with the facts. He painted a graphic picture of the hardships, the failures of thousands of gold-seekers to the fortune of one, the rough camp life, the wildness of the gold-diggings. And despite his deliberate sticking to realism, upon the conclusion of his discourse he found himself gazing into such radiant, shining eyes that he was astonished.
“Oh, I would like that!” she cried.
He spread wide his hands, as if to indicate the hopelessness of tenderfeet and his inability to discourage this one. Then suddenly a query flashed into his mind — why not induce Blair and his daughter to go back with him into the mountains and share with him and his brothers the marvelous opportunity there? It struck Kalispel almost mute. He managed to finish his lunch, but his former simplicity and frankness failed him. Fortunately, the girl was so thrilled with the prospect of gold-seeking that she scarcely noticed Kalispel’s lapse into pondering reticence.
Soon they were out on the street again, Kalispel biting his tongue to keep back a rush of eloquence, and Sydney babbling away as if the hour had made them friends.
Halfway to the tavern they encountered Blair. “Sydney, where have you been?” he queried. His face and demeanor betrayed agitation.
“I took Mr. Emerson to lunch,” she replied, gayly. “We had a... Dad, what is the matter?”
“Emerson, you are being hunted all over town,” declared Blair, hastily.
“Ah-huh,” replied Kalispel. His wary eye had noted a circle of men in front of the tavern. On the moment it split to let out Borden and a wide-sombreroed individual with a star prominent upon his vest. Kalispel recognized him and cursed under his breath.
“Blair, take your daughter inside — pronto,” he called, tensely, and striding up the sidewalk, he faced the crowd.
Chapter Three
Borden’s bold front altered manifestly in his swerving aside. The crowd, too, split behind the two men, the larger half going out into the street and the smaller half lining against the walls of the buildings. These significant moves had their effect upon the sheriff. His big bulk appeared less formidably actuated. He slowed down, then halted.
“Howdy, Kalispel,” he called, in a loud voice.
“Not so good, Lowrie,” replied Lee, bitingly, and he stopped within fifteen steps of the sheriff. “Kinda sore these days.”
“You’re under arrest.”
“Say, man! Are you gettin’ dotty in your old age?” rejoined Kalispel, derisively. “You didn’t arrest me in Montana. How can you do it in Idaho?”
“I was sworn in this mornin’.”
“Bah! You can’t bluff me. You couldn’t be sworn in short of Boise.”
“Wal, I’ve been deputized by citizens of Salmon. An’ I’m arrestin’ you an’ takin’ you back to Montana.”
“What for? Throwin’ this dirty skunk, Borden, out of a respectable young woman’s room last night? Where he’d forced himself!... If I know Salmon citizens, they won’t back Borden an’ you for that.”
“No. It’s a case of long standin’.”
“What?” flashed Kalispel, suddenly blazing. “Sing it out so this crowd can hear you. I’ve got friends in this town.”
“Wal, it’s — rustlin’ cattle,” returned Lowrie, hoarsely. All at once he realized that he was skating on thin ice.
Kalispel leaped as if he had been stung. His face flamed red and then turned white.
“I shore did. I admit it. I’m proud of it. But what kind of rustlin’ was that, Hank Lowrie? I helped steal cattle from the outfit who first stole cattle from mine. Why, that kind of rustlin’ is as old as the range! Nothin’ but an exchange of beef!”
“It’s Borden,” rang out a hoarse voice. “Dead — or damn near it.”
“Back of his head all bloody,” spoke up another man. “Must have been hit with an ax. Hold up, mebbe. Thet Casper outfit in town. He had a big roll on him. I seen him flash it today. Search him, boss.”
“Hold the lamp, somebody.... Nope — no hold up. Here’s his money an’ watch.”
“He’s not dead, either. He’s comin’ to.”
Kalispel stepped to the head of the stairway. “Hey, down there!” he called.
There followed a tense pause, then, “Hey yourself!”
“Who is that man?”
“What man?”
“Why, the one I just rapped gently on the chin.”
“Ha! It must have been orful gentle, stranger.”
“Wal, come out with it. Who an’ what is he?”
“His name’s Cliff Borden. An’ he’s well known hyar.
Part owner of the Spread Eagle. Buys minin’ claims, and—”
“Forces his way into a young lady’s bedroom,” interrupted Kalispel, scornfully. “An’ wouldn’t get out when she ordered him out.... Now listen, you Salmon gentlemen. Drag Mister Borden out of this lodgin’-house an’ when he comes to his senses tell him he’d better steer clear of me.”
“An’ who might you be, young fellar?” queried the gruff leader below.
“My name is Emerson an’ I hail from Kalispel.”
A whispering ensued, which soon gave place to the clearer voices of men engaged in lifting and carrying Borden out of the house.
After a moment Kalispel sheathed his gun and stood irresolute. Should he not assure the girl that the incident was past? The fact of her door being ajar emboldened him, and he knocked.
“Who is there?” came the quick response.
“It’s me, Miss Blair.”
The door opened wide. Kalispel had intended to inform the girl that all was well, but sight of her sent his thoughts whirling. She had thrown a dressing-gown over her shoulders, the effect of which simply enhanced a beauty he had only faintly grasped upon first sight.
“Oh!... Is — is he dead?” she faltered, with great, dark eyes upon him.
“Goodness no, miss!” exclaimed Kalispel, hastily. “I only hit him. Shore he fell hard an’ must have busted his head below. They said it was all bloody. Don’t you fear for him, miss. He’s not hurt much.”
“You misunderstand me. I don’t fear for him. I wouldn’t care — if — if you had killed him.”
“Aw, now!” ejaculated Kalispel, staring. A flush came over the whiteness of her cheek. Her face was the loveliest thing Kalispel had ever gazed upon. He felt something terrible happening to his heart.
“I thank you for saving me — I — I don’t know what,” she said, tremulously.
“Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad as it looked,” replied Kalispel, lamely. “He might have made a mistake about your door — an’ then, after he was in — just lost his head, you know — which wouldn’t be no wonder.”
“You are generous to him, and — and—” she replied, suddenly to check her reply and to blush scarlet. “But I should tell you that he followed me today. He spoke to me twice. He knew this was my room.”
“I stand corrected, Miss Blair,” returned Kalispel. “It will be just as well for Mr. Cliff Borden to keep out of sight tomorrow.”
“I heard what you told those men to tell him.”
“Yes? I’m sorry. That wasn’t nice talk for a girl new to the West.”
“I’m new, all right,” she breathed, almost passionately. “I’m a most atrocious tenderfoot — and I — I ha-hate this West.”
“I’m terrible sorry to hear that, miss,” replied Kalispel, earnestly. “It’s shore tough on newcomers. I know. I came from Missouri years ago.... But you’ll love it some day.... Here I am keepin’ you up! I only wanted to tell you everythin’ was all right.”
“But it’s not,” she said. “There’s no lock on my door. That’s why I was reading while waiting for Dad. His room is next to mine. Only, he stays out so late. And he comes in—”
She broke off confusedly, evidently in her serious train of thought about to betray something not favorable to her father.
“You’ll be all right. Never mind when your Dad comes in. Shut your door tight an’ brace it with a chair under the knob. My room is just at the head of the stairs. An’ havin’ been a cowboy, I sleep with one eye open. I’d hear if a mouse came sneakin’ up this hall.”
“Thank you,” she replied, shyly. “I will see you tomorrow.... Good night, Mr. Kalispel.”
He bade her good night and went to his room, to light his lamp and sit upon his bed, for long so absorbed that he had no idea where he was nor what he was doing.
Around midnight Kalispel heard voices below in the lower hall. He opened his door slightly. Blair had evidently been accompanied, if not escorted, back to the lodging-house by his Western acquaintances. They were hot on his trail. Kalispel heard him stumble over the broken steps and come up breathing heavily, to open and close a door. Kalispel undressed and went to bed.
He was up early, the first to await breakfast in the restaurant. From there he went to the largest store in town and presented his list of supplies, and told how he wanted them packed for a hard trip into the mountains. His next errand was out to the pasture. This proved to be unfruitful, as the owner was in town, whereupon Kalispel went back.
He remarked to himself that he had seen the sun shine before, he had seen the pearly, fuzzy buds opening on the willows, he had been out on many and many a cold sparkling spring morning with the gold and rose on the hills; but no morning nor one of the things he noted had ever been so beautiful and heart-swelling as now.
“Must of been Sam’s gold-strike,” he mused as he swung along. But he knew that was a lie.
In front of the tavern he encountered Blair talking to the proprietor and another man.
“Here’s your Kalispel fellar now,” said the former. “Kalispel? — I met this young man last night,” returned Blair. “How do you do, sir? It appears I’m indebted to you for a service in my daughter’s behalf.”
“Mornin’.... Nothin’ a-tall, Mr. Blair,” replied Kalispel. “Some gazabo named Borden had been annoyin’ Miss Blair all day. An’ last night he busted into her room. I happened to be goin’ up an’ heard her order him out. But he didn’t come, so I investigated.”
“Haw! Haw!” laughed the proprietor. “Who’s gonna pay for the damage to my stairs?”
“Damn if I will. You make Borden pay,” retorted Kalispel. “I’ll gladly foot the bill,” interposed Blair, hurriedly. “Young man, I’m greatly obliged to you. Excuse me if I persist. Sydney, my daughter, told me about it. Very different from your version. She’s very much worried this morning. She fears there’ll be a fight.”
“Mr. Blair, your daughter didn’t waste any fears on Borden last night. She’d been glad if I had shot him.”
“Naturally.... But now it’d distress her — and me too — if Borden and you — —”
“Not much chance, Mr. Blair,” interrupted Kalispel, shortly. “I know his stripe.”
The proprietor interposed. “Wal, young fellar, with all due respect to your nerve I’m givin’ you a hunch somethin’ will come of it. But sure I don’t need to tell you to keep an eye peeled.” After this trenchant speech he went indoors with his companion.
“Here’s my daughter now,” spoke up Blair.
Kalispel, with a strange sensation of dread and rapture combined, turned to see a slender, graceful young woman almost at his elbow. He did not recognize her. But the shy greeting she gave him, the blush that suffused her face, the way she slipped her hand under Blair’s arm, appeared to establish the fact that she was his daughter.
He doffed his ragged sombrero in some embarrassment. “Mornin’, lady. I shore hope you slept well,” he said.
“Not so very well,” she replied.
In the bright sunshine, Kalispel discovered that the girl’s hair was of a chestnut-gold color, and the eyes which he had imagined matched her dark tresses were violet in hue. In her street clothes she seemed taller, too, but somehow Kalispel began to associate her with the lovely creature of last night.
“What’s your name?” asked Blair.
“Emerson. Lee Emerson. I got the nickname Kalispel out on the Montana range.”
“Pray overlook my curiosity, Emerson.... There seems to be an idea in this town that you’re — what did they call it? — a bad hombre. Last night, one of those men you met with me — Pritchard — he gave you a hard—”
“Pritchard!” interrupted Kalispel, sharply. “I knew I’d seen him somewhere. Mr. Blair, that man is a gambler — a shady customer. Look out for him an’ all of them. Don’t drink with them, or gamble, or consider any deals whatsoever.”
“Thanks. I’ll admit I’d grown a little leary. There might be a reason for Pritchard calling you a bad hombre.”
“Aw, I am a bad hombre,” admitted Kalispel, coldly. “But that’s no reason why I can’t do a good turn for newcomers to the West.”
“May I ask just what is a bad hombre?” inquired Sydney Blair, her disturbing violet eyes searching his.
“It’s no compliment, Miss Blair, I’m sorry to say,” replied Kalispel, returning her intent glance.
“Don’t embarrass him, Sydney,” said Blair. “See here, Emerson. I’ve got considerable cash on my person. Is it safe for me to carry it around?”
“I should smile not. If you’re going to be here after dark, put your money in the bank pronto.”
“Thanks. That’s straight talk. I’ll ask you another. I came West to go into a mining deal with a Boise man, a promotor named Leavitt. I met Pritchard on the stage coming from Bannock. I told him. He discouraged me. And he and his partners are endeavoring to interest me in mining enterprizes here. What do you think of it?”
“Highway robbery, in the majority of cases. Of course some minin’ claims pan out well. But if I were you I wouldn’t risk it.”
“Emerson, I’ll go deposit my money in the bank at once. Then I’ll want to talk to you again.”
“All right, Mr. Blair. I’ll be around town today an’ I reckon most of tomorrow,” called Kalispel after him as he hurried away.
“I’d like to talk to you, too,” said the girl, shyly, yet with sweet directness. “We are strangers, and I’m beginning to realize we’re such tenderfeet.... Won’t you come somewhere with me, so we can talk? Not in here. How about the restaurant? It’s lunch-time and I haven’t had any breakfast.”
“You’d take me to lunch — even after I’ve admitted I’m a bad hombre?” he asked, smiling at her.
“Yes, I would. You don’t seem so — so very bad to me,” she replied, returning the smile.
“But I shore look disreputable,” he protested, with a gesture inviting her to note his ragged apparel.
“I haven’t seen any dressed-up Westerners yet,” she rejoined, demurely, and with a flash of eyes took him in as far down as the cartridge-studded belt and swinging gun. “Perhaps you mean — that,” she went on. “It is rather fearful.... Please come. I don’t care what your reputation is. I know there’s no reason why I — I should be ashamed to — to—”
“How do you know, Miss Blair?” he interposed, gravely.
“I — You... Well, it’s the way you look at me....”
“Miss Blair, I’ve been a pretty wild cowboy, but there’s no reason I can’t look you straight in the eyes.”
“Well then, what else matters?”
“But mine’s a Westerner’s point of view,” he rejoined, soberly, driven to stand clear in his conscience before this girl. “For a range-rider in these days, rustlin’ a few cattle, gamblin’-hells an’ dance-hall girls — red liquor an’ gun-play — all in the day’s work!”
“It’s honest of you to tell me,” she said, losing her color. “I’m sorry I forced you to.... But if I am to live in this — this beautiful, terrible West, I must learn. I must meet people — see things. I feel so — so lonely, and you’re the only person I’ve met that I’ve wanted to talk to.... Won’t you come?”
And that was how Kalispel Emerson found himself seated at a table in the corner of the little restaurant, opposite this lovely violet-eyed girl. He accepted the miracle and tried to battle against his sensations, to be worthy for the moment of the trust she placed in a stranger and to help her. Ordering the lunch from the waitress took a little time and added to his composure, after which he faced the girl across the table.
“I am Sydney Blair,” she began, impulsively. “You may not believe that I’m only nineteen. We are from Ohio. Owing to an unsatisfactory partnership and poor health, my father decided to sell out his business and go West. I was the only child. My mother is dead. I had a — a — something happen to — that made me want to leave Ohio forever.”
As she paused, almost faltering, Kalispel saw a slight bit of color come and go in her cheeks.
“Miss Blair, that’s to the great gain of the West,” he replied, gallantly, as she hesitated. “People come out here from everywhere — to begin anew, to make the West what it will be some day.... I reckon you feel lonesome an’ homesick an’ scared. It’s hard on young women — this West, especially if they are pretty like you. But you’ll learn to stand what seems so rough an’ crude now — you’ll fit in, an’ some day love it.... Reckon I speak for all Westerners when I say I just can’t be sorry you came.”
“It’s not so much to me just now — my comfort, my adapting myself to new people and conditions. It is concern for my father. He has responded strangely to Western influences that we knew nothing of. He drinks, he gambles, he makes friends with any and everyone he meets. He leaves me alone at night, as you know. And I am beginning to worry myself sick over what to do.”
“Ah-huh. An’ that’s why you wanted to talk to some one,” replied Kalispel, kindly. “Well, that happens to ‘most every man who comes out here. In your case, Miss Blair, you’ve got just two things to do to keep him from goin’ plumb to hell.”
“Oh! — What are they?” she exclaimed, eagerly.
“You must get hold of his money an’ hang on to it.”
“Yes. I thought of that myself. I can do it.... What’s the other?”
“Let him get to hard work at whatever his heart is set on.”
“It is this gold-mining. Dad is mad about that. Please tell me all about it.”
Kalispel did not need to draw upon imagination or hearsay to acquaint the young woman with the facts. He painted a graphic picture of the hardships, the failures of thousands of gold-seekers to the fortune of one, the rough camp life, the wildness of the gold-diggings. And despite his deliberate sticking to realism, upon the conclusion of his discourse he found himself gazing into such radiant, shining eyes that he was astonished.
“Oh, I would like that!” she cried.
He spread wide his hands, as if to indicate the hopelessness of tenderfeet and his inability to discourage this one. Then suddenly a query flashed into his mind — why not induce Blair and his daughter to go back with him into the mountains and share with him and his brothers the marvelous opportunity there? It struck Kalispel almost mute. He managed to finish his lunch, but his former simplicity and frankness failed him. Fortunately, the girl was so thrilled with the prospect of gold-seeking that she scarcely noticed Kalispel’s lapse into pondering reticence.
Soon they were out on the street again, Kalispel biting his tongue to keep back a rush of eloquence, and Sydney babbling away as if the hour had made them friends.
Halfway to the tavern they encountered Blair. “Sydney, where have you been?” he queried. His face and demeanor betrayed agitation.
“I took Mr. Emerson to lunch,” she replied, gayly. “We had a... Dad, what is the matter?”
“Emerson, you are being hunted all over town,” declared Blair, hastily.
“Ah-huh,” replied Kalispel. His wary eye had noted a circle of men in front of the tavern. On the moment it split to let out Borden and a wide-sombreroed individual with a star prominent upon his vest. Kalispel recognized him and cursed under his breath.
“Blair, take your daughter inside — pronto,” he called, tensely, and striding up the sidewalk, he faced the crowd.
Chapter Three
Borden’s bold front altered manifestly in his swerving aside. The crowd, too, split behind the two men, the larger half going out into the street and the smaller half lining against the walls of the buildings. These significant moves had their effect upon the sheriff. His big bulk appeared less formidably actuated. He slowed down, then halted.
“Howdy, Kalispel,” he called, in a loud voice.
“Not so good, Lowrie,” replied Lee, bitingly, and he stopped within fifteen steps of the sheriff. “Kinda sore these days.”
“You’re under arrest.”
“Say, man! Are you gettin’ dotty in your old age?” rejoined Kalispel, derisively. “You didn’t arrest me in Montana. How can you do it in Idaho?”
“I was sworn in this mornin’.”
“Bah! You can’t bluff me. You couldn’t be sworn in short of Boise.”
“Wal, I’ve been deputized by citizens of Salmon. An’ I’m arrestin’ you an’ takin’ you back to Montana.”
“What for? Throwin’ this dirty skunk, Borden, out of a respectable young woman’s room last night? Where he’d forced himself!... If I know Salmon citizens, they won’t back Borden an’ you for that.”
“No. It’s a case of long standin’.”
“What?” flashed Kalispel, suddenly blazing. “Sing it out so this crowd can hear you. I’ve got friends in this town.”
“Wal, it’s — rustlin’ cattle,” returned Lowrie, hoarsely. All at once he realized that he was skating on thin ice.
Kalispel leaped as if he had been stung. His face flamed red and then turned white.
“I shore did. I admit it. I’m proud of it. But what kind of rustlin’ was that, Hank Lowrie? I helped steal cattle from the outfit who first stole cattle from mine. Why, that kind of rustlin’ is as old as the range! Nothin’ but an exchange of beef!”
