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Margrita came down the steps to where Dane Clyde waited at the foot. "Did you
hear the shots?" he asked.
"I did, but with all this noise " she paused. "Was it Eldorado Johnny?"
"It was Johnny, all right, but he won't be Chief in the town tonight, nor any
night."
"He seemed nice," she said.
Clydeshrugged. "It is a strange sense of honor and pride they have, but they
live hard and they die game, and according to their lights that is the way it
should be."
Her horse was a dappled gray, and she rode sidesaddle with her skirt spread
wide over the horse's flank. Men turned to look as she passed and some nodded,
unsmiling and grave, but admiring her beauty. She rode up the canyon, looking
about her to see the workmen at the mills and mines. The air was clear and
cold offSunMountain , and she saw a road turning off to her right and took it,
but after a short distance it became a road without people, empty and still.
She drew up, listening. Although still so close, the pound of the mills
seemed far away. She walked on, the only other sound the creak of her saddle
and the click of her horse's hoofs on the rocks. Twice she drew up, looking at
the bare rock walls where the sunlight lay warm. It was a strange, empty land,
but she loved it.
Riding on, she suddenly paused. Here was a place where someone had worked.
There was a hole dug near what must have been, in wet weather, a stream.
Nearby there was a clump of cedar.
She heard the horse before she saw it and was suddenly aware that she was
alone and far from anyone. She opened her saddlebag and started to put her
hand in for her gun.
"You won't need that."
She turned her head sharply. It was Waggoner, sitting a big, rawboned horse
and staring at her. His face was expressionless. His big hands rested on the
pommel. "Ever since I seen you I knew it had to be."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Don't come that high an' mighty on me. I don't care nothin' for that.
Besides, I ain't ready yet."
She turned her horse, but he blocked the way. She was sorry now she had not
drawn the gun. It was there, near her hand, but could she reach it in time?
He just stared at her from his sombre eyes in that gaunt, hard-stretched
face.
"When I'm ready," he said, "I'll take you," he snapped his fingers, "jus'
like that. You ain't nothin' special, you know. There's fifty women on the
Line that's better."
"Will you move out of the way, please?"
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"When I'm damn' good an' ready. Like I said, you're nothin', but I want to
drag you in the dirt, I want to show you how damn little you matter.
"I been waitin' for you," he added.
Everything went cold inside her. Her breath caught, and then she said, very
quietly, "Now what does that mean?"
His grin was insolent. "I knew you'd come back. I just knew it. Somethin'
inside me said it. You was only a little tyke, but looked at me like I was
dirt, you did."
"I do not know what you are talking about, but if I looked at you that way,
obviously my judgment was correct. Now I am going to ride out of here. Move
your horse out of the way."
"When I get good an' ready. You jus' sit tight, lady, or I might decide not
to wait. You figure you're somebody, you figure you're mighty proud an'
strong. Well, you ain't nothin'. When I get through with you, you'll be
crawlin' to me in the dirt, beggin' me."
Inside she was cold and still. The man was not just talking. He meant what he
said. She was frightened, but not into inaction. She must get her hand on her
gun. It was only the derringer, which meant she must be close to him before
she fired. He knew she had a gun, and would be careful, yet if there was a
sudden movement of their horses she would be able to get the gun.
She was thinking that when they heard a horse walking.
Her hand, poised and ready, her heel ready to touch the spur to her horse's
flank on the side away from him, her mind made up to act. To try to get by in
front of him would be impossible. His horse was much the heavier, and he was
undoubtedly a fine horseman. A quick turn and slash at his horse's rump, then
by him and down the trail. She was inwardly poised and ready when they heard
the horse's hoofs.
She saw the sudden surge of anger and impatience in his eyes, and he started
to speak when the rider appeared. He was riding a black mule.
Trevallion took in the situation at a glance, but instantly he told
himself,not now!No gunfight here, not if it could be avoided. She could be
hurt.
"Good morning!" he spoke pleasantly, walking the mule toward them. "Miss
Redaway? I was just looking for you. If this gentleman will excuse us?"
Waggoner fought down the ugly fury that started to rise inside him. Cold
common sense warned him. He did not doubt his ability to kill Trevallion, but
Trevallion was no tenderfoot, and he would be sure to get off a shot or two,
and at this range he would score.
"I reckon I'll have to," Waggoner said, "although I'm sure lookin' forward to
seein' more of her. Business comes first, doesn't it, ma'am?" He smiled
insolently. He turned the big horse and for a moment he looked right at
Trevallion, who said, "We have some business together, Mr. Waggoner, and I
believe you owe me about five hundred dollars. Would you mind getting it ready
for me?"
Waggoner rode on by, then for a moment an almost blinding rage swept over
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him.Why not now?Why not
He pulled up his horse and started to turn, but Trevallion had a rifle in his
hands now, almost casually pointed in his direction. Waggoner rode on.
Not against a rifle, not now. There would be other chances. Right in the
street if necessary. But it had to be done soon, not only for himself, but his
unseen employer had sent him two impatient notes.
Grita and Trevallion sat quietly, listening to the diminishing sound of his
horse's hoofs.
Then their eyes turned back and they looked at each other. For a long moment,
neither spoke, then she said, "I am glad you came when you did. He is not a
pleasant man."
"I've seen him around."
She was beautiful, but more than that there was something about her that he
liked, instantly. Suddenly he remembered what he had said, so long ago, that
he wanted to marry her. He flushed at the memory.
"You came for me?" she asked.
"Dane Clyde said you had ridden this way and would I suggest that you come
back. It has something to do with the theater. I was riding this way."
He was embarrassed, not knowing what to say. Did she remember him? He turned
his mule and she rode up beside him. Together they started back down the
canyon.
He felt unreasonably awkward and tongue-tied, and they rode in silence until [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
