CHAPTER XI
"YOU ARE--THE BOSS"
She held out her left hand with a sad little smile. "It is good of youto come so soon," she said, simply.
She had begged so earnestly to sit up that Mrs. White had improvised aninvalid's chair out of a huge old rocker and a cracker box. It did verywell. Then she had partially clothed the girl in a skimpy wrapper of thesort Langford abominated, throwing a man's silk handkerchief where thewrapper failed to meet, and around the injured arm. Mrs. White had thenrecalled her husband from the stables where he was on the point ofmounting to join the relief party that was to set off in search ofWilliston at ten o'clock. The starting point unanimously agreed upon wasto be the pitiful remnants of Williston's home. Men shook their headsdubiously whenever the question of a possible leading trail wasbroached. The soil was hard and dry from an almost rainless July andAugust. The fugitives might strike across country anywhere with meagrechances of their trail being traced by any.
Mrs. White and her husband, kindly souls both, lifted the girl as gentlyas might be from the bed to the rudely constructed invalid's chair bythe sitting-room window. Then they had left her--the woman to putteraround her kitchen, the man to make good his appointment. But theexertion had been too much for Mary. She had counted on strength thatshe did not possess. Where had she lost it all? she wondered, lackingcomprehension of her exceeding weakness. To be sure, her arm alternatelyached and smarted, but one's arm was really such a small part of one,and she had been so strong--always. She tried to shake off the faintnesscreeping over her. It was effort thrown away. She lay back on herpillow, very white and worn, her pretty hair tangled and loosened fromits coils.
Paul came. He was dusty and travel-stained. He had been almostcontinuously in his saddle since near midnight of the night before. Hewas here, big, strong, and worthy. Mary did not cry, but she rememberedhow she had wanted to a few hours ago and she wondered that she couldnot now. Strangely enough, it was Paul who wanted to cry now--but hedidn't. He only swallowed hard and held her poor hand with allgentleness, afraid to let go lest he also let go his mastery over thealmost insurmountable lump in his throat.
"I tried to come sooner," he said, huskily, at last, releasing her handand standing before her. "But I've been riding all over--for men, youknow,--and I had a talk with Gordon, too. It took time. He is coming outto see you this afternoon. He is coming with Doc. Don't you think youhad better go back to bed now? You are so--so white. Let me carry youback to bed before I go."
"Are you going, too?" asked Mary, looking at him with wide eyes ofgratitude.
"Surely," he responded, quickly. "Did you think I wouldn't?"
"I--I--didn't know. I thought--there were a lot going--there would beenough without you. But--I am glad. If you go, it will be all right.You will find him if any one can."
"Won't you let me carry you back to bed till Doc comes?" said Langford,brokenly.
"I could not bear it in bed," she said, clearly. Her brown eyes werebeginning to shine with fever, and red spots had broken out in her palecheeks. "If you make me go, I shall die. I hear it all the time when Iam lying down--galloping, galloping, galloping. They never stop. Theyalways begin all over again."
"What galloping, little girl?" asked Langford, soothingly. He saw shewas becoming delirious. If Doc and Dick would only come before he had togo. But they were not coming until after dinner. He gazed down the dustyroad. They would wait for him, the others. He was their leader by thenatural-born right of push and energy, as well as by his having been thesole participant, with his own cowboys, in the last night's tragedy. Butwould he do well to keep them waiting? They had already delayed toolong. And yet how could he leave Williston's little girl like this--evento find Williston?
"They are carrying my father away," she said, with startlingdistinctness. "Don't you hear them? If you would listen, you could hearthem. Do listen! They are getting faint now--you can hardly hear them.They are fainter--fainter--fainter--"
She had raised her head. There was an alert look on her face. She leanedslightly toward the window.
"Good God! A man can't stand everything!" cried Langford, hoarsely. Hetore the knotted handkerchief from his throat. It was as if he waschoking. Then he put his cool, strong hand to her burning forehead andgently smoothed back the rough hair. Gradually, the fixed look of anindescribable horror passed away from her face. The strained, hard eyessoftened, became dewy. She looked at him, a clinging helplessness in hereyes, but sweet and sane.
"Don't you worry, child," he said, comfortingly. "They can't helpfinding him. Twenty men with the sheriff start on the trail. There'll befifty before night. They can't help finding him. I'm going to stay righthere with you till Doc comes. I'll catch up with them before they'vegone far. I'll send word to the boys not to wait. Must be somebodyaround the house, I reckon, besides the old lady."
He started cheerily for the door.
"Mr. Langford!"
"Yes?"
"Please come back."
He came quickly to her.
"What is it?"
"Mr. Langford, will you grant me a favor?"
"Certainly, Miss Mary. Anything in this world that I can do for you, Iwill do. You know that, don't you?"
"I am all right now. I don't think I shall get crazy again if you willlet me sit here by this window and look out. If I can watch for him, itwill give me something to do. You see, I could be watching all the timefor the party to come back over that little rise up the road. I want youto promise me," she went on, steadily, "that I may sit here and wait foryou--to come back."
"God knows you may, little girl, anyway till Doc comes."
"You are wiser than Doc," pursued the girl. "He is a good fellow, butfoolish, you know, sometimes. He might not understand. He might like touse authority over me because I am his patient--when he did notunderstand. Promise that I may sit up till you come back."
"I do promise, little girl. Tell him I said so. Tell him--"
"I will tell him you are--the Boss," she said, with a pitiful littleattempt at a jest, and smiling wanly. "He will mind--the Boss."
Langford was in agony. Perspiration was springing out on his foreheadthough August was wearing away peacefully in soft coolness with driftingdepths of white cloud as a lounging-robe,--a blessed reprieve from theblazing sun of the long weeks which had gone before.
"And then I want you to promise me," went on Mary, quietly, "that youwill not think any more of staying behind. I could not bear that. Itrust you to go. You will, won't you?"
"Yes, I will go. I will do anything you say. And I want you to believethat everything will be all right. They would not dare to kill him now,knowing that we are after them. If we are not back to-night, you willnot worry, will you? They had so much the start of us."
"I will try not to worry."
"Well, good-bye. Be a good girl, won't you?"
"I will try," she answered, wearily.
With a last look into the brave, sweet face, and smothering a mad,uncowman-like desire to stay and comfort this dear little woman whileothers rode away in stirring quest, Langford strode from the sick-roominto the kitchen.
"Don't let her be alone any more than you can help, Mother White," hesaid, brusquely, "and don't worry her about going to bed."
"Have a bite afore you start, Mr. Langford, do," urged the good woman,hospitably. "You're that worn out you're white around the gills. I'llbet you haven't had ary bite o' breakfast."
"I had forgotten--but you are right. No, thank you, I'll not stop foranything now. I'll have to ride like Kingdom come. I'm late. Be good toher, Mother White," this last over his shoulder as he sprang to hismount from the kitchen stoop.
The long day wore along. Mother White was baking. The men would beravenous when they came back. Many would stop there for something to eatbefore going on to their homes. It might be to-night, it might beto-morrow, it might not be until the day after, but whenever the timedid come, knowing the men of the range country, she must have something"by her." Th
e pleasant fragrance of new bread just from the oven, mixedwith the faint, spicy odor of cinnamon rolls, floated into the cheerlesssitting-room. Mary, idly watching Mother White through the open door asshe bustled about in a wholesome-looking blue-checked gingham apron,longed with a childish intensity to be out where there were human warmthand companionship. It was such a weary struggle to keep cobwebs out ofher head in that lonely, carpetless sitting-room, and to keep the pipethat reared itself above the squat stove, from changing into acottonwood tree. Some calamity seemed to hover over her all the time.She was about to grasp the terrible truth,--she knew she must lookaround. Now some one was creeping toward her from under the bed. Unlessshe stared it out of countenance, something awful would surely come topass.
Mother White came to the door from time to time to ask her how she was,with floury hands, and stove smutch on her plump cheek. She never failedto break the evil spell. But Mary was weak, and Mrs. White on one of herperiodical pauses at the door found her sobbing in pitifulself-abandonment. She went to her quickly, her face full of concern.
"My dear, my dear," she cried, anxiously, "what is it? Tell me. Mr.Langford will never forgive me. I didn't mean to neglect you, child.It's only that I'm plumb a-foot for time. Tell me what ails you--that's adearie."
Mary laid her head on the motherly shoulder and cried quietly for awhile. Then she looked up with the faintest ghost of a smile.
"I'm ashamed to tell you, Mother White," she half whispered. "Itis--only--that I was afraid you hadn't put enough cinnamon in the rolls. Ilike cinnamon rolls."
"Lord love the child!" gasped Mrs. White, but without the leastinclination to laugh. "Why, I lit'rally buried 'em in cinnamon. Icouldn't afford not to. If I do say it who shouldn't, my rolls is prettywell known in Kemah County. The boys wouldn't stand for no economizin'in spice. No, sirree."
She hastened wonderingly back to her kitchen, only to return with aheaped-up plate of sweet-smelling rolls.
"Here you are, honey, and they wont hurt you a mite. I can't think whatkeeps that fool Doc." She was getting worried. It was nearly four and hewas not even in sight.
Now that she had them, Mary did not want the rolls. She felt they wouldchoke her. She waited until her kindly neighbor had trotted back to herhousehold cares, and pushed the plate away. She turned to her windowwith an exaggerated feeling of relief. It was hard to watch ceaselesslyfor some one to top that little rise out yonder and yet for no one everto do it. But there were compensations. It is really better sometimesnot to see things than to see--some things. And it was easier to keep herhead clear when she was watching the road.
A younger White, an over-grown lad of twelve, came in from far afield.He carried a shot-gun in one hand and a gunny-sack thrown over hisshoulder. He slouched up and deposited the contents of the bag in frontof Mary's window with a bashful, but sociable grin. Mary noddedapprovingly, and the boy was soon absorbed in dressing the fowls. What afeast there would be that night if the men got back!
At last came the doctor and Gordon, driving up in the doctor'stop-buggy, weather-stained, mud-bedaubed with the mud of last Spring, ofmany Springs. The doctor was a badly dressed, pleasant-eyed man, pastmiddle age, with a fringe of gray whiskers. He was a sort of journeymandoctor, and he had drifted hither one day two Summers ago from the LakeAndes country in this selfsame travel-worn conveyance with its same bonysorrel. He had found good picking, he had often jovially remarked since,chewing serenely away on a brand of vile plug the while. He had electedto remain. He was part and parcel of the cattle country now. He was anestablished condition. People had learned to accept him as he was and begrateful. Haste was a mental and physical impossibility to him. He tookhis own time. All must perforce acquiesce.
But as he took Mary's wrist between well-shaped fingers disfigured withlong, black nails, he had not been able as yet to readjust himself toold conditions after last night's grewsome experience. He was stillwalking in a maze. He occasionally even forgot the automatic movement ofhis jaws. Ah, little doctor, something untoward must have happened tocause you to forget that! What that something was he was thinking aboutnow, and that was what made his blue eyes twinkle so merrily.
Last night,--was it only last night?--oh, way, way in the night, whenghosts and goblins stalked abroad and all good people were safely housedand deeply asleep, there had come a goblin to his door in the hotel, andcried for admittance with devilish persistence and wealth of language.When he, the doctor, had desired information as to the needs of hisuntimely visitant, the shoulders of some prehistoric giant had been putto the door, and it had fallen open as to the touch of magic. A dazzlingand nether-world light had flamed up in his room, and thisHercules-goblin with lock-destroying tendencies had commanded him toclothe himself, with such insistency that the mantle of nimbleness haddescended upon all the little doctor's movements. That this marvellousagility was the result, pure and simple, of black arts, was shown by thefact that the little doctor was in a daze all the rest of the night. Hedid not even make show of undue astonishment or nervousness when,clothed in some wonderful and haphazard fashion, he was escorted throughthe dimly lit hall, down the dark stairway, past the office where anight-lamp burned dully, out into the cool night air and into theyawning depths of a mysterious vehicle which rattled with a suspiciouslyfamiliar rattle when it suddenly plunged into what seemed likeeverlasting darkness ahead. He had felt a trifle more like himself afterhe had unconsciously rammed his hand through the rent in the cushionwhere the hair stuffing was coming out. But he had not been permittedthe reins, so he could not be sure if they were tied together with apiece of old suspender or not; and if that was Old Sorrel, he certainlyhad powers of speed hitherto unsuspected.
Witchcraft? Ay! Had not he, the little doctor, heard ghostly hoof-beatsalongside all the way? It had been nerve-racking. Sometimes he hadthought it might just be a cow pony, but he could not be sure; and whenhe had been tossed profanely and with no dignity into the house of oneWhite, homesteader, with the enigmatical words, "There, damn ye, Doc! Ireckon ye got a move on once in your life, anyway," the voice hadsounded uncannily like that of one Jim Munson, cow-puncher; but that wasdoubtless a hallucination of his, brought about by the unusualness ofthe night's adventures.
"You have worked yourself into a high fever, Miss Williston, that's whatyou've done," he said, with professional mournfulness.
"I know it," she smiled, wanly. "I couldn't help it. I'm sorry."
Gordon drew up a chair and sat down by her, saying with grave kindness,"You are fretting. We must not let you. I am going to stay with you allnight and shoo the goblins away."
"You are kind," said Mary, gratefully. "May I tell you when they come?If some one speaks to me, they go away."
"Indeed you may, dear child," he exclaimed, heartily. He had been halfjoking when he spoke of keeping things away. He now perceived that thesethings were more serious than he knew.
The doctor administered medicine to reduce the fever, dressed thewounded arm, with Gordon's ready assistance, and then called in MotherWhite to prepare the bed for his patient; but he paused nonplussedbefore the weight of entreaty in Mary's eyes and voice.
"Please don't," she cried out, in actual terror. "Oh, Mr. Gordon, don'tlet him! I see such awful things when I lie down. Please! Please! AndMr. Langford said I might sit up till he came. Mr. Gordon, you will notlet him put me to bed, will you?"
"I think it will be better to let her have her way, Lockhart," saidGordon, in a low voice.
"Mebbe it would, Dick," said the doctor, with surprising meekness.
"I'll stay all night and I'll take good care of her, Lockhart. There'sMother White beckoning to supper. You'll eat before you go? No, I won'ttake any supper now, thank you, mother, I will stay with Mary."
And he did stay with her all through the long watches of that longnight. He never closed his eyes in sleep. Sometimes, Mary would drop offinto uneasy slumber--always of short duration. When she awakened suddenlyin wide-eyed fright, he soothed her with all tenderness. Sometim
es whenhe thought she was sleeping, she would clutch his arm desperately andcry out that there was some one behind the big cottonwood. Again itwould be to ask him in a terrified whisper if he did not hearhoof-beats, galloping, galloping, galloping, and begged him to listen.He could always quiet her, and she tried hard to keep from wandering;but after a short, broken rest, she would cry out again in endlessrepetition of the terrors of that awful night.
Mrs. White and several of her small progeny breathed loudly from anadjoining room. A lamp burned dimly on the table. It grew late--twelveo'clock and after. At last she rested. She passed from light, brokenslumber to deep sleep without crying out and thus awakening herself.Gordon was tired and sad. Now that the flush of fever was gone, he sawhow white and miserable she really looked. The circles under her eyeswere so dark they were like bruises. The mantle of his misfortune wasspreading to bring others besides himself into its sombre folds.
The men were coming back. But they were coming quietly, in grim silence.He dared not awaken Mary for the news he knew they must carry. Hestepped noiselessly to the door to warn them to a yet greater stillness,and met Langford on the threshold.
The two surveyed each other gravely with clasped hands.
"You tell her, Dick. I--I can't," said Langford. His big shouldersdrooped as under a heavy burden.
"Must I?" asked Gordon.
"Dick, I--I can't," said Langford, brokenly. "Don't you see?--if I hadbeen just a minute sooner--and I promised."
"Yes, I see, Paul," said Gordon, quietly. "I will tell her."
"You need not," said a sweet clear voice from across the room. "I know.I heard. I think I knew all the time--but you were all so good to make mehope. Don't worry about me any more, dear friends. I am all right now.It is much better to know. I hope they didn't hang him. You think theyshot him, don't you?"
"Little girl, little girl," cried Langford, on his knees beside her, "itis not that! It is only that we have not found him. But no news is goodnews. That we have found no trace proves that they have to guard himwell because he is alive. We are going on a new tack to-morrow. Believeme, little girl, and go to bed now, won't you, and rest?"
"Yes," she said, wearily, as one in whom no hope was left, "I will go. Iwill mind--the Boss."
As he laid her gently on the bed, while Mrs. White, aroused from sleep,fluttered aimlessly and drowsily about, he whispered, his breathcaressing her cheek:
"You will go to sleep right away, won't you?"
"I will try. You are the Boss."
Langford of the Three Bars Page 11
