CHAPTER XXXII
McLOUD AND DICKSIE
News of the fight in Williams Cache reached Medicine Bend in thenight. Horsemen, filling in the gaps between telephones leading to thenorth country, made the circuit complete, but the accounts, confusedand colored in the repeating, came in a cloud of conflicting rumors.In the streets, little groups of men discussed the fragmentary reportsas they came from the railroad offices. Toward morning, Sleepy Cat,nearer the scene of the fight, began sending in telegraphic reports inwhich truth and rumor were strangely mixed. McCloud waited at thewires all night, hoping for trustworthy advices as to the result, butreceived none. Even during the morning nothing came, and the silenceseemed more ominous than the bad news of the early night. Routinebusiness was almost suspended and McCloud and Rooney Lee kept thewires warm with inquiries, but neither the telephone nor the telegraphwould yield any definite word as to what had actually happened in theWilliams Cache fight. It was easy to fear the worst.
At the noon hour McCloud was signing letters when Dicksie Dunningwalked hurriedly up the hall and hesitated in the passageway beforethe open door of his office. He gave an exclamation as he pushed backhis chair. She was in her riding-suit just as she had slipped from hersaddle. "Oh, Mr. McCloud, have you heard the awful news? WhisperingSmith was killed yesterday in Williams Cache by Du Sang."
McCloud stiffened a little. "I hope that can't be true. We have hadnothing here but rumors; perhaps it is these that you have heard."
"No, no! Blake, one of our men, was in the fight and got back at theranch at nine o'clock this morning. I heard the story myself, and Irode right in to--to see Marion, and my courage failed me--I came herefirst. Does she know, do you think? Blake saw him fall from the saddleafter he was shot, and everybody ran away, and Du Sang and two othermen were firing at him as he lay on the ground. He could not possiblyhave escaped with his life, Blake said; he must have been riddled withbullets. Isn't it terrible?" She sobbed suddenly, and McCloud, stunnedat her words, led her to his chair and bent over her.
"If his death means this to you, think of what it means to me!"
A flood of sympathy bore them together. The moment was hardly one forinterruption, but the despatcher's door opened and Rooney Lee halted,thunderstruck, on the threshold.
Dicksie's hand disappeared in her handkerchief. McCloud had been inwrecks before, and gathered himself together unmoved. "What is it,Rooney?"
The very calmness of the two at the table disconcerted the despatcher.He held the message in his hand and shuffled his feet. "Give me yourdespatch," said McCloud impatiently.
Quite unable to take his hollow eyes off Dicksie, poor Rooneyadvanced, handed the telegram to McCloud, and beat an awkwardretreat.
McCloud devoured the words of the message at a glance.
"Ah!" he cried, "this is from Gordon himself, sent from Sleepy Cat. Hemust be safe and unhurt! Listen:
"Three of the Tower W men trailed into Williams Cache. In resisting arrest this morning, Du Sang was wounded and is dying to-night. Two prisoners, Karg and Seagrue. G. S.
"Those are Gordon's initials; it is the signature over which hetelegraphs me. You see, this was sent last night long after Blakeleft. He is safe; I will stake my life on it."
Dicksie sank back while McCloud re-read the message. "Oh, isn't that arelief?" she exclaimed. "But how can it be? I can't understand it atall; but he _is_ safe, isn't he? I was heartbroken when I heard he waskilled. Marion ought to know of this," she said, rising. "I am goingto tell her."
"And may I come over after I tell Rooney Lee to repeat this toheadquarters?"
"Why, of course, if you want to."
When McCloud reached the cottage Dicksie met him. "Katie Dancing'smother is sick, and she has gone home. Poor Marion is all alone thismorning, and half dead with a sick headache," said Dicksie. "But Itold her, and she said she shouldn't mind the headache now at all."
"But what are you going to do?"
"I am going to get dinner; do you want to help?"
"I'm going to help."
"Oh, you are? That would be very funny."
"Funny or not, I'm going to help."
"You would only be in the way."
"You don't know whether I should or not."
"I know _I_ should do much better if you would go back and run therailroad a few minutes."
"The railroad be hanged. I am for dinner."
"But I will get dinner for you."
"You need not. I can get it for myself."
"You are perfectly absurd, and if we stand here disputing, Marionwon't have anything to eat."
They went into the kitchen disputing about what should be cooked. Atthe end of an hour they had two fires going--one in the stove and onein Dicksie's cheeks. By that time it had been decided to have aluncheon instead of a dinner. Dicksie attempted some soup, and McCloudfound a strip of bacon, and after he had cooked it, Dicksie, with herriding-skirt pinned up and her sleeves delightfully rolled back, beganfrying eggs. When Marion, unable longer to withstand the excitement,appeared, the engineer, flushed with endeavor, was making toast.
The three sat down at table together. They found they had forgottenthe coffee, but Marion was not allowed to move from her chair. Whenthe coffee was made ready the bacon had been eaten and more had to befried. McCloud proved able for any part of the programme, and whenthey rose it was four o'clock and too late, McCloud declared, to goback to the office that afternoon.
Marion and Dicksie, after a time, attempted jointly to get rid of him,but they found they could not, so the three talked about WhisperingSmith. When the women tried to discourage McCloud by talking hats heplayed the wheezy piano, and when Dicksie spoke about going home hedeclared he would ride home with her. But Dicksie had no mind that heshould, and when he asked to know why, without realizing what a flushlingered in his face, she said only, no; if she had reasons she wouldgive none. McCloud persisted, because under the flush about his eyeswas the resolve that he would take one long ride that evening, in anyevent. He had made up his mind for that ride--a longer one than he hadever taken before or expected ever to take again--and would not bebalked.
Dicksie, insisting upon going home, went so far as to have her horsebrought from the stable. To her surprise, a horse for McCloud cameover with it. Quiet to the verge of solemnity, but with McCloudfollowing, Dicksie walked with admirable firmness out of the shop tothe curb. McCloud gave her rein to her, and with a smile stood waitingto help her mount.
She was drawing on her second glove. "You are not going with me."
"You'll let me ride the same road, won't you--even if I can't keepup?"
Dicksie looked at his mount. "It would be difficult to keep up, withthat horse."
"Would you ride away from me just because you have a better horse?"
"No, not _just_ because I have a better horse."
He looked steadily at her without speaking.
"Why must you ride home with me when I don't want you to?" she askedreproachfully. Fear had come upon her and she did not know what shewas saying. She saw only the expression of his eyes and looked away,but she knew that his eyes followed her. The sun had set. The desertedstreet lay in the white half-light of a mountain evening, and theday's radiance was dying in the sky. In lower tones he spoke again,and she turned deadly white.
"I've wanted so long to say this, Dicksie, that I might as well bedead as to try to keep it back any longer. That's why I want to ridehome with you if you are going to let me." He turned to stroke herhorse's head. Dicksie stood seemingly helpless. McCloud slipped hisfinger into his waistcoat pocket and held something out in his hand."This shell pin fell from your hair that night you were at camp by thebridge--do you remember? I couldn't bear to give it back."
Dicksie's eyes opened wide. "Let me see it. I don't think that ismine."
"Great Heaven! Have I been carrying Marion Sinclair's pin for amonth?" exclaimed McCloud. "Well, I won't lose any time in returningit to her, at any rate."
"Whe
re are you going?" Dicksie's voice was faint.
"I'm going to give Marion her pin."
"Do nothing of the sort! Come here! Give it to me."
"Dicksie, dare you tell me, after a shock like that, it really _is_your pin?"
"Oh, I don't know whose pin it is!"
"Why, what is the matter?"
"Give me the pin!" She put her hands unsteadily up under her hat."Here, for Heaven's sake, if you must have something, take this comb!"She slipped from her head the shell that held her knotted hair. Hecaught her hand and kissed it, and she could not get it away.
"You are dear," murmured Dicksie, "if you are silly. The reason Iwouldn't let you ride home with me is because I was afraid you mightget shot. How do you suppose I should feel if you were killed? Ordon't you think I have any feeling?"
"But, Dicksie, is it all right?"
"How do I know? What do you mean? I will not let you ride home withme, and you _will_ not let me ride home alone. Tie Jim again. I amgoing to stay with Marion all night."
Whispering Smith Page 33
