by Zane Grey
Chapter 7
DIANE AND VAUGHN
Then as gloom descended on me with my uttered thought, my heart smote meat Sally's broken: "Oh, Russ! No! No!" Diane Sampson bent dark, shockedeyes upon the hill and ranch in front of her; but they were sightless,they looked into space and eternity, and in them I read the truthsuddenly and cruelly revealed to her--she loved Steele!
I found it impossible to leave Miss Sampson with the impression I hadgiven. My own mood fitted a kind of ruthless pleasure in seeing hersuffer through love as I had intimation I was to suffer.
But now, when my strange desire that she should love Steele had itsfulfilment, and my fiendish subtleties to that end had been crowned withsuccess, I was confounded in pity and the enormity of my crime. For ithad been a crime to make, or help to make, this noble and beautifulwoman love a Ranger, the enemy of her father, and surely the author ofher coming misery. I felt shocked at my work. I tried to hang an excuseon my old motive that through her love we might all be saved. When itwas too late, however, I found that this motive was wrong and perhapswithout warrant.
We rode home in silence. Miss Sampson, contrary to her usual custom ofriding to the corrals or the porch, dismounted at a path leading inamong the trees and flowers. "I want to rest, to think before I go in,"she said.
Sally accompanied me to the corrals. As our horses stopped at the gate Iturned to find confirmation of my fears in Sally's wet eyes.
"Russ," she said, "it's worse than we thought."
"Worse? I should say so," I replied.
"It'll about kill her. She never cared that way for any man. When theSampson women love, they love."
"Well, you're lucky to be a Langdon," I retorted bitterly.
"I'm Sampson enough to be unhappy," she flashed back at me, "and I'mLangdon enough to have some sense. You haven't any sense or kindness,either. Why'd you want to blurt out that Jack Blome was here to killSteele?"
"I'm ashamed, Sally," I returned, with hanging head. "I've been a brute.I've wanted her to love Steele. I thought I had a reason, but now itseems silly. Just now I wanted to see how much she did care.
"Sally, the other day you said misery loved company. That's the trouble.I'm sore--bitter. I'm like a sick coyote that snaps at everything. I'vewanted you to go into the very depths of despair. But I couldn't sendyou. So I took out my spite on poor Miss Sampson. It was a damn unmanlything for me to do."
"Oh, it's not so bad as all that. But you might have been less abrupt.Russ, you seem to take an--an awful tragic view of your--your own case."
"Tragic? Hah!" I cried like the villain in the play. "What other waycould I look at it? I tell you I love you so I can't sleep or doanything."
"That's not tragic. When you've no chance, _then_ that's tragic."
Sally, as swiftly as she had blushed, could change into that deadlysweet mood. She did both now. She seemed warm, softened, agitated. Howcould this be anything but sincere? I felt myself slipping; so I laughedharshly.
"Chance! I've no chance on earth."
"Try!" she whispered.
But I caught myself in time. Then the shock of bitter renunciation madeit easy for me to simulate anger.
"You promised not to--not to--" I began, choking. My voice was hoarseand it broke, matters surely far removed from pretense.
I had seen Sally Langdon in varying degrees of emotion, but never as sheappeared now. She was pale and she trembled a little. If it was notfright, then I could not tell what it was. But there were contrition andearnestness about her, too.
"Russ, I know. I promised not to--to tease--to tempt you anymore," shefaltered. "I've broken it. I'm ashamed. I haven't played the gamesquare. But I couldn't--I can't help myself. I've got sense enough notto engage myself to you, but I can't keep from loving you. I can't letyou alone. There--if you want it on the square! What's more, I'll go onas I have done unless you keep away from me. I don't care what Ideserve--what you do--I will--I will!"
She had begun falteringly and she ended passionately.
Somehow I kept my head, even though my heart pounded like a hammer andthe blood drummed in my ears. It was the thought of Steele that savedme. But I felt cold at the narrow margin. I had reached a point, Ifeared, where a kiss, one touch from this bewildering creature of fireand change and sweetness would make me put her before Steele and myduty.
"Sally, if you dare break your promise again, you'll wish you never hadbeen born," I said with all the fierceness at my command.
"I wish that now. And you can't bluff me, Mr. Gambler. I may have nohand to play, but you can't make me lay it down," she replied.
Something told me Sally Langdon was finding herself; that presently Icould not frighten her, and then--then I would be doomed.
"Why, if I got drunk, I might do anything," I said cool and hard now."Cut off your beautiful chestnut hair for bracelets for my arms."
Sally laughed, but she was still white. She was indeed finding herself."If you ever get drunk again you can't kiss me any more. And if youdon't--you can."
I felt myself shake and, with all of the iron will I could assert, I hidfrom her the sweetness of this thing that was my weakness and herstrength.
"I might lasso you from my horse, drag you through the cactus," I addedwith the implacability of an Apache.
"Russ!" she cried. Something in this last ridiculous threat had found avital mark. "After all, maybe those awful stories Joe Harper told aboutyou were true."
"They sure were," I declared with great relief. "And now to forgetourselves. I'm more than sorry I distressed Miss Sampson; more thansorry because what I said wasn't on the square. Blome, no doubt, hascome to Linrock after Steele. His intention is to kill him. I saidthat--let Miss Sampson think it all meant fatality to the Ranger. But,Sally, I don't believe that Blome can kill Steele any more than--thanyou can."
"Why?" she asked; and she seemed eager, glad.
"Because he's not man enough. That's all, without details. You need notworry; and I wish you'd go tell Miss Sampson--"
"Go yourself," interrupted Sally. "I think she's afraid of my eyes. Butshe won't fear you'd guess her secret.
"Go to her, Russ. Find some excuse to tell her. Say you thought it over,believed she'd be distressed about what might never happen. Go--andafterward pray for your sins, you queer, good-natured, love-meddlingcowboy-devil, you!"
For once I had no retort ready for Sally. I hurried off as quickly as Icould walk in chaps and spurs.
I found Miss Sampson sitting on a bench in the shade of a tree. Herpallor and quiet composure told of the conquering and passing of thestorm. Always she had a smile for me, and now it smote me, for I in asense, had betrayed her.
"Miss Sampson," I began, awkwardly yet swiftly, "I--I got to thinking itover, and the idea struck me, maybe you felt bad about this gun-fighterBlome coming down here to kill Steele. At first I imagined you felt sickjust because there might be blood spilled. Then I thought you've showedinterest in Steele--naturally his kind of Ranger work is bound to appealto women--you might be sorry it couldn't go on, you might care."
"Russ, don't beat about the bush," she said interrupting my floundering."You know I care."
How wonderful her eyes were then--great dark, sad gulfs with the soul ofa woman at the bottom! Almost I loved her myself; I did love her truth,the woman in her that scorned any subterfuge.
Instantly she inspired me to command over myself. "Listen," I said."Jack Blome has come here to meet Steele. There will be a fight. ButBlome can't kill Steele."
"How is that? Why can't he? You said this Blome was a killer of men. Youspoke of notches on his gun. I've heard my father and my cousin, too,speak of Blome's record. He must be a terrible ruffian. If his intent isevil, why will he fail in it?"
"Because, Miss Sampson, when it comes to the last word, Steele will beon the lookout and Blome won't be quick enough on the draw to kill him.That's all."
"Quick enough on the draw? I understand, but I want to know more."
"I doubt if
there's a man on the frontier to-day quick enough to killSteele in an even break. That means a fair fight. This Blome isconceited. He'll make the meeting fair enough. It'll come off about likethis, Miss Sampson.
"Blome will send out his bluff--he'll begin to blow--to look for Steele.But Steele will avoid him as long as possible--perhaps altogether,though that's improbable. If they do meet, then Blome must force theissue. It's interesting to figure on that. Steele affects men strangely.It's all very well for this Blome to rant about himself and to huntSteele up. But the test'll come when he faces the Ranger. He never sawSteele. He doesn't know what he's up against. He knows Steele'sreputation, but I don't mean that. I mean Steele in the flesh, hisnerve, the something that's in his eyes.
"Now, when it comes to handling a gun the man doesn't breathe who hasanything on Steele. There was an outlaw, Duane, who might have killedSteele, had they ever met. I'll tell you Duane's story some day. A girlsaved him, made a Ranger of him, then got him to go far away fromTexas."
"That was wise. Indeed, I'd like to hear the story," she replied. "Then,after all, Russ, in this dreadful part of Texas life, when man facesman, it's all in the quickness of hand?"
"Absolutely. It's the draw. And Steele's a wonder. See here. Look atthis."
I stepped back and drew my gun.
"I didn't see how you did that," she said curiously. "Try it again."
I complied, and still she was not quick enough of eye to see my draw.Then I did it slowly, explaining to her the action of hand and then offinger. She seemed fascinated, as a woman might have been by thestriking power of a rattlesnake.
"So men's lives depend on that! How horrible for me to be interested--toask about it--to watch you! But I'm out here on the frontier now, caughtsomehow in its wildness, and I feel a relief, a gladness to know VaughnSteele has the skill you claim. Thank you, Russ."
She seemed about to dismiss me then, for she rose and half turned away.Then she hesitated. She had one hand at her breast, the other on thebench. "Have you been with him--talked to him lately?" she asked, and afaint rose tint came into her cheeks. But her eyes were steady, dark,and deep, and peered through and far beyond me.
"Yes, I've met him a few times, around places."
"Did he ever speak of--of me?"
"Once or twice, and then as if he couldn't help it."
"What did he say?"
"Well, the last time he seemed hungry to hear something about you. Hedidn't exactly ask, but, all the same, he was begging. So I told him."
"What?"
"Oh, how you were dressed, how you looked, what you said, what youdid--all about you. Don't be offended with me, Miss Sampson. It was realcharity. I talk too much. It's my weakness. Please don't be offended."
She never heard my apology or my entreaty. There was a kind of glory inher eyes. Looking at her, I found a dimness hazing my sight, and when Irubbed it away it came back.
"Then--what did he say?" This was whispered, almost shyly, and I couldscarcely believe the proud Miss Sampson stood before me.
"Why, he flew into a fury, called me an--" Hastily I caught myself."Well, he said if I wanted to talk to him any more not to speak of you.He was sure unreasonable."
"Russ--you think--you told me once--he--you think he still--" She wasnot facing me at all now. She had her head bent. Both hands were at herbreast, and I saw it heave. Her cheek was white as a flower, her neckdarkly, richly red with mounting blood.
I understood. And I pitied her and hated myself and marveled at thisthing, love. It made another woman out of Diane Sampson. I couldscarcely comprehend that she was asking me, almost beseechingly, forfurther assurance of Steele's love. I knew nothing of women, but thisseemed strange. Then a thought sent the blood chilling back to my heart.Had Diane Sampson guessed the guilt of her father? Was it more for hissake than for her own that she hoped--for surely she hoped--that Steeleloved her?
Here was more mystery, more food for reflection. Only a powerful motiveor a self-leveling love could have made a woman of Diane Sampson's prideask such a question. Whatever her reason, I determined to assure her,once and forever, what I knew to be true. Accordingly, I told her inunforgettable words, with my own regard for her and love for Sallyfilling my voice with emotion, how I could see that Steele loved her,how madly he was destined to love her, how terribly hard that was goingto make his work in Linrock.
There was a stillness about her then, a light on her face, which broughtto my mind thought of Sally when I had asked her to marry me.
"Russ, I beg you--bring us together," said Miss Sampson. "Bring about ameeting. You are my friend." Then she went swiftly away through theflowers, leaving me there, thrilled to my soul at her betrayal ofherself, ready to die in her service, yet cursing the fatal day VaughnSteele had chosen me for his comrade in this tragic game.
That evening in the girls' sitting-room, where they invited me, I wasled into a discourse upon the gun-fighters, outlaws, desperadoes, andbad men of the frontier. Miss Sampson and Sally had been, before theirarrival in Texas, as ignorant of such characters as any girls in theNorth or East. They were now peculiarly interested, fascinated, and atthe same time repelled.
Miss Sampson must have placed the Rangers in one of those classes,somewhat as Governor Smith had, and her father, too. Sally thought shewas in love with a cowboy whom she had been led to believe had as bad arecord as any. They were certainly a most persuasive and appreciativeaudience. So as it was in regard to horses, if I knew any subject well,it was this one of dangerous and bad men. Texas, and the wholedeveloping Southwest, was full of such characters. It was a verydifficult thing to distinguish between fighters who were bad men andfighters who were good men. However, it was no difficult thing for oneof my calling to tell the difference between a real bad man and theimitation "four-flush."
Then I told the girls the story of Buck Duane, famous outlaw and Ranger.And I narrated the histories of Murrell, most terrible ofblood-spillers ever known to Texas; of Hardin, whose long career ofcrime ended in the main street in Huntsville when he faced Buck Duane;of Sandobal, the Mexican terror; of Cheseldine, Bland, Alloway, andother outlaws of the Rio Grande; of King Fisher and Thompson andSterrett, all still living and still busy adding notches to their guns.
I ended my little talk by telling the story of Amos Clark, a criminal ofa higher type than most bad men, yet infinitely more dangerous becauseof that. He was a Southerner of good family. After the war he went toDimmick County and there developed and prospered with the country. Hebecame the most influential citizen of his town and the richest in thatsection. He held offices. He was energetic in his opposition to rustlersand outlaws. He was held in high esteem by his countrymen. But this AmosClark was the leader of a band of rustlers, highwaymen, and murderers.
Captain Neal and some of his Rangers ferreted out Clark's relation tothis lawless gang, and in the end caught him red-handed. He was arrestedand eventually hanged. His case was unusual, and it furnished an exampleof what was possible in that wild country. Clark had a son who washonest and a wife whom he dearly loved, both of whom had been utterlyignorant of the other and wicked side of life. I told this last storydeliberately, yet with some misgivings. I wanted to see--I convincedmyself it was needful for me to see--if Miss Sampson had any suspicionof her father. To look into her face then was no easy task. But when Idid I experienced a shock, though not exactly the kind I had preparedmyself for.
She knew something; maybe she knew actually more than Steele or I;still, if it were a crime, she had a marvelous control over her truefeelings.
* * * * *
Jack Blome and his men had been in Linrock for several days; old Sneckerand his son Bo had reappeared, and other hard-looking customers, new tome if not to Linrock. These helped to create a charged and waitingatmosphere. The saloons did unusual business and were never closed.Respectable citizens of the town were awakened in the early dawn byrowdies carousing in the streets.
Steele kept pretty closely under cover. H
e did not entertain theopinion, nor did I, that the first time he walked down the street hewould be a target for Blome and his gang. Things seldom happened thatway, and when they did happen so it was more accident than design. Blomewas setting the stage for his little drama.
Meanwhile Steele was not idle. He told me he had met Jim Hoden, Mortonand Zimmer, and that these men had approached others of like character;a secret club had been formed and all the members were ready for action.Steele also told me that he had spent hours at night watching the housewhere George Wright stayed when he was not up at Sampson's. Wright hadalmost recovered from the injury to his arm, but he still remained mostof the time indoors. At night he was visited, or at least his house was,by strange men who were swift, stealthy, mysterious--all men whoformerly would not have been friends or neighbors.
Steele had not been able to recognize any of these night visitors, andhe did not think the time was ripe for a bold holding up of one of them.
Jim Hoden had forcibly declared and stated that some deviltry was afoot,something vastly different from Blome's open intention of meeting theRanger.
Hoden was right. Not twenty-four hours after his last talk with Steele,in which he advised quick action, he was found behind the little room ofhis restaurant, with a bullet hole in his breast, dead. No one could befound who had heard a shot.
It had been deliberate murder, for behind the bar had been left a pieceof paper rudely scrawled with a pencil:
"All friends of Ranger Steele look for the same."
Later that day I met Steele at Hoden's and was with him when he lookedat the body and the written message which spoke so tersely of theenmity toward him. We left there together, and I hoped Steele would letme stay with him from that moment.
"Russ, it's all in the dark," he said. "I feel Wright's hand in this."
I agreed. "I remember his face at Hoden's that day you winged him.Because Jim swore you were wrong not to kill instead of wing him. Youwere wrong."
"No, Russ, I never let feeling run wild with my head. We can't prove athing on Wright."
"Come on; let's hunt him up. I'll bet I can accuse him and make him showhis hand. Come on!"
That Steele found me hard to resist was all the satisfaction I got forthe anger and desire to avenge Jim Hoden that consumed me.
"Son, you'll have your belly full of trouble soon enough," repliedSteele. "Hold yourself in. Wait. Try to keep your eye on Sampson atnight. See if anyone visits him. Spy on him. I'll watch Wright."
"Don't you think you'd do well to keep out of town, especially when yousleep?"
"Sure. I've got blankets out in the brush, and I go there every nightlate and leave before daylight. But I keep a light burning in the 'dobehouse and make it look as if I were there."
"Good. That worried me. Now, what's this murder of Jim Hoden going to doto Morton, Zimmer, and their crowd?"
"Russ, they've all got blood in their eyes. This'll make them see red.I've only to say the word and we'll have all the backing we need."
"Have you run into Blome?"
"Once. I was across the street. He came out of the Hope So with some ofhis gang. They lined up and watched me. But I went right on."
"He's here looking for trouble, Steele."
"Yes; and he'd have found it before this if I just knew his relation toSampson and Wright."
"Do you think Blome a dangerous man to meet?"
"Hardly. He's a genuine bad man, but for all that he's not much to befeared. If he were quietly keeping away from trouble, then that'd bedifferent. Blome will probably die in his boots, thinking he's the worstman and the quickest one on the draw in the West."
That was conclusive enough for me. The little shadow of worry that hadhaunted me in spite of my confidence vanished entirely.
"Russ, for the present help me do something for Jim Hoden's family,"went on Steele. "His wife's in bad shape. She's not a strong woman.There are a lot of kids, and you know Jim Hoden was poor. She told meher neighbors would keep shy of her now. They'd be afraid. Oh, it'stough! But we can put Jim away decently and help his family."
Several days after this talk with Steele I took Miss Sampson and Sallyout to see Jim Hoden's wife and children. I knew Steele would be therethat afternoon, but I did not mention this fact to Miss Sampson. We rodedown to the little adobe house which belonged to Mrs. Hoden's people,and where Steele and I had moved her and the children after Jim Hoden'sfuneral. The house was small, but comfortable, and the yard green andshady.
If this poor wife and mother had not been utterly forsaken by neighborsand friends it certainly appeared so, for to my knowledge no one besidesSteele and me visited her. Miss Sampson had packed a big basket full ofgood things to eat, and I carried this in front of me on the pommel aswe rode. We hitched our horses to the fence and went round to the backof the house. There was a little porch with a stone flooring, and hereseveral children were playing. The door stood open. At my knock Mrs.Hoden bade me come in. Evidently Steele was not there, so I went in withthe girls.
"Mrs. Hoden, I've brought Miss Sampson and her cousin to see you," Isaid cheerfully.
The little room was not very light, there being only one window and thedoor; but Mrs. Hoden could be seen plainly enough as she lay,hollow-cheeked and haggard, on a bed. Once she had evidently been awoman of some comeliness. The ravages of trouble and grief were there toread in her worn face; it had not, however, any of the hard and bitterlines that had characterized her husband's.
I wondered, considering that Sampson had ruined Hoden, how Mrs. Hodenwas going to regard the daughter of an enemy.
"So you're Roger Sampson's girl?" queried the woman, with her brightblack eyes fixed on her visitor.
"Yes," replied Miss Sampson, simply. "This is my cousin, Sally Langdon.We've come to nurse you, take care of the children, help you in any wayyou'll let us."
There was a long silence.
"Well, you look a little like Sampson," finally said Mrs. Hoden, "butyou're not at all like him. You must take after your mother. MissSampson, I don't know if I can--if I _ought_ to accept anything fromyou. Your father ruined my husband."
"Yes, I know," replied the girl sadly. "That's all the more reason youshould let me help you. Pray don't refuse. It will--mean so much to me."
If this poor, stricken woman had any resentment it speedily melted inthe warmth and sweetness of Miss Sampson's manner. My idea was that theimpression of Diane Sampson's beauty was always swiftly succeeded bythat of her generosity and nobility. At any rate, she had started wellwith Mrs. Hoden, and no sooner had she begun to talk to the childrenthan both they and the mother were won.
The opening of that big basket was an event. Poor, starved littlebeggars! I went out on the porch to get away from them. My feelingsseemed too easily aroused. Hard indeed would it have gone with JimHoden's slayer if I could have laid my eyes on him then. However, MissSampson and Sally, after the nature of tender and practical girls, didnot appear to take the sad situation to heart. The havoc had alreadybeen wrought in that household. The needs now were cheerfulness,kindness, help, action, and these the girls furnished with a spirit thatdid me good.
"Mrs. Hoden, who dressed this baby?" presently asked Miss Sampson. Ipeeped in to see a dilapidated youngster on her knees. That sight, ifany other was needed, completed my full and splendid estimate of DianeSampson.
"Mr. Steele," replied Mrs. Hoden.
"Mr. Steele!" exclaimed Miss Sampson.
"Yes; he's taken care of us all since--since--" Mrs. Hoden choked.
"Oh, so you've had no help but his," replied Miss Sampson hastily. "Nowomen? Too bad! I'll send someone, Mrs. Hoden, and I'll come myself."
"It'll be good of you," went on the older woman. "You see, Jim had fewfriends--that is, right in town. And they've been afraid to helpus--afraid they'd get what poor Jim--"
"That's awful!" burst out Miss Sampson passionately. "A brave lot offriends! Mrs. Hoden, don't you worry any more. We'll take care of you.Here, Sally help me. Whatever is the matter w
ith baby's dress?"Manifestly Miss Sampson had some difficulty in subduing her emotion.
"Why, it's on hind side before," declared Sally. "I guess Mr. Steelehasn't dressed many babies."
"He did the best he could," said Mrs. Hoden. "Lord only knows what wouldhave become of us! He brought your cowboy, Russ, who's been very goodtoo."
"Mr. Steele, then is--is something more than a Ranger?" queried MissSampson, with a little break in her voice.
"He's more than I can tell," replied Mrs. Hoden. "He buried Jim. He paidour debts. He fetched us here. He bought food for us. He cooked for usand fed us. He washed and dressed the baby. He sat with me the first twonights after Jim's death, when I thought I'd die myself.
"He's so kind, so gentle, so patient. He has kept me up just by beingnear. Sometimes I'd wake from a doze an', seeing him there, I'd know howfalse were all these tales Jim heard about him and believed at first.Why, he plays with the children just--just like any good man might. Whenhe has the baby up I just can't believe he's a bloody gunman, as theysay.
"He's good, but he isn't happy. He has such sad eyes. He looks far offsometimes when the children climb round him. They love him. I think hemust have loved some woman. His life is sad. Nobody need tell me--hesees the good in things. Once he said somebody had to be a Ranger. Well,I say, thank God for a Ranger like him!"
After that there was a long silence in the little room, broken only bythe cooing of the baby. I did not dare to peep in at Miss Sampson then.
Somehow I expected Steele to arrive at that moment, and his step did notsurprise me. He came round the corner as he always turned any corner,quick, alert, with his hand down. If I had been an enemy waiting therewith a gun I would have needed to hurry. Steele was instinctively andhabitually on the defense.
"Hello, son! How are Mrs. Hoden and the youngster to-day?" he asked.
"Hello yourself! Why, they're doing fine! I brought the girls down--"
Then in the semishadow of the room, across Mrs. Hoden's bed, DianeSampson and Steele faced each other.
That was a moment! Having seen her face then I would not have missedsight of it for anything I could name; never so long as memory remainedwith me would I forget. She did not speak. Sally, however, bowed andspoke to the Ranger. Steele, after the first start, showed no unusualfeeling. He greeted both girls pleasantly.
"Russ, that was thoughtful of you," he said. "It was womankind neededhere. I could do so little--Mrs. Hoden, you look better to-day. I'mglad. And here's baby, all clean and white. Baby, what a time I hadtrying to puzzle out the way your clothes went on! Well, Mrs. Hoden,didn't I tell you friends would come? So will the brighter side."
"Yes; I've more faith than I had," replied Mrs. Hoden. "Roger Sampson'sdaughter has come to me. There for a while after Jim's death I thoughtI'd sink. We have nothing. How could I ever take care of my little ones?But I'm gaining courage."
"Mrs. Hoden, do not distress yourself any more," said Miss Sampson. "Ishall see you are well cared for. I promise you."
"Miss Sampson, that's fine!" exclaimed Steele, with a ring in his voice."It's what I'd have hoped--expected of you..."
It must have been sweet praise to her, for the whiteness of her faceburned in a beautiful blush.
"And it's good of you, too, Miss Langdon, to come," added Steele. "Letme thank you both. I'm glad I have you girls as allies in part of mylonely task here. More than glad, for the sake of this good woman andthe little ones. But both of you be careful. Don't stir without Russ.There's risk. And now I'll be going. Good-by. Mrs. Hoden, I'll drop inagain to-night. Good-by!"
Steele backed to the door, and I slipped out before him.
"Mr. Steele--wait!" called Miss Sampson as he stepped out. He uttered alittle sound like a hiss or a gasp or an intake of breath, I did notknow what; and then the incomprehensible fellow bestowed a kick upon methat I thought about broke my leg. But I understood and gamely enduredthe pain. Then we were looking at Diane Sampson. She was white andwonderful. She stepped out of the door, close to Steele. She did not seeme; she cared nothing for my presence. All the world would not havemattered to her then.
"I have wronged you!" she said impulsively.
Looking on, I seemed to see or feel some slow, mighty force gathering inSteele to meet this ordeal. Then he appeared as always--yet, to me, howdifferent!
"Miss Sampson, how can you say that?" he returned.
"I believed what my father and George Wright said about you--thatbloody, despicable record! Now I do _not_ believe. I see--I wrongedyou."
"You make me very glad when you tell me this. It was hard to have youthink so ill of me. But, Miss Sampson, please don't speak of wrongingme. I am a Ranger, and much said of me is true. My duty is hard onothers--sometimes on those who are innocent, alas! But God knows thatduty is hard, too, on me."
"I did wrong you. In thought--in word. I ordered you from my home as ifyou were indeed what they called you. But I was deceived. I see myerror. If you entered my home again I would think it an honor. I--"
"Please--please don't, Miss Sampson," interrupted poor Steele. I couldsee the gray beneath his bronze and something that was like gold deep inhis eyes.
"But, sir, my conscience flays me," she went on. There was no othersound like her voice. If I was all distraught with emotion, what mustSteele have been? "I make amends. Will you take my hand? Will youforgive me?" She gave it royally, while the other was there pressing ather breast.
Steele took the proffered hand and held it, and did not release it. Whatelse could he have done? But he could not speak. Then it seemed to dawnupon Steele there was more behind this white, sweet, noble intensity ofher than just making amends for a fancied or real wrong. For myself, Ithought the man did not live on earth who could have resisted her then.And there was resistance; I felt it; she must have felt it. It was poorSteele's hard fate to fight the charm and eloquence and sweetness ofthis woman when, for some reason unknown to him, and only guessed at byme, she was burning with all the fire and passion of her soul.
"Mr. Steele, I honor you for your goodness to this unfortunate woman,"she said, and now her speech came swiftly. "When she was all alone andhelpless you were her friend. It was the deed of a man. But Mrs. Hodenisn't the only unfortunate woman in the world. I, too, am unfortunate.Ah, how I may soon need a friend!
"Vaughn Steele, the man whom I need most to be my friend--want most tolean upon--is the one whose duty is to stab me to the heart, to ruinme. You! Will you be my friend? If you knew Diane Sampson you would knowshe would never ask you to be false to your duty. Be true to us both!I'm so alone--no one but Sally loves me. I'll need a friend soon--soon.
"Oh, I know--I know what you'll find out sooner or later. I know _now_!I want to help you. Let us save life, if not honor. Must I standalone--all alone? Will you--will you be--"
Her voice failed. She was swaying toward Steele. I expected to see hisarms spread wide and enfold her in their embrace.
"Diane Sampson, I love you!" whispered Steele hoarsely, white now to hislips. "I must be true to my duty. But if I can't be true to you, then byGod, I want no more of life!" He kissed her hand and rushed away.
She stood a moment as if blindly watching the place where he hadvanished, and then as a sister might have turned to a brother, shereached for me.
