Beth Norvell: A Romance of the West

by Randall Parrish

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE PROOF OF LOVE

  The dreaded night settled down dark but clear, a myriad of starsgloriously bright in the vast vault overhead, the clinging shadowsblack and gloomy along the tree-fringed ridge. Nature, hushed intorepose, appeared alone in possession, the solemn silence of peacefulnight enveloping the vast canyon and its overhanging mountains. Amidthe gathering gloom all animate life seemed to have sought rest, tohave found covert. The last glimpse which the watchful guardians ofthe "Little Yankee" gained of the surroundings of the "Independence"revealed nothing to awaken immediate alarm. A few men idly came andwent about the shaft-house and ore-dump, but otherwise the entire claimappeared deserted. No hostile demonstration of any kind had beenattempted since Farnham's retreat, and now no sign of contemplatedattack was to be perceived. The large number of men visible earlier inthe day had mysteriously disappeared; not even the searchingfield-glasses served to reveal their whereabouts. In the gatheringdarkness no lights bore witness to the slightest activity; everywhereit remained black and silent.

  To those wearied men on guard this secrecy seemed ominous ofapproaching evil. They comprehended too clearly the vengeful nature oftheir enemy to be lulled thus into any false security. Such skulkingcould be accepted only as a symptom of treachery, of some deep-laidplan for surprise. But what? Would Farnham, in his desperation, hisanxiety to cover up all evidences of crime, resort to strategy, or toforce? Would he utilize the law, behind which he was now firmlyentrenched, or would he rely entirely upon the numbers he controlled toachieve a surer, quicker victory? That he possessed men in plenty towork his will the defenders of the "Little Yankee" knew fromobservation. These were of the kind to whom fighting was a trade.They must be there yet, hiding somewhere in the chaparral, for none hadretreated down the trail. Backed by the mandates of law, convincedthat they had nothing to fear legally, that they were merely executingthe decrees of court, they would hardly be likely to hesitate at thecommittal of any atrocity under such a leader. But where would theystrike, and how? What could be the purpose of their delay? the objectof their secrecy? That there must be both purpose and object could notbe doubted; yet nothing remained but to watt for their revelation.

  An obscuring mist hung over the canyon, stretching from wall to wall.Beneath the revealing starlight it was like looking down upon arestless, silent expanse of gray sea. A stray breath of air camesucking up the gorge, causing the many spectral trees outlined againstthe lighter sky to wave their branches, the leaves rustling as thoughswept by rain. There was a faint moaning among the distant rocks as ifhidden caverns were filled with elves at play. It was weird, lonely,desolate,--straining eyes beholding everywhere the same scene ofdeserted wilderness.

  Old Hicks lay flat under protection of the ore-dump, his ear pressedclose to the earth, his contracted eyes searching anxiously those darkhollows in front, a Winchester, cocked and ready, within the grasp ofhis hand. Above, Irish Mike, sniffing the air as though he could smelldanger like a pointer dog, hung far out across the parapet of rock,every eager nerve tingling in the hope of coming battle. Winstonremained in the cabin door, behind him the open room black and silent,his loaded Winchester between his feet, gamely struggling to overcome avague foreboding of impending trouble, yet alert and ready to bear hispart. It was then that Stutter Brown led the saddled pony forward fromout the concealment of bushes. The long awaited moment had come foraction. To his whispered word, Mercedes fluttered promptly forththrough the shadowed doorway, and pressed her face lovingly against thepony's quickly uplifted nose.

  "See," she whispered, patting Brown's brawny arm even while shecontinued toying playfully with the silken mane, "he know me, he lofeme. He bettah as any man, for he nevah tell lie,--nevah,--only be niceall de time. He ride me till he drop dead, swift, quick, like de birdfly. So I make eet all right, senor. You see ven de daylight come Ibe San Juan. Den I make mooch fun for de Senor Farnham--sure I do."

  "I-I reckon you 'll m-make it all right, l-l-little girl," answered theman regretfully, his voice hushed to a low growl, "b-but jest the sameI a-ain't so darn g-g-glad ter l-let yer go. H-hanged ef I would,either, if I d-did n't th-think the toughest part o' it wus g-goin' terbe right yere."

  She glanced almost shyly up into his shadowed face, her black eyes likestars.

  "Si--dat vas eet. I vas de coward; I just runs avay so 'fraid of defight. I no like de fight von leetle bit. But I know you, senor; youvant to stay here, an' have de fun. You Americano an' like dat ver'mooch. I feel of de big arm, so, an' I know eet ees bettah dat you behere. I mooch like please you, senor."

  He clasped her hand where it rested small and white against his sleeve,hiding it completely within his own great fist; when he spoke she couldmark the tremble in the deep voice.

  "Y-you 're a m-mighty fine girl," he managed to say, simply, "but weg-got ter go now. I-I reckon yer b-b-better walk fer a ways, as thep-pony will step lighter."

  "I not care, senor," softly. "Eet be nice to valk; I nevah 'fraid vidyou."

  Brown led the way forward cautiously across the open space, one stronghand firm on the pony's bit, the other barely touching her dress asthough it were something sacred. She endeavored to discern his face inthe faint starlight, but the low-drawn hat brim shaded it into blacklines, revealing nothing. The light, easy words she sought to speak,hoping thus to keep him from more serious talk, would not come to herlips. There was so much of silence and mystery on every side, so muchof doubt in this venture, that, in spite of her gay manner, every nervetingled with excitement. Glancing up at him she bit her lips inembarrassment. It was Stutter who finally found voice, his minddrifting back to what she had lately said in carelessness.

  "Y-yer said that the p-p-pony never l-lied like a man," he begandoubtfully. "Yer d-did n't mean that f-fer me, did yer?"

  There was something so deeply pathetic about the tone in which he askedthis as to hurt her, and the slender fingers still clasping his sleevesuddenly closed more tightly.

  "Senor, you mus' not say dat; you mus' not tink dat. No, no! I speakthat only in fun, senor--nevah I believe dat, nevah. You good man,more good as Mercedes; she not vort' von leetle bit de lofe you say toher, but she feel mooch shame to have you tink dat she mean you ven shespeak such ting in fun."

  He halted suddenly, all remembrance of their surroundings, theirpossible peril, as instantly erased from his mind. He merely saw thatgirl face upturned to his in the starlight, so fair and pleading, hemerely heard that soft voice urging her unworthiness, her sorrow. Agreat, broad-shouldered giant he towered above her, yet his voicetrembled like that of a frightened child.

  "An' d-don't yer say that n-no more," he stuttered in awkwardness."Somehow it hurts. L-Lord! yer don't h-have ter be s-s-so blame goodter be u-up ter my level. Th-they don't b-breed no a-angels back inol' M-Missouri, whar I come from. It's m-mostly mules thar, an' Ir-reckon we all g-git a bit mulish an' ornery. B-but I 'spect I 'md-decent 'nough ter know the r-right sort o' girl when I s-stack upagin her. So I don't w-want ter hear no m-more 'bout yer not b-bein'good. Ye 're sure g-good 'nough fer me, an' th-that 's all thar is toit. Now, yer w-won't say that no more, w-will yer?"

  "No, senor," she answered simply, "I no say dat no more."

  He remained standing before her, shifting uneasily from one foot to theother, a great hulk in the gloom.

  "Mercedes," he managed to say finally, "Ye're a-g-goin' ter ride away,an' m-maybe thar'll be o-one hell o' a fracas up yere afore the rest o'us g-g-git out o' this scrape. I d-don't reckon as it'll b-be me aswill git h-hurt, but somehow I 'd f-feel a heap better if you 'd j-jestsay them words what I a-asked yer to afore yer g-go, little g-girl; Iwould that."

  She put her hands to her face, and then hid it against the pony's neck,her slight form trembling violently beneath the touch of his fingers.The strange actions of the girl, her continued silence, half frightenedhim.

  "Maybe yer a-ain't ready yit?" he questioned, his manner full ofapo
logy.

  "Oh, senor, I cannot say dat--sure I cannot," she sobbed, her face yethidden. "Maybe I say so some time ven I know eet bettah how eet oughtto be; si, maybe so. But not now; I not tink it be jus' right to saynow. I not angry--no, no! I ver' glad you tink so of Mercedes--itmake me mooch joy. I not cry for dat, senor; I cry for odder tings.Maybe you know some time, an' be ver' sorry vid me. But I not cry anymore. See, I stan' up straight, an' look you in de face dis vay." Shedrew her hand swiftly across her eyes. "Dar, de tear all gone; now Ibe brav', now I not be 'fraid. You not ask me dat now--not now;to-morrow, nex' veek, maybe I know better how to say de trut' vat vasin my heart--maybe I know den; now eet all jumble up. I tink I know,but de vord not come like I vant eet."

  He turned silently away from her, leading the pony forward, his headbent low, his shoulders stooped. There was a dejection apparent aboutthe action which her eyes could not mistake. She touched himpleadingly.

  "You no ver' angry Mercedes, senor?"

  Brown half turned about, and rested one great hand upon her soft hairin mute caress.

  "N-no, little girl, it a-ain't that," he admitted slowly. "Only I 'mb-blamed if I jest e-exactly grasp yer s-style. I reckon I 'll kn-knowwhat yer mean s-sometime."

  Could he have seen clearly he might have marked the swift, hot tearsdimming her eyes, but he never dreamed of their presence, for her lipswere laughing.

  "Maybe so, senor, maybe. I glad you not angry, for I no like dat. Eetvas nice I fool you so; dat vas vat make de men lofe, ven dey not knoweveryting. Ven day know dem maybe eet all be over vid. So maybe Ishow you sometime, maybe not--_quien sabe_?"

  If her lightly spoken words hurt, he realized the utter futility ofstriving then to penetrate their deeper meaning. They advanced slowly,moving in more closely against the great ridge of rocks where thedenser shadows clung, the man's natural caution becoming apparent ashis mind returned to a consideration of the dangerous mission uponwhich they were embarked. To-morrow would leave him free from allthis, but now he must conduct her in safety to that mist-shrouded plainbelow.

  They had moved forward for perhaps a dozen yards, the obedient ponystepping as silently as themselves, Mercedes a foot or two to the rear,when Brown suddenly halted, staring fixedly at something slightly atone side of their path. There, like a huge baleful eye glaring angrilyat him, appeared a dull red glow. An instant he doubted, wondered, hismind confused. Tiny sparks sputtered out into the darkness, and theminer understood. He had blindly stumbled upon a lighted fuse, a trainof destruction leading to some deed of hell. With an oath he leapedrecklessly forward, stamping the creeping flame out beneath his feet,crushing it lifeless between his heavy boots and the rock.

  There was an angry shout, the swift rush of feet, the red flare of arifle cleaving the night with burst of flame. In the sudden, unearthlyglare Brown caught dim sight of faces, of numerous dark figures leapingtoward him, but he merely crouched low. The girl! he must protect thegirl! That was all he knew, all he considered, excepting a passionatehatred engendered by one of those faces he had just seen. They wereupon him in mass, striking, tearing like so many wild beasts in thefirst fierceness of attack. His revolver jammed in its holster, but hestruck out with clenched fists, battering at the black figures, histeeth ground together, his every instinct bidding him fight hard tillhe died. Once they pounded him to his knees, but he struggled up,shaking loose their gripping hands, and hurling them back like so manychildren. He was crazed by then with raging battle-fury, his hot bloodlusting, every great muscle strained to the uttermost. He realizednothing, saw nothing, but those dim figures facing him; insensible tothe blood trickling down the front of his shirt, unconscious of wound,he flung himself forward a perfect madman, jerking a rifle from thehelpless fingers of an opponent, and smiting to right and left, thedeadly-iron bar whirling through the air. He struck once, twice; hesaw bodies whirl sidewise and fall to the ground. Then suddenly heseemed alone, panting fiercely, the smashed rifle-stock uplifted for ablow.

  "It's the big fellow," roared a voice at his left. "Why don't youfools shoot?"

  He sprang backward, crouching lower, his one endeavor to draw theirfire, so as to protect her lying hidden among the rock shadows. Hefelt nothing except contempt for those fellows, but he could not letthem hurt her. He stood up full in the starlight, shading his eyes inan attempt to see. Somebody cried, "There he is, damn him!" A slenderfigure swept flying across the open space like some dim night vision.A red flame leaped forth from the blackness. The two stood silhouettedagainst the glare, reeled backward as it faded, and went down togetherin the dark.