Cooly, yet without in the least comprehending how best to proceed,Keith drew toward him the only chair in the room, and sat down. MissHope--more widely known as Christie Maclaire--had claimed this drunkenlad as her brother, but, according to Hawley, he had vehemently deniedany such relationship. Yet there must be some previous associationbetween the two, and what this was the plainsman proposed to discover.The problem was how best to cause the fellow to talk frankly--could hebe reached more easily by reference to the girl or the gambler? Keithstudying the sullen, obstinate face confronting him, with instinctiveantagonism over his intrusion, swiftly determined on the girl.
"It was not very nice of me to come in on you this way," he began,apologetically, "but you see I happen to know your sister."
"My sister? Oh, I guess not!"
"Yes, but I do," throwing a confidence into his tone he was far fromfeeling, "Miss Hope and I are friends."
The boy sprang to his feet, his face flushed.
"Oh, you mean Hope? Do you know her? Say, I thought you were giving methat old gag about Christie Maclaire."
"Certainly not; who is she?"
"That's more than I know; fellow came to me at Carson, and said he'd metmy sister on a stage west of Topeka. I knew he was lyin', because she'shome over in Missouri. Finally, I got it out of him that she claimed tobe my sister, but her name was Maclaire. Why, I don't even know her, andwhat do you suppose she ever picked me out for her brother for?"
He was plainly puzzled, and perfectly convinced it was all a mistake.That his sister might have left home since he did, and drifted Westunder an assumed name, apparently never occurred to him as possible.To Keith this was the explanation, and nothing could be more natural,considering her work, yet he did not feel like shattering the lad'sloyalty. Faith in the sister might yet save him.
"Perhaps the fellow who told you," he hazarded blindly, speaking thefirst thought which came to his mind, "had some reason to desire to makeyou think this Maclaire girl was your sister."
The suggestion caused him to laugh at first; then his face suddenlysobered, as though a new thought had occurred to him.
"Damn me, no, it couldn't be that," he exclaimed, one hand pressing hishead. "He couldn't be workin' no trick of that kind on me."
"Whom do you mean?"
"A fellow named Hawley," evasively. "The man who claimed to have met mysister."
"'Black Bart' Hawley?"
The boy lifted his head again, his eyes filled with suspicion.
"Yes, if you must know; he's a gambler all right, but he's stuck to mewhen I was down and out. You know him?"
"Just a little," carelessly; "but what sort of a trick could he beworking trying to make you acknowledge Christie Maclaire as yoursister?"
Willoughby did not answer, shifting uneasily about on the bed. Keithwaited, and at last the boy blurted out:
"Oh, it wasn't nothing much. I told him something when I was drunk once,that I thought maybe might have stuck to him. Odd he should make thatmistake, too, for I showed him Hope's picture. Bart's a schemer, and Ididn't know but what he might have figured out a trick, though I don'tsee how he could. It wasn't no more than a pipe dream, I reckon. Wheredid you meet Hope? Back in Missouri?"
One thing was clearly evident--the boy's faith in his sister. If he wasto be rightly influenced, and led back to her, he must have no suspicionaroused that her life was any different from what it had been before heleft home. Besides if Keith hoped to gain any inkling of what Hawley'spurpose could be, he must win the confidence of Willoughby. This couldnot be done by telling him of Hope's present life. These considerationsflashed through his mind, and as swiftly determined his answer.
"Oh, I've known her some time. Not long ago I did her a servicefor which she is grateful. Did you know she was out in this countrysearching for you?"
"Out here? In Kansas?"
"Sure; that isn't much of a trip for a spirited girl. She got it in herhead from your letters that you were in trouble, and set out to find youand bring you home. She didn't tell me this, but that is the way I heardit. It was for her sake I came in here. Why not go to her, Willoughby,and then both of you return to Missouri?"
The sullenness had gone out of the boy's face: he looked tired,discouraged.
"Where is Hope?" he asked.
"Fort Larned, I suppose. She went to Carson City first."
"Well, that settles it," shaking his head. "You don't suppose I could gobrowsin' 'round Larned, and not get snapped up, do you? They don't chasedeserters very far out here, but that's the post I skipped from, andthey'd jug me all right. Besides, I'm damned if I'll go back until I geta stake. I want to see a fellow first."
"What fellow?"
"Well, it's Hawley, if you want to know so bad. He said if I would comehere and wait for him he'd put me on to a good thing."
The boy fidgeted along the edge of the bed, evidently half ashamedof himself, yet obstinate and unyielding. Keith sat watching his face,unable to evolve any means of changing his decision. Hawley's influencejust at present was greater than Hope's, because the lad naturally feltashamed to go slinking home penniless and defeated. His pride held himto Hawley, and his faith that the man would redeem his promise. Keithunderstood all this readily enough, and comprehended also that if "BlackBart" had any use for the boy it would be for some criminal purpose.What was it? Was there a deeply laid plot back of all these preparationsinvolving both Willoughby and his sister? What was it Hawley wasscheming about so carefully, holding this boy deserter in one hand,while he reached out the other after Christie Maclaire? Surely, the manwas not working blindly; he must have a purpose in view. Willoughbyhad acknowledged he had told the fellow something once when he wasdrunk--about his family history, no doubt, for he had shown him Hope'spicture. What that family secret was Keith had no means of guessing,but Hawley, the moment he saw the face on the cardboard, had evidentlyrecognized Christie Maclaire--had thought of some way in which what henow knew could be turned to advantage. The few scattered facts whichKeith had collected all seemed to point to such a conclusion--Hawley hadsent the boy to Sheridan, where he would be out of sight, with orders towait for him there, and the promise of a "stake" to keep him quiet. Thenhe had gone to Independence and Topeka seeking after Christie Maclaire.Evidently he meant to keep the two apart until he had gained from eachwhatever it was he sought. But what could that be? What family secretcould Willoughby have blurted out in his cups, which had so stimulatedthe gambler's wits?
Two things combined to cause Keith to determine he would uncover thisrascality,--his desire to repay Hawley, and his interest in the girlrescued on the Salt Fork. This gossamer web of intrigue into whichhe had stumbled unwittingly was nothing to him personally; had it notinvolved both Hawley and Miss Hope, he would have left it unsolvedwithout another thought. But under the circumstances it became hisown battle. There was a crime here--hidden as yet, and probably notconsummated--involving wrong, perhaps disgrace, to the young girl. Hehad rescued her once from out the clutches of this man, and he had nointention of deserting her now. Whatever her life might be, she wascertainly an innocent victim in this case, deserving his protection. Thememory came to him of her face upturned toward him in that little roomof the Occidental, her eyes tear-dimmed, her lips asking him to comeback to her again. He could not believe her a bad woman, and his lipscompressed, his eyes darkened, with fixed determination. He would diginto this until he uncovered the truth; he would find out what dirtytrick "Black Bart" was up to.
As he thought this out, not swiftly as recorded, but slowly,deliberately, piecing the bits together within his mind, blindly feelinghis way to a final conclusion, the boy had sunk back upon the bed,overcome with liquor, and fallen asleep. Keith stepped over, and lookeddown upon him in the dim light. He could recognize something of herfeatures in the upturned face, and his eyes softened. There was no useseeking again to arouse him; even had he been sober, he would not havetalked freely. Keith lifted the dangling feet into a more comfortableposition, turned the lam
p lower, went out, and latched the door. Two menwere tramping heavily up the stairs, and they turned into the hall atthe very moment he disappeared within his own room. He still retainedhis grasp upon the latch, when a voice outside asked:
"What number did you say, Bill--29?"
Keith straightened up as though suddenly pricked by a knife; he couldnever forget that voice--it was Hawley's.
Chapter XIX. A Glimpse at Conspiracy
Keith of the Border: A Tale of the Plains Page 18
