Keith of the Border: A Tale of the Plains

by Randall Parrish

  Keith swept his glance up and down the street without results. Surely,Hawley and his companion could not have disappeared so suddenly. Theyhad turned to the right, he was certain as to that, and he pushedthrough the crowd of men around the theatre entrance, and hastened toovertake them. He found nothing to overtake--nowhere along that stretchof street, illumined by window lights, was there any sign of a man andwoman walking together. He stopped bewildered, staring blindly about,failing utterly to comprehend this mysterious vanishing. What could itmean? What had happened? How could they have disappeared so completelyduring that single moment he had waited to speak to Fairbain? The man'sheart beat like a trip-hammer with apprehension, a sudden fear for Hopetaking possession of him. Surely the girl would never consent to enterany of those dens along the way, and Hawley would not dare resort toforce in the open street. The very thought seemed preposterous, and yet,with no other supposition possible, he entered these one after the otherin hasty search, questioning the inmates sharply, only to find himselftotally baffled--Hawley and Hope had vanished as though swallowed by theearth. He explored dark passage-ways between the scattered buildings,rummaging about recklessly, but came back to the street again withoutreward.

  Could they have gone down the other side, in the deeper shadows, andthus reached the hotel more quickly than it seemed to him possible?There was hardly a chance that this could be true, and yet Keith graspedat it desperately, cursing himself for having wasted time. Five minuteslater, breathless, almost speechless with anxiety, he startled theclerk.

  "Has Miss Waite come in? Miss Hope Waite?"

  "Blamed if I know," retorted the other, indifferently. "Can't for thelife of me tell those two females apart. One of them passed through'bout ten minutes ago; Doc Fairbain was with her. Another party justwent upstairs hunting Miss Maclaire, and as they haven't come down, Ireckon it must have been her--anything wrong?"

  "I'm not sure yet," shortly. "Who was this other person?"

  "Old fellow with white hair and whiskers--swore like a pirate--had thesheriff along with him."

  It came to Keith in a flash--it was Waite. Perhaps Christie knew.Perhaps the General knew. Certainly something of importance wascrystallizing in the actress' room which might help to explain all else.He rushed up the stairs, barely waiting to rap once at the closed doorbefore he pressed it open. The sight within held him silent, waitingopportunity to blurt out his news. Here, also, was tragedy, intense,compelling, which for the instant seemed to even overshadow the fateof the girl he loved. There were three men present, and the woman. Shestood clutching the back of a chair, white-faced and open-eyed, withFairbain slightly behind her, one hand grasping her arm, the otherclinched, his jaw set pugnaciously. Facing these two was Waite, and aheavily built man wearing a brown beard, closely trimmed.

  "You'd better acknowledge it," Waite snapped out, with a quick glance atthe newcomer. "It will make it all the easier for you. I tell you thisis the sheriff, and we've got you both dead to rights."

  "But," she urged, "why should I be arrested? I have done nothing."

  "You're an adventuress--a damn adventuress--Hawley's mistress,probably--a--"

  "Now, see here, Waite," and Fairbain swung himself forward, "you dropthat. Miss Maclaire is my friend, and if you say another word I'll smashyou, sheriff or no sheriff."

  Waite glared at him.

  "You old fool," he snorted, "what have you got to do with this?"

  "I've got this to do with it, you'll find--the woman is to be treatedwith respect or I'll blow your damned obstinate head off."

  The sheriff laid his hand on Waite's shoulder.

  "Come," he said, firmly, "this is no way to get at it. We want to knowcertain facts, and then we can proceed lawfully. Let me question thewoman."

  The two older men still faced one another belligerently, but Keith sawChristie draw the doctor back from between her and the sheriff.

  "You may ask me anything you please," she announced, quietly. "I am surethese gentlemen will not fight here in my room."

  "Very well, Miss Maclaire. It will require only a moment. How long haveyou known this man Hawley?"

  "Merely a few days--since I arrived in Sheridan."

  "But you were in communication with him before that?"

  The pleasant voice and quiet demeanor of the sheriff seemed to yield thegirl confidence and courage.

  "Yes, he had written me two or three letters."

  "You met him here then by appointment?"

  "He was to come to Sheridan, and explain to me more fully what hisletters had only hinted at."

  "You possessed no previous knowledge of his purpose?"

  "Only the barest outline--details were given me later."

  "Will you tell us briefly exactly what Hawley told you?"

  The girl's bewildered eyes wandered from face to face, then returned tothe waiting sheriff.

  "May--may I sit down?" she asked.

  "Most certainly; and don't be afraid, for really we wish to be yourfriends."

  She sank down into the chair, and even Keith could see how her slenderform trembled. There was a moment's silence.

  "Believe me, gentlemen," she began, falteringly, "if there is any fraud,any conspiracy, I have borne no conscious part in it. Mr. Hawley cameto me saying a dying man had left with him certain papers, naming one,Phyllis Gale, as heiress to a very large estate in North Carolina, leftby her grandfather in trust. He said the girl had been taken West, whenscarcely two years old, by her father in a fit of drunken rage, and thendeserted by him in St. Louis."

  "You--you saw the papers?" Waite broke in.

  "Yes, those that Hawley had; he gave them to me to keep for him." Shecrossed to her trunk, and came back, a manilla envelope in her hand.Waite opened it hastily, running his eyes over the contents.

  "The infernal scoundrel!" he exclaimed, hotly. "These were stolen fromme at Carson City."

  "Let me see them." The sheriff ran them over, merely glancing at theendorsements.

  "Just as you represented, Waite," he said, slowly. "A copy of the will,your commission as guardian, and memoranda of identification. Well, MissMaclaire, how did you happen to be so easily convinced that you were thelost girl?"

  "Mr. Hawley brought me a picture which he said was of this girl'shalf-sister; the resemblance was most startling. This, with the factthat I have never known either father or mother or my real name, andthat my earlier life was passed in St. Louis, sufficed to make mebelieve he must be right."

  "You--you--" Waite choked, leaning forward.

  "You don't know your real name?"

  "No, I do not," her lips barely forming the words. "The woman whobrought me up never told me."

  "Who--who was the woman?"

  "A Mrs. Raymond--Sue Raymond--she was on the stage, and died inTexas--San Antonio, I think."

  Waite swore audibly, his eyes never once deserting the girl's face.

  "Hawley told you to say that?"

  "No, he did not," she protested warmly. "It was never even mentionedbetween us--at least, not Sue Raymond's name. What difference can thatmake?"

  He stepped forward, one hand flung out, and Fairbain sprang forwardinstantly between them, mistaking the action.

  "Hands off there, Waite," he commanded sternly. "Whatever she saysgoes."

  "You blundering old idiot," the other exploded. "I'm not going to hurther; stand aside, will you!"

  He reached the startled girl, thrust aside the dark hair combed low overthe neck, swung her about toward the light, and stared at a birthmarkbehind her ear. No one spoke, old Waite seemingly stricken dumb, thewoman shrinking away from him as though she feared he was crazed.

  "What is it?" asked the sheriff, sternly.

  Slowly Waite turned about and faced him, running the sleeve of his coatacross his eyes. He appeared dazed, confounded.

  "My God, it's all right," he said, with a choke in the throat."She's--she's the girl."

  Christie stared at him, her lips parted, unable to grasp what it allme
ant.

  "You mean I--I am actually Phyllis Gale? That--that there is nomistake?"

  He nodded, not yet able to put It more clearly into words. She swayed asthough about to faint, and Fairbain caught her, but she slipped throughhis arms, and fell upon her knees, her face buried in her hands upon thechair.

  "Oh, thank God," she sobbed, "thank God! I know who I am! I know who Iam!"

  Chapter XXXI. The Search for the Missing