CHAPTER VIII
"That there girl down at the Greek Letter Ranch is the best-lookin' girlin these parts. I was goin' to slick up and drop around to see her, butthis here Injun agent got in ahead of me. A man with nothin' but acowpony don't stand a show against a feller with an auto when it comesto callin' on girls these days."
The nasal, drawling voice of Andy Wolters, cowpuncher for one of the bigleasing outfits on the Indian reservation, came to the ears of BillTalpers as the trader sat behind his post-office box screen, scowlingout upon a sunshiny world.
A chorus of laughter from other cowpunchers greeted the frankdeclaration of Mr. Wolters.
"Agent or no agent, you wouldn't stand a show with that girl," chimed inone of the punchers. "The squaw professor'd run you through thebarb-wire fence so fast that you'd leave hide and clothes stickin' toit. Willis Morgan ain't ever had a visitor on his place sence he run theGreek Letter brand on his first steer."
"Well, he ain't got any more steers left. That old white horse is allthe stock I see of his--anyways, it's all that's carryin' that pitchforkbrand."
"You know what they say about how old Morgan got that pitchfork brand,don't you?--how he was huntin' through the brand book one night, turnin'the pages over and cussin' because nothin' seemed to suit his fancy,when all of a sudden there was a bright light and a strong smell ofsulphur, and the devil himself was right there at Morgan's side. 'Usethis for a brand,' says the devil, and there was the mark of hispitchfork burnt on Morgan's front door, right where you'll see it to-dayif you ever want to go clost enough."
"Anyway, git that out of your head about Morgan's ranch never havin' anyvisitors," said another cowboy. "This here Injun agent's auto runs downthere reg'lar. Must be that he's a kind of a Trilby and has got oldMorgan hypnotized."
"Aw, you mean a Svengali."
"I bet you these spurs against a package of smokin' tobacco I know whatI mean," stoutly asserted the cowpuncher whose literary knowledge hadbeen called in question, and then the talk ran along the familiarargumentative channels that had no interest for Bill Talpers.
The trader looked back into the shadowy depths of his store. Besides thecowboys there were several Indians leaning against the counters orsitting lazily on boxes and barrels. Shelves and counters were piledwith a colorful miscellany of goods calculated to appeal to primitivetastes. There were bright blankets and shawls, the latter greedily eyedby every Indian woman who came into the store. There were farmingimplements and boots and groceries and harness. In the corner where BillTalpers sat was the most interesting collection of all. This corner wascalled the pawnshop. Here Bill paid cash for silver rings and bracelets,and for turquoise and other semi-precious stones either mounted or inthe rough. Here he dickered for finely beaded moccasins and hat-bandsand other articles for which he found a profitable market in the East.Here watches were put up for redemption, disappearing after they hadhung their allotted time.
Traders on the reservation were not permitted to have such corners intheir stores, but Bill, being over the line, drove such bargains as hepleased and took such security as he wished.
As Bill looked over his oft-appraised stock, it seemed to have lost muchof its one-time charm. Storekeeping for a bunch of Indians andcowpunchers was no business for a smart, self-respecting man to be in--aman who had ambitions to be somebody in a busier world. The thing to dowas to sell out and clear out--after he had married that girl atMorgan's ranch. He had been too lenient with that girl, anyway. Here heheld the whip-hand over her and had never used it. He had been waitingfrom day to day, gloating over his opportunities, and this Indian agenthad been calling on her and maybe was getting her confidence.
Maybe it had gone so far that the girl had told Lowell about the lettershe had mailed and that Bill had held up. Something akin to a chillmoved along Bill's spinal column at the thought. But of course such athing could not be. The girl couldn't afford to talk about anything likethat letter, which was certain to drag her into the murder.
Bill looked at the letter again and then tucked it back in the safe.That was the best place to keep it. It might get lost out of his pocketand then there'd be the very devil to pay. He knew it all by heart,anyway. It was enough to give him what he wanted--this girl for a wife.She simply couldn't resist, with that letter held over her by adetermined man like Bill Talpers. After he had married her, he'd sellout this pile of junk and let somebody else haggle with the Injuns andcowpunchers. Bill Talpers'd go where he could wear good clothes everyday, and his purty wife'd hold up her head with the best of them! He'dgo over and state his case that very night. He'd lay down the law right,so this girl at Morgan's 'd know who her next boss was going to be. IfWillis Morgan tried to interfere, Bill Talpers 'd crush him just the wayhe'd crushed many a rattler!
As a preliminary to his courting trip, Bill took a drink from a bottlethat he kept handy in his corner. Then he walked out to hissleeping-quarters in the rear of the store and "slicked up a bit,"during which process he took several drinks from another bottle whichwas stowed conveniently there.
Leaving his store in charge of his clerk, Bill rode over the Dollar Signhighway toward Morgan's ranch. The trader was dressed in black. A whiteshirt and white collar fairly hurt the eye, being in such sharp contrastwith Bill's dark skin and darker beard. A black hat, wide of brim andcarefully creased, replaced the nondescript felt affair which Billusually wore. He donned the best pair of new boots that he could selectfrom his stock. They hurt his feet so that he swung first one and thenthe other from the stirrups to get relief. There was none to tell Billthat his broad, powerful frame looked better in its everydayhabiliments, and he would not have believed, even if he had been told.He had created a sensation as he had creaked through the store after hisdressing-up operations had been completed, and he intended to repeat thethrill when he burst upon the vision of the girl at Morgan's.
* * * * *
Wong had cleared away the supper dishes at the Greek Letter Ranch, andhad silently taken his way to the little bunkhouse which formed hissleeping-quarters.
In the library a lamp glowed. A gray-haired man sat at the table, bowedin thought. A girl, sitting across from him, was writing. Outside wasthe silence of the prairie night, broken by an occasional bird call nearby.
"It is all so lonely here, I wonder how you can stand it," said the man.There was deep concern in his voice. All sharpness had gone from it.
"It is all different, of course, from the country in which I have beenliving, and it _is_ lonely, but I could get used to it soon if it werenot for this pall--"
Here the girl rose and went to the open window. She leaned on the silland looked out.
The man's gaze followed her. She was even more attractive than usual, ina house dress of light color, her arms bare to the elbows, and her pale,expressive face limned against the black background of the night.
"I know what you would say," replied the man. "It would be bearablehere--in fact, it might be enjoyable were it not for the black shadowupon us. Rather it is a shadow which is blood-red instead of black."
His voice rose, and excitement glowed in his deep-set, clear gray eyes.His face lost its pallor, and his well-shaped, yet strong hands clutchednervously at the arms of his chair.
The girl turned toward him soothingly, when both paused and listened.
"It is some Indian going by," said the man, as hoof-beats becamedistinct.
"The Indians don't ride this late. Besides, no Indian would stop here."
The man stepped to an adjoining room. As he disappeared, there came thesound of footfalls on the porch and Bill Talpers's heavy knock made thefront door panels shake.
The girl hesitated a moment, and then opened the door. The trader walkedin without invitation, his new boots squeaking noisily. If he hadexpected any exhibition of fear on the part of the girl, Talpers wasmistaken. She looked at him calmly, and Bill shifted uneasily from onefoot to another as he took off his hat.
"I thought I'd drop i
n for a little social call, seein' as you ain'tcalled on me sence our talk about that letter," said Bill, seatinghimself at the table.
"It was what I might have expected," replied the girl.
"That's fine," said Bill amiably. "I'm tickled to know that you expectedme."
"Yes, knowing what a coward you are, I thought you would come."
Talpers flushed angrily, and then grinned, until his alkali-cracked lipsglistened in the lamplight.
"That's the spirit!" he exclaimed. "I never seen a more spunky woman,and that's the kind I like. But there ain't many humans that can call mea coward. I guess you don't know how many notches I've got on the handleof this forty-five, do you?" he asked, touching the gun that swung in aholster at his hip under his coat. "Well, there's three notches onthere, and that don't count an Injun I got in a fair fight. I don'tcount any _coups_ unless they're on white folks."
"I'm not interested in your record of bloodshed." The girl's voice waslow, but it stung Bill to anger.
"Yes, you are," he retorted. "You're goin' to be mighty proud of yourhusband's record. You'll be glad to be known as the wife of BillTalpers, who never backed down from no man. That's what I come over herefor, to have you say that you'll marry me. If you don't say it, I'llhave to give that letter over to the authorities at White Lodge. It surewould be a reg'lar bombshell in the case right now."
The trader's squat figure, in his black suit, against the whitebackground made by the lamp, made the girl think of a huge, grotesqueblot of ink. His broad, hairy hand rested on the table. She noticed thestrong, thick fingers, devoid of flexibility, yet evidently of terrificstrength.
"Now you and me," went on Talpers, "could get quietly married, and Icould sell this store of mine for a good figger, and I'd be willin' tomove anywheres you want--San Francisco, or Los Angeles, or San Diego, oranywheres. And I could burn up that letter, and there needn't nobodyknow that the wife of Bill Talpers was mixed up in the murder that isturnin' this here State upside down. Furthermore, jest to show you thatBill Talpers is a square sort, I won't ever ask you myself jest how deepand how wide you're in this murder, nor why you wrote that letter, norwhat it was all about. Ain't that fair enough?"
The girl laughed.
"It's too fair," she said. "I can't believe you'd hold to such abargain."
"You try me and see," urged Bill. "All you've got to do is to say you'llmarry me."
"Well, I'll never say it."
"Yes, you will," huskily declared Bill, putting his hat on the table."You'll say it right here, to-night. Your stepfather's sick, I hear. Ifhe was feelin' his best he wouldn't be more'n a feather in my way--notmore'n that Chinaman of yours. I've got to have your word to-night, or,by cripes, that letter goes to White Lodge!"
The girl was alarmed. She was colorless as marble, but her eyes weredefiant. Talpers advanced toward her threateningly, and she retreatedtoward the door which opened into the other room. Bill swung her asideand placed himself squarely in front of the door, his arms outspread.
"No hide and seek goes," he said. "You stay in this room till you giveme the right answer."
The girl ran toward the door opening into the kitchen. Talpers ran afterher, clumsily but swiftly. The girl saw that she was going to beovertaken before reaching the door, and dodged to one side. The tradermissed his grasp for her, and pitched forward, the force of his fallshaking the cabin. He struck his head against a corner of the table, andlay unconscious, spread out in a broad helplessness that made the girlthink once more of spilled ink.
The white-haired man stood in the doorway to the other room. He held arevolver, with which he covered Talpers, but the trader did not move.The white-haired man deftly removed Talpers's revolver from its holsterand put it on the table. Then he searched the trader's pockets.
"I'm glad I didn't have to shoot this swine," he said to the girl."Another second and it would have been necessary. The letter isn't here,but you can frighten him with these trinkets--his own revolver and thiswatch which evidently he took from the murdered man on the hill. Youknow what else of Edward Sargent's belongings were taken."
The girl nodded.
"He will recover soon," went on the gray-haired man. "You will be in nofurther danger. He will be glad to go when he sees what evidence youhave against him."
The white-haired man had taken a watch from one of Talpers's pockets. Heput the timepiece on the table beside the trader's revolver. Then thedoor to the adjoining room closed again, and the girl was alone with thetrader waiting for him to recover consciousness.
Soon Bill Talpers sat up. His hand went to his head and came awaycovered with blood. The world was rocking, and the girl at the tablelooked like half a dozen shapes in one.
"This is your own revolver pointed at you, Mr. Talpers," she said, "butthis watch on the table, by which you will leave this house in threeminutes, is not yours. It belonged once to Edward B. Sargent, and youare the man who took it."
Talpers tried to answer, but could not at once.
"You not only took this watch," said the girl slowly, "but you tookmoney from that murdered man."
"It's all a lie," growled Bill at last.
"Wait till you hear the details. You took twenty-eight hundred dollarsin large bills, and three hundred dollars in smaller bills."
Talpers looked at the girl in mingled terror and amazement. Guilt was inhis face, and his fears made him forget his aching head.
"You kept this money and did not let your half-breed partner in crimeknow you had found it," went on the girl. "Also you kept the watch, and,as it had no mark of identification, you concluded you could safely wearit."
Talpers struggled dizzily to his feet.
"It's all lies," he repeated. "I didn't kill that man."
"You might find it hard to convince a jury that you did not, with suchevidence against you."
The trader looked at the watch as if he intended to make a dash torecover it, but the girl kept him steadily covered with his ownrevolver. Muttering curses, and swaying uncertainly on his feet, Talpersseized his hat and rushed from the house. He could be heard fumblingwith the reins at the gate, and then the sound of hoofs came indiminuendo as he rode away.
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