Kilmeny swung from the saddle, and at the same time Colter stepped into the arena. He drew Jack aside and whispered in his ear. India, watching the rough-rider through field glasses, saw the face of the young man grow grim and hard. Without the delay of a moment he pushed through the crowd that gathered to congratulate him and walked out of the grounds with Colter.
The other two riders who had reached the finals were both experts in the saddle. One of them, however, had been traveling with a Wild West show and was too soft to hold his own against the bit of incarnate deviltry he was astride. To save himself he had to clutch at the horn of the saddle.
"He's pulling leather," shouted one of the judges, and the man was waved aside.
The third cowpuncher made a good showing, but his horse lacked the energy and spirit of Teddy Roosevelt. The unanimous decision of the judges was in favor of Kilmeny. But when they sought for him to award the prize the new champion was nowhere to be found.
Moya Dwight felt with genuine disappointment that the man's courtesy had failed. She and her friends had applauded his exploits liberally. The least he could have done would have been to have made a short call at their box. Instead, he had ignored them. She resolved to bear herself more coldly if they met again.
The early shadows of sunset were stretching down the rough mountain sides by the time the visitors from the Lodge reached the river cañon on their homeward way. Soon after this the champion rider and his friend Colter passed them on a stretch of narrow road cut in the steep wall of the gulch. The leathery face of the latter took them in impassively as he gave them a little nod of recognition, but the younger man reined in for a few words. He accepted their congratulations with a quiet "Glad you enjoyed it," but it was plain that he was in a hurry. In his eyes there was a certain hard wariness that seemed hardly to fit the occasion. Moya could not avoid the impression that he was anxious about something. As soon as he well could he put spurs to his horse and cantered after his companion.
"I don't like your savage as well as I thought I was going to. If he can't be pleasanter than that you may keep him yourself, Moya," Joyce announced with a smile.
It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later that the sound of hard riding reached them from the rear. Five dusty, hard-bitten men, all armed with rifles and revolvers, drew level with them. The leader threw a crisp question at Lord Farquhar.
"Two riders pass you lately?"
"Yes."
"One on a big sorrel and the other on a roan with white stockings on the front feet?"
"Yes."
"Say anything?"
"The younger one stopped for a few words. He is a Mr. Crumbs, camped on the river just below us."
The lank man with the rifle across his saddle bow laughed grimly. "Yes, he is—not. His name is Kilmeny—Jack Kilmeny. I'm the sheriff of Gunnison County—and I want him bad."
"Did you say Kilmeny?" asked the captain sharply.
"That's what I said—the man that won the broncho busting contest to-day."
To Moya, looking around upon the little group of armed men, there was a menacing tenseness in their manner. Her mind was groping for an explanation, but she understood this much—that the law was reaching out for the devil-may-care youth who had so interested her.
"What do you want with him? What has he done?" she cried quickly.
"He and his friend held up the gatekeeper of the fair association and got away with three thousand dollars."
"Held up! Do you mean robbed?"
"That's what I mean—vamoosed with the whole proceeds of the show. How long since they passed?"
"Between a quarter and half an hour," answered Farquhar.
The sheriff nodded. "All ready, boys."
The clattering hoofs disappeared in a cloud of dust down the road.
The rough places of life had been padded for all these young women. Never before had they come so close to its raw, ugly seams. The shadow of the law, the sacredness of caste, had always guarded them.
India turned upon her brother big dilated eyes. "He said Kilmeny. Who can the man be?"
"I don't know." He was silent a moment in frowning thought, struck by an unwelcome idea. "You remember Uncle Archie. He had a son named Jack who lives somewhere in Colorado. D'ye remember he came home when you were a little kiddie? Stopped at granddad's."
The girl nodded. "He fought you once, didn't he?"
The captain nodded. The doubt began to grow into certainty. "Thought I had seen his face before. He's our cousin Jack. That's who he is."
"And now he's a highwayman. By Jove, he doesn't look it," contributed Farquhar.
"I don't believe it. Such nonsense!" flamed Moya.
"Fancy! A real live highwayman to supper with us," Joyce reminded them with sparkling eyes.
"I'm sure he isn't. There must be a mistake."
"He was troubled about something, Moya," Lord Farquhar suggested. "He and his friend were riding fast and plainly in a hurry."
"Didn't he stop to talk?"
"He had to do that to avoid suspicion. I could see his mind wasn't on what he was saying. The man was anxious."
"I thought you liked him," Moya charged scornfully.
Her guardian smiled. "I did, but that isn't evidence that will acquit him in court of being a road agent."
"He's India's cousin—maybe. How could he be a criminal? Shall we have to cut her and Captain Kilmeny now?" Miss Dwight demanded hotly.
The captain laughed, but there was no mirth in his laughter. "You're a stanch friend, Miss Dwight. By Jove, I hope you're right about him."
Deep in her heart Moya was not at all sure. What did she know of him? And why should she care what he was? The man was a stranger to her. Forty-eight hours ago she had never seen him. Why was it that every good looking vagabond with a dash of the devil in him drew on her sympathies? She recalled now that he had hesitated when she had mentioned his name, no doubt making up his mind to let her think him other than he was. The sheriff must know what he was talking about when he said the man was an outlaw. But the appearance of him pleaded potently. Surely those clear unflinching eyes were not the homes of villainy. Nor could she find it possible to think his gallant grace of bearing the possession of a miscreant.
Before the day was out her faith in him had sunk to zero. Captain Kilmeny returned from the camp of the miners with the news that it was deserted except for two of the deputies who had stayed to guard it against the possible return of the robbers. He brought with him the detailed story of the hold-up.
Two masked men on horseback had robbed the treasurer of the Gunnison County Fair association as he was driving to the bank to deposit the receipts of the day. The men had not been recognized, but the description of the horses corresponded closely to those ridden by Kilmeny and Colter. It was recalled that these two men had disappeared as soon as the bucking broncho contest was over, not half an hour before the robbery. This would allow them just time to return to the corral on the outskirts of the town, where they had left their mounts, and to saddle so as to meet the treasurer on his way to the bank. It happened that the corral was deserted at the time, the boy in charge having left to see the finals of the contest. Cumulative evidence of guilt lay in the disappearance from the fishing camp not only of the two men suspected, but also of their companions, Curly and Mosby.
"Think he really did it, Ned?" India asked her brother.
"Can't say, sis. Looks like it," he answered gloomily.
Of the party at the Lodge only one member was pleased at the turn events had taken. Verinder's manner was as openly triumphant as he dared allow it to become. It cried offensively, "I told you so!"
* * *
CHAPTER V
"I'M HERE, NEIGHBOR"
Moya still rode afternoons with her friends, fished occasionally, and took her regular hand at bridge. But it was unaccountably true that her zest in these amusements was gone. She could give no satisfactory reason for it, but she felt as if something had passed out of her life for
ever. It was as if the bubbling youth in her were quenched. The outstanding note of her had been the eagerness with which she had run out to meet new experiences. Now she found herself shrinking from them. Whenever she could the girl was glad to slip away by herself. To the charge that she was in love with this young vagabond she would have given a prompt denial. Nevertheless, Lady Farquhar recognized the symptoms as dangerous.
On the fifth day after the Gunnison trip the young people at the Lodge made a party to fish Sunbeam Creek. They followed the stream far into the hills, riding along the trail which bordered it. Kilmeny and Verinder carried lunch baskets, for they were to make a day of it and return only in time for a late dinner.
Moya made her brave pretense of gayety. With alacrity she responded to Verinder's challenge of a bet on the relative sizes of their catches. But as soon as the rest were out of sight she sat down in a shady spot and fell to musing.
How long she sat there, a sun-dappled nymph upon whom gleams of light filtered through the leaves of the aspens, she had not the least idea. The voice of a grizzled rider startled her from her dreams. Her lifted eyes took in the grim look of the man, garnished with weapons ready to his hands.
"Mornin', miss," he nodded amiably.
"Good-morning." And swift on the heels of it, "You are a deputy sheriff, are you not?"
"Rung the bell, ma'am. You belong to the English outfit, I reckon."
She smiled. "I suppose so, though I don't know what an outfit is."
"I mean to Lord What's-his-name's party."
"Yes, I think I do. I'm rather sure of it."
"Funny about some members of your crowd having the same name as the man we're looking for."
"Mr. Kilmeny, you mean?"
"Jack Kilmeny! Yes, ma'am."
"He introduced himself to us, but I don't think the name he went by was Kilmeny. I was told it was Crumbs."
"That's just a joke. His friends call him that because his people are 'way up in G. Fine bred—crumbs. Get the idea?"
"I think so."
"Came from the old country, his father did—son of some big gun over there. Likely he's some kin to your friends."
He put the last observation as a question, with a sharp glance from under his heavy gray eyebrows. Moya chose to regard it as a statement.
"Are you still searching for him?" she asked.
"You bet we are. The sheriff's got a notion he's up in these hills somewheres. A man answering his description was seen by some rancher. But if you ask me, I'd say he was busy losing himself 'way off in Routt County, clear off the map. He used to punch cows up there and he knows all kinds of holes to hide in. It don't stand to reason he'd still be fooling around here. He's bridle-wise and saddle-broke—knows every turn of the road."
"Yes," Moya assented listlessly.
"He had his getaway all planned before ever he came down here. That's a cinch. The fishing was all a bluff. The four of them had the hold-up arranged weeks ago. They've gone into a hole and drawn it in after them."
"Don't you think there's a chance he didn't do it?" she asked in a forlorn way.
"Not a chance. Jack Kilmeny and Colter pulled off the play. What the others had to do with it I don't know."
The deputy passed to the fishing in his conversation, hoped she would have luck, stroked his white goatee, and presently departed.
The man had scarcely disappeared around a bend in the gulch before a sound startled her. Moya turned quickly, to see a man drop down the face of a large rock to the ground. Even before he turned she recognized that pantherine grace and her heart lost a beat.
He came straight toward her, with the smile in his blue eyes that claimed comradeship as a matter of course.
"You—here," she gasped.
"I'm here, neighbor. Where ought I to be—in Routt County losing myself?"
Her little hand was lost in his big brown fist, her gaze locked in his.
"You heard him?"
"Couldn't help it. I was working down through that grove of pines to the river when I saw him."
"He may come back." Her quick glance went up the gulch into which the deputy had disappeared.
"I reckon not. Let's sit down and talk."
Her first thought had been of his danger, but she remembered something else now. "No, I think not, Mr. Kilmeny."
The deep eyes that met his steadily had in them the rapier flash. He smiled.
"Because I am a miscreant, I reckon," he drawled.
"You say it, not I."
"Now you're dodging, neighbor. You think it."
"If so, do I think more than the truth?"
A ripple of sardonic laughter stirred in him. "I see you have me convicted and in the penitentiary already."
"Your actions convict you."
"So you think. Isn't it just possible you don't understand them?" There was the faintest hint of derision in his polite inquiry.
A light flashed in her dusky eyes, a shining hope newborn in her eager heart. "Are you telling me that you are innocent?"
"You've been thinking me guilty, then," he countered swiftly.
"What else could I think?"
"You might have waited to hear the defense."
"If you had stayed to make one, but you ran away."
"How do you know I did?"
"You were gone when the officers reached your camp."
His smile was grim and his voice defiant. "There was a man up in the hills I wanted to see in a hurry."
By the look in her eyes it was as if he had struck her. With fine contempt her answer came. "Was there another man up there in the rocks just now that you had to see until the deputy left?"
"Anyhow, there was a young woman down by the banks of Sunbeam I wanted to see after he was gone," the fugitive claimed boldly.
A faint angry flush glowed delicately beneath the olive of her cheeks. "Evasions—nothing but evasions."
She turned away, sick at heart. He had treated with flippancy the chance she had given him. Would an innocent man have done that?
Swift as an arrow his hand shot out, caught her shoulder, and held her firmly. The eyes that lifted to his flamed with proud resentment.
"I'm not going to let you go like this. Don't think it."
"Sir."
"You'll do me justice first." His hand dropped from her shoulder, but the masterful look of him stayed her steps. "You'll tell me what evidence you've got against me."
Again an insurgent hope warmed her heart. Wild he might be, but surely no criminal—if there was any truth in faces.
What she had heard against him she told. "The robbers were riding horses like yours. You left the fair grounds early. You and your friend were seen going into the corral where you had stabled the animals. This was less than half an hour before the robbery. When you passed us on the road you were anxious about something. You looked back two or three times. Both you and Mr. Colter showed you were in a hurry. Then you ran away before the sheriff reached your camp. Does an innocent man do that?" She put her question as an accusation, but in the voice was a little tremble that asked to be refuted.
"Sometimes he does. Now listen to me. The horses ridden by the robbers were Colter's and mine. We certainly were worried about the time we met you. And we did break camp in a hurry so as to miss the sheriff. Does this prove me guilty?"
She brushed away the soft waves of dark hair that had fallen over her forehead in little escaping tendrils. The fearless level eyes of the outdoors West were looking straight at her.
"I don't know. Does it?"
"We'll say this evidence had piled up against Captain Kilmeny instead of against me. Would you have believed him guilty?"
"No. He couldn't have done it."
"On the same evidence you would acquit him and condemn me. Is that fair?"
"I have known him for years—his standards, his ways of thinking. All his life he has schooled himself to run a straight course."
"Whereas I——" He waited, the sardonic frosty smile on his l
ean strong face.
Moya knew that the flutter of her pulses was telling tales in the pink of her cheeks. "I don't know you."
"I'm only a workingman, and an American at that—so it follows that I must be a criminal," he answered with a touch of bitterness.
"No—no! But you're—different. There's something untamed about you. I don't quite know how to put it—as if you had been brought up without restraints, as if you didn't care much for law."
"Why should I? Law is a weapon to bolster up the rich and keep down the poor," he flung back with an acid smile. "But there's law and law. Even in our class we have our standards, such as they are."
"Now it's you that isn't fair," she told him quietly. "You know I meant nothing like that. The point is that I don't know what your standards are. Law doesn't mean so much to people here. Your blood runs freer, less evenly than ours. You don't let the conventions hamper you."
"The convention of honesty, for instance. Thanks, Miss Dwight."
"I didn't want to believe it, but——"
The penitence in her vivid face pleaded for her. He could not refuse the outstretched hand of this slender lance-straight girl whose sweet vitality was at once so delicate and so gallant. Reluctantly his palm met hers.
"You're quite sure now that I didn't do it?"
"Quite sure."
"Even though I've been brought up badly?"
"Oh, I didn't say badly—really. You know I didn't."
"And though I'm wild and lawless?"
"Aren't you?" she flashed back with a smile that took from the words any sting they might otherwise have had.
Mirth overflowed in his eyes, from which now many little creases radiated. "You're a good one, neighbor. But, since you will have it, I am. I reckon my standards even of honesty wouldn't square with yours. I live in a rough mining camp where questions have two sides. It's up to me to play the game the way the other fellow plays it. But we'll not go into that now."
Strong, clear-eyed and masterful, she knew him a man among ten thousand. He might be capable of great sin, but what he did would be done with his eyes wide open and not from innate weakness. Her heart sang jubilantly. How could she ever have dreamed this crime of him? Her trust was now a thing above any evidence.
The Highgrader Page 4
