by Max Brand
CHAPTER 10
After that forced and early rising, the rest of the house had remainedawake, but Anne Withero was gifted with an exceptionally strong set ofnerves. She had gone back to bed and fallen promptly into a pleasantsleep. And when she wakened all that happened in the night was filmedover and had become dreamlike. No one disturbed her rest; but when shewent down to a late breakfast she found Charles Merchant lingering inthe room. He had questioned her closely, and after a moment of thoughtshe told him exactly what had happened, because she was perfectly awarethat he would not believe a word of it. And she was right. He had satopposite her, drumming his fingers without noise on the table, with asmile now and then which was tinged, she thought, with insolence.
Yet he seemed oddly undisturbed. She had expected some jealous outburst,some keen questioning of the motives which had made her beg them not topursue this man. But Charles Merchant was only interested in what thefellow had said and done when he talked with her. "He was just like aman out of a book," said the girl in conclusion, "and I'll wager thathe's been raised on romances. He had the face for it, you know--and thewild look!"
"A blacksmith--in Martindale--raised on romances?" Charles had said ashe fingered his throat, which was patched with black and blue.
"A blacksmith--in Martindale," she had repeated slowly. And it brought anew view of the affair home to her. Now that they knew from Bill Dozierthat the victim in Martindale had been only injured, and not actuallykilled, the whole matter became rather a farce. It would be an amusingtale. But now, as Charles Merchant repeated the words, "blacksmith"--"Martindale," the new idea shocked her, the new idea of Andrew Lanning,for Charles had told her the name.
The new thought stayed with her when she went back to her room afterbreakfast, ostensibly to read, but really to think. Remembering AndrewLanning, she got past the white face and the brilliant black eyes; shefelt, looking back, that he had shown a restraint which was somethingmore than boyish. When he took her in his arms just before he fled hehad not kissed her, though, for that matter, she had been perfectlyready to let him do it.
That moment kept recurring to her--the beating on the door, the voicesin the hall, the shouts, and the arms of Andrew Lanning around her, andhis tense, desperate face close to hers. It became less dreamlike thatmoment. She began to understand that if she lived to be a hundred, shewould never find that memory dimmer.
A half-sad, half-happy smile was touching the corners of her mouth, whenCharles Merchant knocked at her door. She gave herself one moment inwhich to banish the queer pain of knowing that she would never see thiswild Andrew again, and then she told Charles to come in.
In fact, he was already opening the door. He was calm of face, but sheguessed an excitement beneath the surface.
"I've got something to show you," he said.
A great thought made her sit up in the chair; but she was afraid justthen to stand up. "I know. The posse has reached that silly boy andbrought him back. But I don't want to see him again. Handcuffed, andall that."
"The posse is here, at least," said Charles noncommittally. She wasfinding something new in him. The fact that he could think and hide histhoughts from her was indeed very new; for, when she first met him, hehad seemed all surface, all clean young manhood without a stain.
"Do you want me to see the six brave men again?" she asked, smiling, butreally she was prying at his mind to get a clew of the truth. "Well,I'll come down."
And she went down the stairs with Charles Merchant beside her; he keptlooking straight ahead, biting his lips, and this made her wonder. Shebegan to hum a gay little tune, and the first bar made the man start. Soshe kept on. She was bubbling with apparent good nature when Charles,all gravity, opened the door of the living room.
The shades were drawn. The quiet in that room was a deadly, livingthing. And then she saw, on the sofa at one side of the place, a humanform under a sheet.
"Charles!" whispered the girl. She put out her hand and touched hisshoulder, but she could not take her eyes off that ghastly dead thing."They--they--he's dead--Andrew Lanning! Why did you bring me here?"
"Take the cloth from his face," commanded Charles Merchant, and therewas something so hard in his voice that she obeyed.
The sheet came away under her touch, and she was looking into the sallowface of Bill Dozier. She had remembered him because of the sadmustaches, that morning, and his big voice.
"That's what your romantic boy out of a book has done," said CharlesMerchant. "Look at his work!"
But she dropped the sheet and whirled on him.
"And they left him--" she said.
"Anne," said he, "are you thinking about the safety of thatmurderer--now? He's safe, but they'll get him later on; he's as good asdead, if that's what you want to know."
"God help him!" said the girl.
And going back a pace, she stood in the thick shadow, leaning againstthe wall, with one hand across her lips. It reminded Charles of thepicture he had seen when he broke into her room after Andrew Lanning hadescaped. And she looked now, as, then, more beautiful, more wholly to bedesired than he had ever known her before. Yet he could neither move norspeak. He saw her go out of the room. Then, without stopping to replacethe sheet, he followed.
He had hoped to wipe the last thought of that vagabond blacksmith out ofher mind with the shock of this horror. Instead, he knew now that he haddone quite another thing. And in addition he had probably made herdespise him for taking her to confront such a sight.
All in all, Charles Merchant was exceedingly thoughtful as he closedthe door and stepped into the hall. He ran up the stairs to her room.The door was closed. There was no answer to his knock, and by trying theknob he found that she had locked herself in. And the next moment hecould hear her sobbing. He stood for a moment more, listening, andwishing Andrew Lanning dead with all his heart.
Then he went down to the garage, climbed into his car, and burned up theroad between his place and that of Hal Dozier. There was very littlesimilarity between the two brothers. Bill had been tall and lean; Halwas compact and solid, and he had the fighting agility of a starvedcoyote. He had a smooth-shaven face as well, and a clear gray eye, whichwas known wherever men gathered in the mountain desert. There was nonews to give him. A telephone message had already told him of the deathof Bill Dozier.
"But," said Charles Merchant, "there's one thing I can do. I can set youfree to run down this Lanning."
"How?"
"You're needed on your ranch, Hal; but I want you to let me stand theexpenses of this trip. Take your time, make sure of him, and run himinto the ground."
"My friend," said Hal Dozier, "you turn a pleasure into a real party."
And Charles Merchant left, knowing that he had signed the death warrantof young Lanning. In all the history of the mountain desert there was atale of only one man who had escaped, once Hal Dozier took his trail,and that man had blown out his own brains.
