“Plumb center—and only a chunk of his haid showin’ above the gal! If you ask me, that’s shore some shootin’!”
“An each o’ the other two with a shot—jest a left an’ a right!”
“Gets the gun with one barrel an’ the man with the other. Did you-all see it?”
Her feet were refusing to carry her, leaden and weighty as they seemed. Her knees were trembling and her head swimming. Yet she retained consciousness, for, in front of her, De Launay was crumpling forward, and sinking to the muddy shambles in which he stood.
Friendly hands were holding her up and she swept the cobwebs from her brain with her hands, determined that she would conquer her weakness. Somehow she staggered to De Launay’s side and, heedless of the mud, sank to her knees.
“Mon ami! Mon ami!” she moaned over him, her hands folding over his lean cheeks, still brown in spite of the pallor that was sweeping them.
A man dropped to his knees beside De Launay and opposite her. She did not heed his swift gesture in ripping back the buckskin vest. Nor did she feel the hand on her shoulder where Sucatash stood behind her. The crowding bystanders were nonexistent to her consciousness as she raised De Launay’s head.
Then his eyes fluttered open and met hers; were held by them as though they were drawn down to the depths of her and lost in them. Over his mouth, under the small, military mustache crept a smile.
“Morgan la fée!” he whispered.
Solange choked back a sob. She leaned nearer and opened her eyes wider. De Launay’s gaze remained lost in the depths of hers. But he saw at last to the bottom of them; saw there unutterable sorrow and love.
“Don’t worry, fair lady!” he gasped. “It’s been something—to live for—once more! And the mine—you’ll not need that—after all!”
His eyes slowly closed but he was not unconscious, for he spoke again.
“It’s nothing much. That rat couldn’t kill—Louisiana!”
The man who was examining De Launay made an impatient gesture and Sucatash drew her gently away. She rose slowly, bending dumbly over the physician, as he seemed to be.
“Reckon he’s right,” said this man, grimly, as he bared De Launay’s chest. “Huh! These holes aren’t a circumstance to what this hombre’s had in him before this. Reckon he’s had a habit of mixing with cougars or something like that! Here’s a knife wound—old.”
“A bayonet did that,” said Solange.
“Soldier, eh! Well, he’s used to bullet holes and it’s a good thing. Hand me something to bandage him with, some one. He’s lost a heap of blood but there ain’t anything he won’t get over—that is, if you can get him out of this hole.”
The man seemed competent enough, although, abandoning his practice to join the gold rush, he had brought few of the tools of his trade with him. He gathered handkerchiefs and Solange ripped open her flannel shirtwaist and tore the lingerie beneath it to furnish him additional cloth. She had collected herself and, although still shaky, was cool and efficient, her nurse’s experience rendering the doctor invaluable aid. Together they soon stanched the bleeding and directed De Launay’s removal to a near-by tent where he was laid upon ample bedding.
Then the doctor turned to Solange and Sucatash, who hovered around her like a satellite.
“I’ve done what I can,” he said. “But he’ll not stand much chance if he’s left up here. You’d better risk it and get him down to the Falls if it can be done.”
“But how can we take him?” cried Solange. “Surely it would kill him to ride a horse.”
“No, he can’t,” agreed the doctor. “But there is the dog team that came in to-night. You ought to get him to Wallace’s with that and he can probably stand it.”
Solange turned at once and ran out to seek the driver of the dog team. The dogs lay about in the road but the man was not visible. She hastily burst into the saloon again in the hope of finding him there.
The signs of conflict had been removed and men were once more lined up before the rude bar, discussing the fight in low voices.
They fell silent when Solange entered and most of them took off their hats, although they had all been puzzled to explain her connection with the event and her actions before it had come off.
She paid no attention to them but swept the crowd looking for the newcomer. He saved her the trouble of identifying him by coming forward.
“Ma’am,” he said, with great embarrassment, “I’m Snake Murphy and I was grubstakin’ that ornery coyote that Louisiana just beefed. I come in to-night with that dog team and I reckon that, accordin’ to law, this here claim of Jim’s belongs to me now that he’s dead. But I wants to say that I ain’t robbin’ no women after they come all the way across the ocean to find this here mine and—well—if half of it’ll satisfy you, it’s yours!”
Solange seized him by the arm.
“You are the man with the dogs?” she cried.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Then—you keep the mine—all of it, I do not want it. But you will let us have the dogs that we may take Monsieur de Launay to the hospital? We must have the dogs. The mine—that is yours if you agree!”
Snake Murphy broke into a grin. “Why, ma’am, shore you’re welcome to the dogs. This here Louisiana shot me up once—but damned if I stands fer no one shootin’ him from behind a woman that a way. Come on, and we’ll fix the sled!”
A few minutes later Solange had resumed her watch beside De Launay while, outside, Sucatash and Murphy were busy unloading the sled and getting it ready for the wounded man.
De Launay slept, apparently. Solange sat patiently as the long hours passed. At intervals he muttered in his sleep and she listened. Fragments of his life formed the subject of the words, incoherent and disconnected. She caught references to the terrible years of existence as a légionnaire and later snatches of as terrible scenes of warfare.
Once he spoke more clearly and his words referred to her.
“Morgan la fée!—promised to be something interesting—more than that—worth living, perhaps, after all.”
She dropped her hand over his and he clutched it, holding fast. After that he was quiet, sleeping as easily as could be expected.
In the morning the doctor examined him again and said that the trip might be taken. De Launay awoke, somewhat dazed and uncertain but contented, evidently, at finding Solange at his side. He had fever but was doing very well.
Solange gave him broth, and as he sipped it he looked now and then at her. Something seemed to be on his mind. Finally he unburdened himself.
“I was planning to save you the divorce,” he said. “But I probably will get well. It is too bad!”
“Why too bad?” asked Solange, with eyes on broth and spoon.
“After this even a Nevada divorce will mean notoriety for you. And you’ve lost the mine.”
“I have not lost it,” said Solange. “Monsieur Murphy gave me half of it—but I traded it away.”
“Traded it?”
“For a team of dogs to take you out. As for a divorce, Monsieur de Launay, there is a difficulty in the way.”
“A difficulty! What’s that? All you have to do is establish a residence. I’m still an American citizen—at least I never took steps to be naturalized in France. Perhaps that’s why they demoted me. Anyhow, such a marriage of form wouldn’t hold a minute if you want to have it annulled.”
Solange blushed a little.
“But you forget. I cannot blame you for I hardly recalled it myself until recently. I am a Catholic—and divorce is not allowed.”
“But—even a Catholic could get an annulment—under the circumstances, if she wished it.”
“But——” said Solange, and stopped.
“But what?”
“Be quiet, please! If you twist that way you will spill the broth. If I wished—yes, perhaps.”
“Solange!”
“But I—do not wish!”
De Launay lay still a moment, then:
�
��Solange!”
“Monsieur?”
“Why don’t you wish it?”
She stole a glance at him and then turned away. His face was damp and the fever was glittering in his eyes but behind the fever was a great hunger.
“Husbands,” said Solange, “are not plentiful, monsieur.”
He sank back on the bed, sighing a little as though exhausted. Instantly Solange bent over him, frightened.
“Is that all?” she heard him mutter.
Slowly she stooped until her glimmering hair swept around his face and her lips met his.
“Méchant!” she breathed, softly. “That is not all. There is also—this!”
Her lips clung to his.
Finally she straightened up and arranged her hair, smiling down at him, her cheeks flushed delicately and her eyes wonderfully soft.
“Morgan la fée!” said De Launay. “My witch—my fairy lady!”
Solange kissed him lightly on the forehead and rose.
“We must be getting ready to go,” she said. “It will be a hard trip, I am afraid. But we shall get you down to the town and there is enough money left to keep you in the hospital until you are well again. And I shall find work until everything is all right again.”
De Launay stared at her. “Hasn’t Sucatash given you that note?”
“But what note?”
He laughed out loud.
“Call him in.”
When the cow-puncher came in he held the note in his hand and held it out to Solange.
“I done forgot this till this minute, ma’am. The boss told me to give it to you to-day—but I reckon it ain’t needed yet.”
“Open it,” said De Launay.
Solange complied and took out the two inclosures. The first she read was the will and her eyes filled at this proof of De Launay’s care for her, although she had no idea that his estate was of value. Then she unfolded the second paper. This she read with growing amazement.
“But,” she cried, and stopped. She looked at him, troubled. “I did not know!” she said, uncertainly.
His hand groped for hers and as she took it, timidly, he drew her closer.
“Why,” he said, “it makes no difference, does it, dear?”
She nodded. “It makes a difference,” she replied. “I am not one that——”
“You are one that traded a mine worth millions that I might have dogs to take me out,” he interrupted. “Now I will buy those dogs from you and for them I will pay the value of a dozen gold mines. If you will kiss me again I will endow you with every oil well on my father’s ancestral acres!”
Solange broke into a laugh and her eyes grew deep and mysterious again as she stooped to him while the embarrassed Sucatash sidled out under the tent flap.
“You will make yourself poor,” she said.
“I couldn’t,” he answered, “so long as Morgan la fée is with me in Avalon.”
Sucatash called from outside, plaintively:
“I got the dogs fed and ready, mad’mo’selle—I mean, madame! Reckon we better carry the gen’ral out, now!”
Solange threw back the flap to let him enter again.
“We are ready—for Avalon,” she said.
“Wallace’s ranch, you mean, don’t you?” asked Sucatash.
“Yes—and Avalon also.”
Then, as the stalwart Sucatash gathered the wounded man and lifted him, she took De Launay’s hand and walked out beside him.
THE END
Transcriber’s Note: Obvious spelling and punctuation errors repaired and noted by the use of a dotted underline in the text. Scrolling the mouse over such text will display the change that was made.
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Louisiana Lou Page 21
