CHAPTER XXVIII
JUNE IS GLAD
June turned away from the crowd surrounding the dead mad dog and walkedinto the hotel. The eyes of more than one man followed the slim, gracefulfigure admiringly. Much water had run down the Rio Blanco since the dayswhen she had been the Cinderella of Piceance Creek. The dress she worewas simple, but through it a vivid personality found expression. Nolonger was she a fiery little rebel struggling passionately against asense of inferiority. She had come down from the hills to a countryfilled with laughter and the ripple of brooks.
The desire to be alone was strong upon her--alone with the happy thoughtsthat pushed themselves turbulently through her mind. She was tremulouswith excitement. For she hoped that she had found a dear friend who hadbeen lost.
Once, on that dreadful day she would never forget, June had told JakeHouck that Bob Dillon was as brave as he. It had been the forlorn cry ofa heart close to despair. But the words were true. She hugged thatknowledge to her bosom. Jake had run away while Bob had stayed to facethe mad dog. And not Jake alone! Blister Haines had run, with others oftested courage. Bob had outgamed him. He admitted it cheerfully.
Maybe the others had not seen little Maggie Wiggins. But Bob had seenher. The child's cry had carried him back into the path of the brindleterrier. June was proud, not only of what he had done, but of the way hehad done it. His brain had functioned swiftly, his motions been timedexactly. Only coordination of all his muscles had enabled him to down thedog so expertly and render the animal harmless.
During the months since she had seen him June had thought often of theman whose name she legally bore. After the first few hours there had beenno harshness in her memories of him. He was good. She had always feltthat. There was something fine and sweet and generous in his nature.Without being able to reason it out, she was sure that no fair judgmentwould condemn him wholly because at a crisis he had failed to exhibit aquality the West holds in high esteem and considers fundamental. Into herheart there had come a tender pity for him, a maternal sympathy thatflowed out whenever he came into her musings.
Poor boy! She had learned to know him so well. He would whip himself withhis own scorn. This misadventure that had overwhelmed him might frustrateall the promise of his life. He was too sensitive. If he lost heart--ifhe gave up--
She had longed to send a message of hope to him, but she had been afraidthat he might misunderstand it. Her position was ambiguous. She was hiswife. The law said so. But of course she was not his wife at all exceptin name. They were joint victims of evil circumstance, a boy and a girlwho had rushed to a foolish extreme. Some day one or the other of themwould ask the law to free them of the tie that technically bound themtogether.
Now she need not worry about him any longer. He had proved his mettlepublicly. The court of common opinion would reverse the verdict it hadpassed upon him. He would go out of her life and she need no longer feelresponsible for the shadow that had fallen over his.
So she reasoned consistently, but something warm within her gave the lieto this cold disposition of their friendship. She did not want to let himgo his way. She had no intention of letting him go. She could not expressit, but in some intangible way he belonged to her. As a brother might,she told herself; not because Blister Haines had married them when theyhad gone to him in their hurry to solve a difficulty. Not for that reasonat all, but because from the first hour of meeting, their spirits hadgone out to each other in companionship. Bob had understood her. He hadbeen the only person to whom she could confide her troubles, the only palshe had ever known.
Standing before the glass in her small bedroom, June saw that her eyeswere shining, the blood glowing through the dusky cheeks. Joy hadvitalized her whole being, had made her beautiful as a wild rose. For themoment at least she was lyrically happy.
This ardor still possessed June when she went into the dining-room tomake the set-ups for supper. She sang snatches of "Dixie" and "My OldKentucky Home" as she moved about her work. She hummed the chorus of"Juanita." From that she drifted to the old spiritual "Swing Low, SweetChariot."
A man was washing his hands in the tin basin provided outside for guestsof the hotel. Through the window came to him the lilt of the fresh youngvoice.
"Swing low, sweet chariot, Comin' fo' to carry me home."
The look of sullen, baffled rage on the man's dark face did not lighten.He had been beaten again. His revenge had been snatched from him almostat the moment of triumph. If that mad dog had not come round the cornerjust when it did, he would have evened the score between him and Dillon.June had seen the whole thing. She had been a partner in the red-headedboy's ovation. Houck ground his teeth in futile anger.
Presently he slouched into the dining-room.
Mollie saw him and walked across the room to June. "I'll wait on him ifyou don't want to."
The waitress shook her head. "No, I don't want him to think I'm afraid ofhim. I'm not, either. I'll wait on him."
June took Houck's order and presently served it.
His opaque eyes watched her in the way she remembered of old. They werestill bold and possessive, still curtained windows through which sheglimpsed volcanic passion.
"You can tell that squirt Dillon I ain't through with him yet, not by ajugful," he growled.
"If you have anything to tell Bob Dillon, say it to _him_," Juneanswered, looking at him with fearless, level eyes of scorn.
"An' I ain't through with you, I'd have you know."
June finished putting his order on the table. "But I'm through with you,Jake Houck," she said, very quietly.
"Don't think it. Don't you think it for a minute," he snarled. "I'mgonna--"
He stopped, sputtering with fury. June had turned and walked into thekitchen. He rose, evidently intending to follow her.
Mollie Larson barred the way, a grim, square figure with the air of abrigadier-general.
"Sit down, Jake Houck," she ordered. "Or get out. I don't care which. Butdon't you think I'll set by an' let you pester that girl. If you had alick o' sense you'd know it ain't safe."
There was nothing soft about Houck. He was a hard and callous citizen,and he lived largely outside the law and other people's standards ofconduct. But he knew when he had run up against a brick wall. Mrs. Larsonhad only to lift her voice and half a dozen men would come running. Hewas in the country of the enemy, so to say.
"Am I pesterin' her?" he demanded. "Can't I talk to a girl I knew whenshe was a baby? Have I got to get an O.K. from you before I say'Good-mawnin' to her?"
"Her father left June in my charge. I'm intendin' to see you let heralone. Get that straight."
Houck gave up with a shrug of his big shoulders. He sat down and attackedthe steak on his plate.
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