by Grey, Zane
"Molly, you're not going back to your boarding-house--tonight or ever again," he replied, confronting her and reaching for her, so that Molly backed into the armchair and fell into it.
"I am--too," she retorted, but she was vastly alarmed.
"No, this is home, till you've grown out of your school-girl days."
"Kidnappers--you 'an Slinger!"
"I reckon we are, Molly."
"You're wuss than Hack Jocelyn," she cried, wildly. "Are you goin' to hawg-tie me heah?"
"No. I don't believe you'll want to leave, after tomorrow when you see Uncle Jim and Glory."
"Jim--I cain't see them. It'd hurt too bad. Please let me go."
"Nope... You hurt me, didn't you?"
"All fer your good, Jim... Cain't you see thet?"
"Indeed I can't. You just almost broke my heart, Molly Dunn. If it hadn't been for Uncle and Glory--Well, never mind. I don't want to heap coals of fire upon your head."
"What did Uncle Jim an' Glory do?" she asked poignantly.
"They both have faith in you. Faith!"
"I cain't stand thet, Jim, I cain't," she wailed.
He slipped into the big chair and gathered her in his arms. What a tight, quivering little bundle!
"Molly, both Uncle and Glory love you."
"No--no. Thet's not so," she cried, half-smothered. "Let me go, Jim."
"Ha ha! I see myself... Hold up your head, Molly."
"If you dare kiss me--Jim Traft I I... Oh--"
"Don't you dare kiss me, Molly Dunn," added Jim, quite beside himself now. Molly's lips were sweet fire, and she could not control them. But she was strong, and as slippery as an eel. Jim had to confine his muscular efforts to holding her merely.
"Molly, you are mussing a perfectly beautiful little dress," he said, mildly, "besides, darling, you're making a very indecorous, not to say immodest, display of anatomy."
"I don't care," panted Molly, red of face, blazing of eye. But she did care. She was weakening.
"Darling," Jim divined this word had considerable power; at least enough to make Molly hide her face.
"Sweetheart," he went on.
And this appeared to end her struggling. "Don't you love me, Molly?"
"Thet has been--all the trouble... Too much--to disgrace you," she replied, haltingly, and she looked up with wet eyes and trembling lips. Jim was quick to kiss them, and when he desisted this time, she lay back upon his arm, her eyes closed, heavy-lidded, her face pale and rapt.
"Don't you want to stay, Molly?" he went on, tenderly.
"No--no... But I'm a liar," she replied, brokenly, without stirring.
"To be my wife?"
She was mute and therefore won. Jim found the little box in his pocket, and extracting the diamond ring from it he slipped it upon her finger, where it fitted tight and blazed triumphantly.
"There!"
Moveover, it had potency to make her eyes pop open. She stared. Slowly transformation set in. She became ecstatic and ashamed, filled with sudden wild misery and joy, all at once.
"Oh, I I've been--jest what Slinger called me," she cried.
"What was that?"
"It's too turrible to tell... How can you be so good--to make me love you more?... Jim, honest I thought I was thinkin' only of you. If I was fit for you I wanted to--an' sometimes deep down in me I reckoned I was, because love ought to count--I wanted to make myself unfit... Yet when thet mouthin', pawin' Darnell laid hold of me--when I had my chance to disgrace you an' degrade myself--I couldn't. My very soul went sick. An' then I only wanted to get free of him at any cost. I did. An' afterwards he begged so hard, an' I longed so to go to the dance, thet I went."
"Well, I'm glad you did, since we had to have this ruction. But don't mention Darnell to me again, at least tonight."
"After all, people won't know how bad it was," she said, with a passion of hope and regret.
"They'll think it only a lovers' quarrel," replied Jim, happily, and he was glad to believe that himself.
"If only Glory will forgive me!"
"Glory! Why, she has already."
"You don't know thet lovely sister of yours, Jim... The more she persuaded me I was doin' wrong, the kinder an' sweeter she talked, the proud way she looked--the more I wanted to do some-thin' awful. I wanted to hide thet I loved her, too... Oh, she seemed so wonderful--so far above me. But if she'll forgive I'll never do wrong again, so help me Gawd!"
"Molly, that's a vow. I'll hold you to it... And now, honey, make up to me for all I suffered--for every miserable moment."
"I cain't, Jim," she replied, mournfully. "What's done is done. Oh, if I only could."
"Well, then for every wretched moment you spent with him. Could you count how many?"
"I reckon I could," she said, thoughtfully. "What's a moment? Same as a minute?"
"More like a second. Some are utterly precious, like this one. Others are horrible."
"Wal, with sixty seconds to the minute and sixty minutes to the hour--an' I reckon aboot five hours, all told--thet would be how much?--A lot to make up for!"
"Will you try? That will be your repentance."
"Yes," she promised, shyly, yet fearfully, as if remembering.
"Put your arms up round my neck... There--Now start kissing me once for every one of those heart-broken minutes."
Molly was not very far on this tremendous penance, considering sighs and lulls, and spasms of quick tender passion to make amends, when a knock on the living-room door startled her violently.
"Well, if that isn't tough!" ejaculated Jim, and putting Molly down he arose to go to the door. "Must be Gloriana May."
And she it was who entered, radiant and beautiful, with swift hopeful flash of purple eyes that moved from Jim to Molly, and back again. Curly stepped in behind her.
"Jim, dear, I hope we didn't intrude," she said, sweetly, with mischief and gaiety underlying her speech. "Were you aware that this is Christmas?"
"Jim, many happy returns of this heah evenin'--I mean the last of it," drawled Curly, as he came forward, so cool and easy, and already within possession of the facts. "Molly, I've been shore daid sore at you. But I'm an understandin' cuss... Suppose I kiss you my Christmas greetin's."
And he did kiss her, gallantly, though withal like a brother, while Molly stood stiff, blushing and paling by turns.
"Curly Prentiss, do you kiss every girl on Christmas?" she had spirit to retort.
"Nope. Thet privilege I reserve fer particular gurls," he drawled, and turned to Jim with extended hand. "Boss, I'm shore glad. This is the second time the Diamond's near been busted. Never no more!... Good-night, all. I'll see you in the mawnin'."
When Jim had closed the door upon him there was an eloquent silence in which Gloriana and Molly gazed into each other's eyes. Certain it was that Jim trembled. Yet his hopes ran high. Molly approached Gloriana and stood bravely, without trace of the shame Jim knew she felt.
"Glory, I'm heah again--to stay," she said, simply. "Jim kidnapped me--an' I reckon saved me when he did it... I'm shore powerful sorry I've been such a dumb-haid. But you cain't doubt my love for Jim, at least... Will you forgive me?"
Gloriana took Molly into her arms, and bending over her spoke with emotion. "I do indeed, Molly, as I hope to be forgiven... Come with me to my room... Goodnight, brother Jim; it's late. We'll see you in the morning."
Chapter THIRTEEN
Snell's gambling-hall was crowded on the afternoon of Christmas Day, when Jim Traft and Curly Prentiss arrived rather late. Evidently no open sesame was required on this occasion, and no doortender. Curly said this was because the business-men of Flagerstown, who liked to buck the tiger, would be conspicuous for their absence on this holiday. But there would be a big game going, and Darnell would be in it.
Curly appeared to be under the influence of liquor, which Jim knew he was most decidedly not. But Curly excited no interest whatever, for the good reason that he differed very little in garb and manner from other cow
boys present. Some, in fact, were hilariously drunk.
They strolled around to watch the faro game, the roulette wheel, and other games of chance or less busy with customers, until they approached a ring of lookers-on which surrounded the heavy poker game. Curly wanted to sit in, provided Darnell was one of the players. By looking over the heads of spectators they ascertained that Darnell was indeed there, and also Bambridge. Then Curly whispered to Jim that the other three gamblers were precisely the same he and Bud had watched yesterday afternoon.
"All set," concluded Curly, his blue eyes flashing like a northern sunlit sky. "Big game an' all daid sore. Darnell is ridin' them high an' handsome."
Then he turned to the circle of watchers and lurched into it. "Heah, lemme in, you geezers," he called out, in a loud and good-natured drawl. "I'm a-rarin' to set in this heah game."
But Curly's action was more forceful. Without waiting for the men to open up he swept them aside. Jim followed until he secured a place just back of the front row, where he could see and yet keep out of sight.
"Gennelmen, I wanna set in," said Curly. "There's only five of you heah. Thet shore ain't no good game. You oughta have six. An' heah I am."
Darnell looked up and gave Curly a hard glance. But if it were one of recognition he certainly did not connect Curly with the little meeting in Winslow some time previous.
"This is poker for men of means and not casino for two-bit cowpunchers," he said.
"Hell you shay," replied Curly, without offence, as he wiped a hand across his face, after the fashion of the inebriated. "Reckon you don't savvy I ain't no two-bit cowpuncher."
"Get out or I'll have you thrown out," snarled Darnell. His concentration on the game was such that an interruption jarred him. Yet even in anger there was no heat in the sharp dark eyes. His cheek and the line of his chin were tight. Here Jim saw the man as a handsome cold-faced gambler.
"My Gawd! man, you must be a stranger heahaboots," drawled Curly, and he clumsily pulled out the one vacant chair and fell into it, knocking against the table. With one hand he dropped his sombrero beside the chair and with the other he slammed down a huge roll of greenbacks, the outside one of which bore the number one hundred.
"My money ain't counterfeit, an' I reckon it's as good as anybody's," said Curly, lolling over the table in the careless laxity of a drunken man. His curly hair, wet and dishevelled, hid his eyes. He gave his mouth and chin the weakness characterising the over-indulgence in drink.
At sight of the roll of greenbacks Darnell's eyes leaped, but before he could speak, which it was evident he intended to do, Bambridge came out with: "Sure your money's as good as anybody's, cowboy. Sit in an' welcome."
"Much obliged, Mister," replied Curly, gratefully, as he snapped the rubber band off his roll. "What's the game, friends?"
"You make your own game. No limit," replied the dealer, who happened to be the man from Winslow. "Your ante."
"Make it five call ten," drawled Curly, but he laboured long over the huge roll of greenbacks trying to find one of small numeration. "Dog-gone!--This heah legacy of mine is shore dwindlin' of change."
The game proceeded then with Curly apparently a lamb among wolves. Still, though betting with reckless abandon, he did not risk much. "Dog-gone-it! Wait till I get some cairds," he complained, "an' I'll show you fellars how a cowboy bets."
Upon Darnell's next deal the play was a jack-pot, with the dealer's privilege of making the ante.
"Throw in one of your hundreds, cowboy," he said, as he chipped in one hundred dollars.
"Wal, century plants ain't nothin' in my young life," drawled Curly. ". There you air, my Mississippi River gazabo."
Darnell gave a slight start, and eyed the cowboy intently. Curly's head was bent rather low, as usual, with his eyes hidden under that wave of bright hair any girl might have envied. He was smiling, easy, and happy in the game. Perhaps his remark was merely a chance one and meant nothing. But Jim's reflection was that Darnell certainly did not know cowboys of the Arizona-range stripe.
The Winslow man opened the jack-pot, the two players between him and Curly stayed, and then Bambridge raised before the draw. Presently they were all in, in a jack-pot carrying more than six hundred dollars. The watchers of the game looked on with intense interest. Each player called for what cards he wanted. Darnell said casually: "Three for myself--to this little pair." And he slid the three cards upon the table and laid the deck aside.
Suddenly like a panther Curly leaped. His left hand shot out to crack down upon Darnell's and crush it flat on the table. Then his right followed, clutching a big blue gun, which he banged on the table, making the players jump, then freeze in their seats. Curly sank back and threw up his head to show blazing eyes as clear as crystal. His frank young face set cold. How vastly a single moment had transformed him!
Darnell turned a greenish livid blue. He had been trapped. Malignance and fear betrayed him.
"You--low-down ---- of a caird sharp!" drawled Curly, in a voice with a terrible edge. "You reckoned I was drunk, eh?"
The circle of men back of Darnell split and spread, with shuffling feet and hoarse whispers, in two wings, leaving the space there clear. That act was as significantly Western as Curly's. Jim had seen it before.
"Don't anybody move a hair," ordered Curly, and the pivoting of his gun indicated the other players. Bambridge gasped. Only the Winslow man remained cool. Perhaps he knew or guessed the nerve behind that gun-hammer, which plainly rose a trifle, sank back, to rise again, almost to full cock.
"Gentlemen, look heah," went on Curly, bitingly, and he turned Darnell's crushed hand over. Bent and doubled in his palm were three cards that dropped out. Aces!
"Pretty raw, I must say," spoke up the Winslow man. "At that, I had a hunch."
"Darnell, we Westerners don't often hang caird sharps, like we do cattle thieves. But on second offence we throw a gun," said Curly, and the menace of him seemed singularly striking. Then in the same cool, careless voice he called Darnell all the profane epithets, vile and otherwise, known to the range. "You get out of Flag. Savvy?... An' any time anywhere after this--if you run into me--you pull a gun!"
Darnell whirled on his chair, knocking it to the floor, and he rushed through the opening in the crowd to disappear.
Curly moved the gun, by accident or intent--no one could tell--until it had aligned itself with Bambridge.
"Mister Bambridge, you've laid yourself open to suspicion round heah--long before this poker game," said Curly, as cutting as before. "I told your daughter thet, an' naturally it riled her. I reckon she's a fine girl who doesn't savvy her Dad."
"Who the hell is this hyar lyin' cowpuncher?" demanded Bambridge, yellow of face, as he appealed to the other players.
Curly's arm moved like a snake. "Don't you call me liar twice!... I'm Curly Prentiss, an' I belong to the Diamond. We are on to you, Bambridge, if no other outfit round heah is. We know you're a damn sight crookeder cattle thief than Jed Stone himself... Now listen closer. What I said aboot gun play to your gamblin' new hand, Darnell, goes for you, too. Savvy?... Right now an' heah, or anywhere after."
"You--you drunken puncher--you'll pay for this hold-up of an innocent--and unarmed man," panted Bambridge, as he got up his face ghastly, sweating, and his eyes bulging with a fury of passions. He swept the edge of the crowd aside and thumped away.
"Gentlemen, I apologise for breaking up your game," said Curly, sheathing his gun. "But I reckon I saved you money. Suppose we divide what's on the table an' call it quits."
"Agreed," replied the Winslow man, gruffly. "Prentiss, we sure owe you a vote of thanks."
It was Jim, and not Curly, who told the rest of the Diamond what had happened at Snell's late on Christmas Day.
It seemed incredible to Jim that the quiet evening at home was real. How strange to glance at Curly now and recall the tremendous force he had exhibited at Snell's only a few hours before! He was so easygoing, so droll and tranquil, as he unmercifully teased
Molly, subtly including Gloriana in his philosophy.
"You cain't never tell aboot girls, Jim," he said, sorrowfully. "I've shore had a deal of experience with all kinds. Redheaded girls, I reckon, are best to gamble on. Blondes are no good. Brunettes are dangerous. They're like mules, an' fer a spell will be powerful good, just to get a chance to kick you. Christmas an' birthdays, though, a fellar's girl can be relied upon to stand without a halter. But these girls between blondes an' brunettes, the kind with hair like the ripple of amber moss, an' eyes like violets under water--they're scarce, thank the Lord... I've heahed of a few, only never saw but one."
Uncle Jim roared. Molly threw something at Curly, while Gloriana was convulsed with laughter. Curly evidently was a perpetual source of surprise, delight, and mystery to Gloriana. There dawned in Jim a hope that she would grow to find more.
They had a pleasant hour in the bright living-room, then the rancher left the young folk to themselves. Curly stayed a while longer.
"Wal," he said, presently, "I'll say good-night, Miss Glory."
"What's your hurry?" queried Gloriana, in surprise. "Don't be so outlandishly thoughtful of my brother. He and Molly don't know we exist... Oh, maybe you want to go to town."
"Wal, I had thought aboot it," drawled Curly.
"And maybe join in the general painting the Diamond is giving Flag?" went on Gloriana.
"Wal, they shore cain't do much paintin' or anythin' without me," he admitted, his keen blue eyes studying Gloriana.
Despite Gloriana's conviction of Jim's utter absorption, he still had eyes and ears for his sister and his best friend. Molly saw nothing except the ruddy coals of the fire, until Jim gave her a nudge.
"Very well, Mister Prentiss, good-night," said Gloriana, icily, as she rose.
"Say, do you care a whoop aboot whether I get drunk or not?" demanded Curly, his face flaming. Gloriana was the one person who could stir him out of his nonchalance or coolness.
"Certainly not," replied Gloriana, in amaze. "Why should I?... But you are my brother's right-hand man. And I had hoped you would develop some character, for his sake."
