CHAPTER XIX
THE SHOT IN THE DARK
Now that Mary Radford had obtained experience for the love scene in herstory it might be expected that on returning to the cabin she would getout her writing materials and attempt to transcribe the emotions thathad beset her during the afternoon, but she did nothing of the kind.After Ferguson's departure she removed her riding garments, walkedseveral times around the interior of the cabin, and for a long timestudied her face in the looking glass. Yes, she discovered thehappiness shining out of the glass. Several times, standing before theglass, she attempted to keep the lines of her face in repose, andthough she almost succeeded in doing this she could not control hereyes--they simply would gleam with the light that seemed to say to her:"You may deceive people by making a mask of your face, but the eyes arethe windows of the soul and through them people will see your secret."
Ben hadn't eaten much, she decided, as she seated herself at the table,after pouring a cup of tea. Before she had finished her meal she hadbegun to wonder over his absence--it was not his custom to go away inthe night. She thought he might have gone to the corral, or might evenbe engaged in some small task in the stable. So after completing hermeal she rose and went to the door, looking out.
There was no moon, only the starlight, but in this she was able todistinguish objects in the clearing, and if Ben had been working aboutanywhere she must have noticed him. She returned to the table and satthere long, pondering. Then she rose, heated some water, and washedand dried the dishes. Then she swept the kitchen floor and tidiedthings up a bit, returning to the door when all was complete.
Still no signs that Ben was anywhere in the vicinity. She opened thescreen door and went out upon the porch, leaning against one of theslender posts. For a long time she stood thus, listening to theindescribable noises of the night. This was only the second time sinceshe had been with Ben that he had left her alone at night, and a slightchill stole over her as she watched the dense shadows beyond theclearing, shadows that seemed suddenly dismal and foreboding. She hadloved the silence, but now suddenly it too seemed too deep, too solemnto be real. She shuddered, and with some unaccountable impulse shrankback against the screen door, one hand upon it, ready to throw it open.In this position she stood for a few minutes, and then from somewherein the flat came a slight sound--and then, after a short interval,another.
She shrank back again, a sudden fear chilling her, her hands claspedover her breast.
"Someone is shooting," she said aloud.
She waited long for a repetition of the sounds. But she did not hearthem again. Tremblingly she returned to the cabin and resumed herchair at the table, fighting against a growing presentiment thatsomething had gone wrong with Ben. But she could not have told fromwhat direction the sounds had come, and so it would have been folly forher to ride out to investigate. And so for an hour she sat at thetable, cringing away from the silence, starting at intervals, when herimagination tricked her into the belief that sound had begun.
And then presently she became aware that there was sound. In the vastsilence beyond the cabin door something had moved. She was on her feetinstantly, her senses alert. Her fear had left her. Her face waspale, but her lips closed grimly as she went to the rack behind thedoor and took down a rifle that Ben always kept there. Then she turnedthe lamp low and cautiously stepped to the door.
A pony whinnied, standing with ears erect at the edge of the porch. Ina crumpled heap on the ground lay a man. She caught her breathsharply, but in the next instant was out and bending over him. With astrength that seemed almost beyond her shy dragged the limp form to thedoor where the light from the lamp shone upon it.
"Ben!" she said sharply. "What has happened?" She shook him slightly,calling again to him.
Aroused, he opened his eyes, recognized her, and raised himselfpainfully upon one elbow, smiling weakly.
"It ain't anything, sis," he said. "Creased in the back of the head.Knocked me cold. Mebbe my shoulder too--I ain't been able to lift myarm." He smiled again--grimly, though wearily. "From the back too.The damned sneak!"
Her eyes filled vengefully, and she leaned closer to him, her voicetense. "Who, Ben? Who did it?"
"Ferguson," he said sharply. And again, as his eyes closed: "Thedamned sneak."
She swayed dizzily and came very near dropping him to the porch floor.But no sound came from her, and presently when the dizziness hadpassed, she dragged him to the door, propped it open with a chair, andthen dragged him on through the opening to the kitchen, and from thereto one of the adjoining rooms. Then with pale face and determined lipsshe set about the work of taking care of Ben's wounds. The spot on theback of the head, she found, was a mere abrasion, as he had said. Buthis shoulder had been shattered, the bullet, she discovered, havingpassed clear through the fleshy part of the shoulder, after breakingone of the smaller bones.
Getting her scissors she clipped away the hair from the back of hishead and sponged the wound and bandaged it, convinced that of itself itwas not dangerous. Then she undressed him, and by the use of plenty ofclear, cold water, a sponge, and some bandages, stopped the flow ofblood in his shoulder and placed him in a comfortable position. He hadvery little fever, but she moved rapidly around him, taking histemperature, administering sedatives when he showed signs ofrestlessness, hovering over him constantly until the dawn began to come.
Soon after this he went off into a peaceful sleep, and, almostexhausted with her efforts and the excitement, she threw herself uponthe floor beside his bed, sacrificing her own comfort that she might benear to watch should he need her. It was late in the afternoon whenRadford opened his eyes to look out through the door that connected hisroom with the kitchen and saw his sister busying herself with thedishes. His mind was clear and he suffered very little pain. For along time he lay, quietly watching her, while his thoughts went back tothe meeting on the trail with Ferguson. Why hadn't he carried out hisoriginal intention of shooting the stray-man down from ambush? He haddoubted Leviatt's word and had hesitated, wishing to give Ferguson thebenefit of the doubt, and had received his reward in the shape of abullet in the back--after practically making a peace pact with hisintended victim.
He presently became aware that his sister was standing near him, and helooked up and smiled at her. Then in an instant she was kneelingbeside him, admonishing him to quietness, smoothing his forehead,giving delighted little gasps over his improved condition. But inspite of her evident cheerfulness there was a suggestion of troubleswimming deep in her eyes; he could not help but see that she wasmaking a brave attempt to hide her bitter disappointment over the turnthings had taken. Therefore he was not surprised when, after she hadattended to all his wants, she sank on her knees beside him.
"Ben," she said, trying to keep a quiver out of her voice, "are yousure it was Ferguson who shot you?"
He patted her hand tenderly and sympathetically with his uninjured one."I'm sorry for you, Mary," he returned, "but there ain't any doubtabout it." Then he told her of the warning he had received fromLeviatt, and when he saw her lips curl at the mention of the TwoDiamond range boss's name he smiled.
"I thought the same thing that you are thinking, Mary," he said. "AndI didn't want to shoot Ferguson. But as things have turned out Iwouldn't have been much wrong to have done it."
She raised her head from the coverlet. "Did you see him before he shotyou?" she questioned eagerly.
"Just a little before," he returned. "I met him at a turn in the trailabout half a mile from here. I made him get down off his horse anddrop his guns. We had a talk, for I didn't want to shoot him until Iwas sure, and he talked so clever that I thought he was telling thetruth. But he wasn't."
He told her about Ferguson's concealed pistol; how they had stood faceto face with death between them, concluding: "By that time I haddecided not to shoot him. But he didn't have the nerve to pull thetrigger when he was looking at me. He waited until I'd got on my horseand was riding
away. Then he sneaked up behind."
He saw her body shiver, and he caressed her hair slowly, telling herthat he was sorry things had turned out so, and promising her that whenhe recovered he would bring the Two Diamond stray-man to a strictaccounting--providing the latter didn't leave the country before. Buthe saw that his words had given her little comfort, for when an hour orso later he dropped off to sleep the last thing he saw was her seatedat the table in the kitchen, her head bowed in her hands, crying softly.
"Poor little kid," he said, as sleep dimmed his eyes; "it looks asthough this would be the end of _her_ story."
The Two-Gun Man Page 19
