Six Feet Four

by Jackson Gregory

  CHAPTER XXIII

  WARNING

  She felt her heart beating wildly ... if at that second he had spoken toher she could not have found immediate voice in answer were it to saveher life. But further, she knew that if he gave her one second longershe could control herself. For the first time it came upon her in aflash that she had a personal interest in what these men did. Theysought to play her for their dupe, their fool; they counted upon makingher a sort of innocent accomplice, they dared to count upon her to helpthem. To make their own positions safe they were dragging her into thedirty mess that they had made.

  Her anger steadied her. Her brain had gone hot with it; now it wentcool, cold. She was holding the envelope in her hands when Pollard cameto the door; now she tossed it back to the basket carelessly and stillkept her back to the door. She was humming a little song softly when shepicked up the book she had come for and turned with it in her hand asthough to leave the room.

  But in spite of her second of preparation she started when she saw HenryPollard's face. She had known that it could look hard and cruel, that itcould grow dark and threatening. But she saw now a look in the hardeyes, about the sinister mouth, which sent a spurt of terror up into herheart. Here was a man who could kill, would kill if he were driven toit. She read it in his eyes in that flash of a glance as she might haveread it in big printed letters. If he came to believe that there wasactual danger to him from her knowledge he would find a way to keep hersilent.

  "Well?" Pollard said steadily.

  He came into the room and closed the door softly behind him. Now therewas no tell-tale expression in his tone and all expression had gone outof his eyes.

  Even then, though her heart beat quickly and the colour wavered in hercheeks, she managed to look at him steadily and to answer collectedly:

  "It looks like I'd been playing Paul Pry, and that you'd caught me,doesn't it?"

  She even laughed softly, and went on:

  "I came down for a book. Then I noticed this." She picked up theenvelope again, holding it out toward him. "You see I recognized it!"

  "There are lots of yellow envelopes," he answered colourlessly, his eyessharp points of light upon hers. "What about it?"

  "I am not a lady detective," she smiled back, taking a sudden keendelight in the knowledge that she had taken the right tack, and that shewas puzzling Pollard. "But it is quite obvious that you've got yourmoney back! Why didn't you tell me?"

  "There are lots of yellow envelopes," he repeated, speaking slowly, andshe knew that his brain was as busy as her own. If the moment helddanger for her, then it held danger no less for him. "They are commonenough. What makes you think that this one..."

  "Oh, but I know," she broke in lightly. "You see I remembered Mr.Templeton getting this smudge of ink on it. He called my attention toit, the dear, precise old banker that he is, and wanted to give me aclean one. Did Mr. Thornton get frightened and bring your money back?"

  For a moment he did not answer. She knew that he was measuring her withthose shrewd eyes of his, looking for a false sign, just the twitch of amuscle to tell him that she was playing a part. And she gave no sign.

  "No," he said at last. "Thornton did not bring it back. And even if youwere a lady detective you might make a mistake now. I haven't seen acent of the money."

  She lifted her eyebrows in well simulated surprise.

  "But the envelope?"

  Now he spoke swiftly and she knew that he had made up his mind that shewas hiding nothing, that she knew nothing, for there was a note ofrelief in his words.

  "I had his cabin searched last night, while we all were at the dance. Itwas found there. There was no sign of the money!"

  Again she tossed away the envelope as though it no longer had anyinterest for her.

  "A man," she said contemptuously, "who would not destroy a piece ofevidence like that, is a fool!"

  The matter was dropped there; one would have said it was forgotten byboth of them. For the rest of the day Winifred Waverly appeared to bemuch interested in her book, Pollard seemed busy in his office or uponthe street. But the girl realized that the man was taking no chances andthat there was going to be little chance of her riding the twenty milesto the Poison Hole without his knowing of it. She let the day go with nothought of making the trip, satisfying herself with the knowledge whichshe had gleaned from the conversation she had overheard at theschoolhouse, and with the comforting thought that she had ten days yet.

  Upon the second day following the dance she saw Broderick and Pollardtalking earnestly out under the pear trees. Broderick, at his bootswhipping impatiently with his riding whip, did not come to the house aswas his custom, but going back to the gate flung himself upon his horseand rode away. That same afternoon he came again, and this time ColeDalton, the sheriff, was with him. They were met by Pollard at the frontdoor, and for an hour the girl in her room could hear their low voicesin the room below her.

  The third day came and went and she saw no one but Pollard and Mrs.Riddell. Pollard was unusually silent, and again and again she saw thathis eyes were hard, his mouth cruel. She began to forget that he waskin to her; she began to see only that here was a man playing his gamewith high, very high, stakes, that he was watchful and determined, thathe was not the sort to let anything, no matter what, stand between himand the thing he had made up his mind to do. She saw that he was growingnervous and sensed that he was in that frame of mind when men actswiftly and unscrupulously. She took no step about the house thatPollard did not know of it.

  The fourth day came, and her own nerves were strained to snapping. Ifshe could only do something! She must do something. But what? IfBroderick were the guilty man, and from a score of little things, sheknew that he was, then Henry Pollard was no less guilty. If Pollard werea part of the horrible scheme, how about Cole Dalton, the sheriff? Shebegan to think that she saw why the months had gone by and Dalton hadmade no arrests! If he was one of them, if the man paid by the county todefend the county against outlawry were hand and glove with the outlaws,to whom then could she turn?

  But at last, upon the evening of the fourth day, when her spirit wasready for some desperate measure unless fate came to help her, fate didhelp and young Bud King called. He had spent the day in Hill's Cornersupon the quest of any information which might tell him who the man waswho had run off his father's cattle. Having learned nothing, and being awise young man after his fashion, he had determined not to go homeentirely profitless, and so came to see Pollard's niece.

  She saw him as he rode slowly down the street. In a flash she guessedthat he came to see her, divined too that Pollard would give her littleopportunity of talking to young King or any other man, alone. She was ather window where she sat so often. Before Bud King's horse had been tiedat the gate she had written a hasty note, had thrust it into anenvelope, and had scrawled on the outside:

  "Please carry this right away to Buck Thornton. Don't let any one see.It is very important."

  Then she ran down stairs, slipping the note into the bosom of her dress,hastening to be at the door when the Bar X man knocked lest HenryPollard turn him away, saying that she was not at home.

  As she opened the door, and Bud entered, hat in hand and flushed offace, Pollard came to the door of his office. Winifred, shaking handswarmly, asked King in, and remarking that her uncle was only reading,invited him into the office. Pollard, she knew, had no reason to suspectwhat she had in mind, and she would give him no reason. Before Bud leftshe would find a way to give him the note.

  The three sat down, and Bud, never letting his wide hat out of hishands, sat twirling it and shifting his boots and looking and talkingfor the most of the time at Pollard. He was a young man, was Bud; girlshad been few in his life, and this calling upon a young woman in broaddaylight was a daring if not quite a devilish thing.

  Winifred found room here for smiling amusement. Pollard did not want tobe bothered with King and showed it so plainly that had King not been soalive to the presence of the girl at who
m he looked with the tail of hiseye and so nearly oblivious of the presence of the man whom he satfacing, he must have noted it before he had been in the room fiveminutes. Bud did not care to talk with Pollard, whom he agreed perfectlywith Buck Thornton in calling a rattlesnake, and yet he talked ratherwildly to him of branding and fence building and stray horses andhold-up men and the weather and last year's politics. And Winifred, fora little, watched both men with mirthful understanding.

  But as the minutes slipped by and Pollard gave no sign of leaving theroom, as silences fell which were too awkward to go unnoticed and whichthe girl had to fill, she began to be afraid that Pollard's watchfulnesswas going to prove too much for her and that she would fail in the planwhich had seemed so simple. But she must not fail! Four days of the tenhad gone. She must find some way to keep Bud King here until somethingcarried Pollard out of the room if only for a moment, and during thatmoment she must give the note to King.

  She was sure that Pollard did not, could not suspect that she meant tosay anything to King, or that she counted on having him carry a messagefor her. But she knew, too, that Henry Pollard was taking no chances hedid not have to take. He was a man to play close to the table.

  She had time to determine that she _would_ succeed in this one vitalpoint, time to hope, to fear, to lose hope a dozen times, before herchance came. She heard a step on the walk under the pear trees,Broderick's step, she thought swiftly, despairingly. Usually Pollardkept the front door locked; she had not locked it after she had let BudKing in. Pollard would know it was Broderick and would merely call,"Come in," not even leaving the room for the one necessary moment.Broderick would come in, Bud King would go soon and she would have nochance of doing the thing she had sworn to herself that she would do.

  Her one hope was that she had mistaken the step and that it was notBroderick. When the man outside came up the steps, she heard his spursjingle on the porch and saw that Pollard too was listening intently.

  "Come in," called Pollard. "The door's open, Ben."

  Why, why hadn't she locked the door? Now there would be two men to watchher, now it would be impossible...

  But fresh hope leaped up into her heart, though she could scarce believeher ears when Broderick's voice in answer was like the snarl of a beast,harsh with anger, snapping out his words fiercely:

  "Come out here. I want to talk with you outside. And, for God's sake,man, hurry!"

  Pollard, too, started. Bud King looked up with wondering eyes from hisswinging hat. Pollard, with the briefest sign of hesitation, went out ofthe room and to the front door.

  No sooner had he gone than the girl, her face flushed, her eyesbrilliant with the excitement in them, snatched the paper from the bosomof her dress and, tiptoeing to King, forced it into his big hand. Not aword did she speak, not so much as a whisper. But she laid her fingerupon her lips, glanced from him toward the door, and tiptoed back to herseat. And Bud King understood in part while he could not understand infull, and thrust the note into his pocket.

  When a moment later King rose to go she went with him to the door. Shecaught a glimpse of Ben Broderick's face, though he hid it from herinstantly, whirling about upon his heel; she felt sick and dizzy with asudden dread of she knew not what. For his face was dead white andhorribly drawn with the rage that blazed in his eyes and distorted hismouth, and she saw, standing up in his soul, that thing which one maynot look upon and misread: that rage that drives a man to kill. And shesaw, too, that a white bandage was tied about his head, under his hatbrim, and that the bandage was red with blood.