CHAPTER IX: A NIGHT AND A MORNING
Stella Donovan never forgot the miseries of her first night in Haskell.When old man Timmons finally left her, after placing the flaring lampon a chair, and went pattering back down the bare hall, she glancedshudderingly about at her unpleasant surroundings, none too pleasedwith the turn of events.
The room was scarcely large enough to contain the few articles offurniture absolutely required. Its walls were of unplaned plankoccasionally failing to meet, and the only covering to the floor was adingy strip of rag-carpet. The bed was a cot, shapeless, and proppedup on one side by the iron leg of some veranda bench, while the openwindow looked out into the street. There was a bolt, not appearingparticularly secure, with which Miss Donovan immediately locked thedoor before venturing across to take a glance without.
The view was hardly reassuring, as the single street was still thescene of pandemonium, the saloon and dance-hall almost directlyopposite, operating in full blast. Oaths and ribald laughter assailedher ears, while directly beneath, although out of her view, a quarrelthreatened to lead to serious consequences. She pulled down the windowto shut out these sounds, but the room became so stuffy and hot withouteven this slight ventilation, as to oblige her opening it again. As acompromise she hauled down the curtain, a green paper affair, tornbadly, and which occasionally flapped in the wind with a startlingnoise.
The bed-clothing, once turned back and inspected, was of a nature toprevent the girl from disrobing; but finally she lay down, seeking suchrest as was possible, after turning the flickering flames of the lampas low as she dared, and then finally blowing it out altogether. Theglare from the street crept in through the cracks in the curtain,playing in fantastic light and shadow across ceiling and wall, whilethe infernal din never ceased.
Sleep was not to be attained, although she closed her eyes and muffledher ears. The misshapen bed brought no comfort to her tired body, forno matter how she adjusted herself, the result was practically thesame. Not even her mind rested.
Miss Donovan was not naturally of a nervous disposition. She had beenbrought up very largely to rely upon herself, and life had never beensufficiently easy for her to find time in which to cultivate nerves.Her newspaper training had been somewhat strenuous, and had won her areputation in New York for unusual fearlessness and devotion to duty.Yet this situation was so utterly different, and so entirelyunexpected, that she confessed to herself she would be very glad to besafely out of it.
A revolver shot rang out sharply from one of the rooms below, followedby the sound of loud voices, and a noise of struggle. The startledgirl sat upright on the cot, listening, but the disturbance ceasedalmost immediately, and she finally lay down again, her heart stillbeating wildly. Her thoughts, never still, wandered over the events ofthe evening--the arrival at Haskell station, the strange meeting withWestcott, and the sudden revelation that he was the partner ofFrederick Cavendish.
The big, good-natured miner had interested her from the first asrepresenting a perfect type of her preconceived ideal of the realWesterner. She had liked the firm character of his face, the quiet,thoughtful way in which he acted, the whole unobtrusive bearing of theman. Then, as they had walked that long mile together in the darkness,she had learned things about him--little glimpses of his past, and ofdawning hopes--which only served to increase her confidence. Alreadyhe had awakened her trust; she felt convinced that if she neededfriendship, advice, even actual assistance, here was one whom she couldimplicitly trust.
The racket outside died away slowly. She heard various guests returnto their rooms, staggering along the hall and fumbling at their doors;voices echoed here and there, and one fellow, mistaking his domicileentirely, struggled with her latch in a vain endeavour to gainentrance. She was upon her feet, when companions arrived and led theinvader elsewhere, their loud laughter dying away in the distance. Itwas long after this before nature finally conquered and the girl sleptoutstretched on the hard cot, the first faint grey of dawn alreadyvisible in the eastern sky.
She was young, though, and she awoke rested and refreshed, in spite ofthe fact that her body ached at first from the discomfort of the cot.The sunlight rested in a sheet of gold on her drawn curtain, and thesilence of the morning, following so unexpectedly the dismal racket ofthe night, seemed to fairly shock her into consciousness. Could thisbe Haskell? Could this indeed be the inferno into which she had beenprecipitated from the train in the darkness of the evening before? Shestared about at the bare, board walls, the bullet-scarred mirror, thecracked pitcher, before she could fully reassure herself; then steppedupon the disreputable rug, and crossed to the open window.
Haskell at nine in the morning bore but slight resemblance to that sameenvironment during the hours of darkness--especially on a nightimmediately following pay-day at the mines. As Miss Donovan, nowthoroughly awake, and obsessed by the memory of those past hours ofhorror, cautiously drew aside the corner of torn curtain, and gazeddown upon the deserted street below, she could scarcely accept theevidence of her own eyes.
True, there were many proofs visible of the wild riot of the eveningbefore--torn papers, emptied bottles, a shattered sign or two, anoil-lamp blown into bits by some well-directed shot, a bat lying in themiddle of the road, and a dejected pony or two, still at thehitching-rack, waiting a delayed rider. But, except for these mutereminiscences of past frolic, the long street seemed utterly dead, thedoors of saloons and dance-halls closed, the dust swirling back andforth to puffs of wind, the only moving object visible being a gaunt,yellow dog trotting soberly past.
However, it was not upon this view of desolation that Miss Donovan'seyes clung. They had taken all this in at a glance, startled, scarcelycomprehending, but the next instant wandered to the marvellous scenerevealed beyond that squalid street, and those miserable shacks, to thegreen beauty of the outspread valley, and the wondrous vista ofmountain peaks beyond.
She straightened up, emitting a swift breath of delight, as herwide-open eyes surveyed the marvellous scene of mingled loveliness andgrandeur. The stream, curving like a great snake, gleamed amid theacres of green grass, its swift waters sparkling in the sun. Here andthere it would dip down between high banks, or disappear for a momentbehind a clump of willows, only to reappear in broader volume. Beyond,seemingly at no distance at all, yet bordered by miles of turf anddesert, the patches of vivid green interspersed with the darkercolouring of spruce, and the outcropping of brown rocks, the toweringpeaks of a great mountain-chain swept up into the clear blue of thesky, black almost to their summits, which were dazzling with the whiteof unmelted snow. Marvellous, awe-inspiring as the picture was initself alone, it was rendered even more wonderful when contrasted withthe ugly squalidness of the town below, its tents and shacks sprawlingacross the flat, the sunlight revealing its dust and desolation.
The girl's first exclamation of delight died away as she observed theseworks of man projected against this screen of nature's building; yether eyes dwelt lovingly for some time on the far-flung line ofmountains, before she finally released the green shade, and shut outthe scene. Her toilet was a matter of but a few minutes, although shetook occasion to slip on a fresh waist, and to brighten up the shoes,somewhat soiled by the tramp through the thick dust the evening before.Indeed, it was a very charming young woman, her dress and appearancequite sufficiently Eastern, who finally ventured out into the roughhall, and down the single flight of stairs. The hotel was silent,except for the heavy breathing of a sleeper in one of the rooms shepassed, and a melancholy-looking Chinaman, apparently engaged inchamber work at the further end of the hall. Timmons was alone in theoffice, playing with a shaggy dog, and the floor remained unswept,while a broken chair still bore evidence of the debauch of the previousnight. The landlord greeted her rather sullenly, his eyes heavy andred from lack of sleep.
"Morning," he said, without attempting to rise. "Lie down thar,Towser; the lady don't likely want yer nosin' around. Yer a bit latefer breakfast; it's ginerally
over with by eight o'clock."
"I am not at all hungry," she answered. "Is it far to the post-office?"
"'Bout two blocks, ter yer right. If yer intendin' ter stay yere, yebetter have yer mail sent ter the hotel."
"Thank you; I'll see. I do not know yet the length of my stay."
"Are ye yere on business?"
"Partly; but it may require only a few days."
"Waal, if yer do stay over, maybe I kin fix yer up a bit morecomfortable-like. Thar'll be some drummers a goin' out to-day, Ireckon."
"Thank you very much; I'll let you know what I decide the moment I knowmyself. Is that a hunting-dog?"
"Bones mostly," he responded gloomily, but stroking the animal's head."Leastwise, he ain't been trained none. I just naturally like a darground fer company--they sorter seem homelike."
She passed out into the bright sunshine, and clear mountain air. Theboard-walk ended at the corner of the hotel, but a narrow cinder-patchcontinued down that side of the street for some distance. The houseswere scattered, the vacant spaces between grown up to weeds, and moreor less ornamented by tin cans, and as she advanced she encounteredonly two pedestrians--a cowboy, so drunk that he hung desperately tothe upper board of a fence in order to let her pass, staring at her asif she was some vision, and a burly fellow in a checked suit, with somemail in his hand, who stopped after they had passed each other, andgazed back at her as though more than ordinarily interested. From thehotel stoop he watched until she vanished within the general store,which contained the post-office.
Through the rude window the clerk pushed a plain manila envelope intoher outstretched hand. Evidently from the thinness of the letter,Farriss had but few instructions to give and, thrusting the unopenedmissive into her hand-bag, she retraced her steps to her room.
There she vented a startled gasp. The suitcase which she had leftclosed upon the floor was open--wide open--its contents disarranged.Some one had rummaged it thoroughly. And Miss Donovan knew that shewas under suspicion.
The Strange Case of Cavendish Page 9
