The Collected Western Classics & Adventures Novels. William MacLeod RaineЧитать онлайн книгу.
Bannister. “Haven't got the keys, so I can't let y'u out, old hoss,” he told the foreman. “But mebbe y'u won't feel so lonesome with these little toys to play with.”
Meanwhile Denver, a young giant of seventy-six inches, held the head of the stairs, with four stalwart plainsmen back of him. The rush of many feet came up pell-mell, and he flung the leaders back on those behind.
“Hold on there. This isn't a free-lunch counter. Don't you see we're crowded up here already?”
“What's eating you? Whyfor, can't we come?” growled one of the foremost nursing an injured nose.
“I've just explained to you, son, that it's crowded. Folks are prevalent enough up here right now. Send up that bunch of keys and we'll bring your meat to you fast enough.”
“What's that? What's that?” The outlaw chief pushed his way through the dense mob at the door and reached the stairway.
“He won't let us up,” growled one of them.
“Who won't?” demanded Bannister sharply, and at once came leaping up the stairs.
“Nothing doing,” drawled Frisco, and tossed him over the railing on to the heads of his followers below.
They carried Bannister into the open air, for his head had struck the newel-post in his descent. This gave the defense a few minutes respite.
“They're going to come a-shooting next time,” remarked Denver. “Just as soon as he comes back from bye-low land you'll see things hum.”
“Y'u bet,” agreed Missou. “We'll last about three minutes when the stampede begins.”
The scream of an engine pierced the night.
Denver's face lit. “Make it five minutes, Missou, and Mac is safe. At least, I'm hoping so awful hard. Miss Helen wired for the militia from Sheridan this nothing. Chances are they're on that train. I couldn't tell you earlier because she made me promise not to. She was afraid it might leak out and get things started sooner.”
Weak but furious, the miscreant from the Shoshones returned to the attack. “Break in the back door and sneak up behind on those fellows. We'll have the men we want inside of fifteen minutes,” he promised the mob.
“We'll rush them from both sides, and show those guys on the landing whether they can stop us,” added Bostwick.
Suddenly some one raised the cry, “The soldiers!” Bannister looked up the street and swore a vicious oath. Swinging down the road at double time came a company of militia in khaki. He was mad with baffled fury, but he made good his retreat at once and disappeared promptly into the nearest dark alley.
The mob scattered by universal impulse; disintegrated so promptly that within five minutes the soldiers held the ground alone, save for the officials of the prison and Denver's little band.
A boyish lieutenant lately out of the Point, and just come in to a lieutenancy in the militia, was in command. “In time?” he asked anxiously, for this was his first independent expedition.
“Y'u bet,” chuckled Denver. “We're right glad to see you, and I'll bet those boys in the cage ain't regretting your arrival any. Fifteen minutes later and you would have been in time to hold the funeral services, I reckon.”
“Where is Miss Messiter?” asked the young officer.
“She's at the Elk House, colonel. I expect some of us better drift over there and tell her it's all right. She's the gamest little woman that ever crossed the Wyoming line. Hadn't been for her these boys would have been across the divide hours ago. She's a plumb thoroughbred. Wouldn't give up an inch. All day she has generaled this thing; played a mighty weak hand for a heap more than it was worth. Sand? Seh: she's grit clear through, if anybody asks you.” And Denver told the story of the day, making much of her unflinching courage and nothing of her men's readiness to back whatever steps she decided upon.
It was ten minutes past eleven when a smooth young, apple-cheeked lad in khaki presented himself before Helen Messiter with a bow never invented outside of West Point.
“I am Lieutenant Beecher. Governor Raleigh presents his compliments by me, Miss Messiter, and is very glad to be able to put at your service such forces as are needed to quiet the town.”
“You were in time?” she breathed.
“With about five minutes to spare. I am having the prisoners brought here for the night if you do not object. In the morning I shall investigate the affair, and take such steps as are necessary. In the meantime you may rest assured that there will be no further disturbance.”
“Thank you I am sure that with you in command everything will now be all right, and I am quite of your opinion that the prisoners had better stay here for the night. One of them is wounded, and ought to be given the best attention. But, of course, you will see to that, lieutenant.”
The young man blushed. This was the right kind of appreciation. He wished his old classmates at the Point could hear how implicitly this sweet girl relied on him.
“Certainly. And now, Miss Messiter, if there is nothing you wish, I shall retire for the night. You may sleep with perfect confidence.”
“I am sure I may, lieutenant.” She gave him a broadside of trusting eyes full of admiration. “But perhaps you would like me to see my foreman first, just to relieve my mind. And, as you were about to say, his friend might be brought in, too, since they are together.”
The young man promptly assented, though he had not been aware that he was about to say anything of the kind.
They came in together, Bannister supported by McWilliams's arm. The eyes of both mistress and maid brimmed over with tears when they saw them. Helen dragged forward a chair for the sheepman, and he sank into it. From its depths he looked up with his rare, sweet smile.
“I've heard about it,” he told her, in a low voice. “I've heard how y'u fought for my life all day. There's nothing I can say. I owed y'u everything already twice, and now I owe it all over again. Give me a lifetime and I couldn't get even.”
Helen's swift glance swept over Nora and the foreman. They were in a dark alcove, oblivious of anybody else. Also they were in each other's arms frankly. For some reason wine flowed into the cream of Helen's cheeks.
“Do you have to 'get even'? Among friends is that necessary?” she asked shyly.
“I hope not. If it is, I'm sure bankrupt Even my thanks seem to stay at home. If y'u hadn't done so much for me, perhaps I could tell y'u how much y'u had done But I have no words to say it.”
“Then don't,” she advised.
“Y'u're the best friend a man ever had. That's all I can say.”
“It's enough, since you mean it, even though it isn't true,” she answered gently.
Their eyes met, fastened for an instant, and by common consent looked away.
As it chanced they were close to the window, their shadows reflected on the blind. A man, slipping past in the street on horseback, stopped at sight of that lighted window, with the moving shadows, in an uncontrollable white fury. He slid from the saddle, threw the reins over the horse's head to the ground, and slipped his revolver from its holster and back to make sure that he could draw it easily. Then he passed springily across the road to the hotel and up the stairs. He trod lightly, stealthily, and by his very wariness defeated his purpose of eluding observation. For a pair of keen eyes from the hotel office glimpsed the figure stealing past so noiselessly, and promptly followed up the stairway.
“Hope I don't intrude at this happy family gathering.”
Helen, who had been pouring a glass of cordial for the spent and wounded sheepman, put the glass down on the table and turned at sound of the silken, sinister voice. After one glance at the vindictive face, from the cold eyes of which hate seemed to smolder, she took an instinctive step toward her lover. The cold wave that drenched her heart accompanied an assurance