The Best Western Novels of William MacLeod Raine. William MacLeod RaineЧитать онлайн книгу.
"No—he was a stranger. I think it was Mr. Weaver, but I'm not sure."
"Nonsense, Anna! Don't be foolish. What would he be doing there? I'll go and see myself. You stay here."
She went, and returned presently. "It must have been one of the boys. I wouldn't say anything about it, Anna. No use stirring up bogeys now, when everybody is excited over the escape of that man."
"All right, ma'am. But I saw somebody, just the same," the girl maintained obstinately.
"No doubt it was Phil. He was up to see me."
Anna said no more then; but she took occasion later to find out from Phil, without letting him know that she was pumping him, that he had been searching the hills until after six o'clock. One by one she eliminated every man in the house as a possibility. In the end, she could not doubt her eyes and her ears. Her young mistress had lied to her to save the man in her room.
Chapter XIII
A Mistake
At breakfast, a ranchman brought in the news of the attack upon the sheep camp, and by means of it set fire to a powder magazine. The Sandersons went ramping mad for the moment. They saw red; and if they could have laid hands on their enemy, they would undoubtedly have made an end of him.
Phyllis, seeing the fury of their passion, trembled for the safety of the man upstairs. He might be discovered at any moment. Yet she must go to school as if nothing were the matter, and leave him to whatever fate might have in store.
When the time came for her to go, she could hardly bring herself to leave.
She was in her room, putting in the few minutes she usually spent there, rearranging her hair and giving the last few touches to her toilet after the breakfast.
"I hate to go," she confessed to Weaver. "Promise me you'll not make a sound or open the door to anybody while I'm away."
"I promise," he told her.
She was very greatly troubled, and could not help showing it. Her face was wan and drawn, all the youthful life stricken out of it.
"It will be all right," he reassured her. "I'll sit here and read, without making a sound. Nothing will happen. You'll see."
"Oh, I hope not—I hope not!" she cried in a whisper. "You will be careful, won't you?"
"I sure will. A hen with one chick won't be a circumstance to me."
Larrabie Keller had hitched her horse and brought it round to the front door. She leaned toward him after she had gathered the reins.
"You'll not go far away, will you? And if anything happens——"
"But it won't. Why should it?"
"Anna knows. She blundered upon him."
"Will she keep it quiet?"
"I think so, but she's a born gossip. Don't leave her alone with the boys."
"All right," he nodded.
"I feel as if I ought to stay at home," the young teacher said piteously, hoping that he would encourage her to do so.
He shook his head. "No—you've got to go, to divert suspicion. It will be all right here. I'll keep both eyes open. Don't forget that I'm going to be on the job all day."
"You're so good!"
"After I've been around you a while. It's catching." He tucked in the dust robe, without looking at her.
But she looked at him, as she started, with that swift, shy glance of hers, and felt the pink tint her cheeks beneath the tan. He was much in her thoughts, this slender brown man with the look of quiet competence and strength. Ever since that night in the kitchen, he had impressed himself upon her imagination. She had fallen into the way of comparing him with Tom Dixon, with her own brother, with Buck Weaver—and never to his disadvantage.
He talked with a drawl. He walked and rode with an air of languid ease. But the man himself, behind the indolence that sat upon him so gracefully, was like a coiled spring. Sometimes she could see this force in his eyes, when for the moment some thought eclipsed the gay good humor of them. Winsome he was. He had already won her father, even as he had won her. But the touch of affection in his manner never suggested weakness.
From the porch Tom Dixon watched her departure sullenly. Since he could not have her, he let himself grow jealous of the man who perhaps could. And because he was what he was—a small man, full of vanity and conceit—he must needs make parade of himself with another girl in the role of conquering squire. Larrabie smiled as the young fellow went off for a walk in obviously confidential talk with Anna Allan, but he learned soon that it was no smiling matter.
Half an hour later, the girl came flying back along the trail the two had taken. Catching sight of Keller, she ran across to him, plainly quivering with excitement and fluttering with fears.
"Oh, Mr. Keller—I've done it now! I didn't think——I thought—"
"Take it easy," soothed the young man, with one of his winning smiles. "Now, what is it you have done?" Already his eyes had picked out Dixon returning, not quite so impetuously, along the trail.
"I told him about the man in Phyllis' room."
Larrabie's eyes narrowed and grew steely. "Yes?"
"I told him—I don't know why, but I never could keep a secret. I made him promise not to tell. But he is going to tell the boys. There he comes now. And I told Phyllis I wouldn't tell!" Anna began to cry, miserably aware that she had made a mess of things.
"I just begged him not to tell—and he had promised. But he says it's his duty, and he's going to do it. Oh, Mr. Keller—if Mr. Weaver is there they will hurt him, and I'll be to blame."
"Yes, you will be," he told her bluntly. "But we may save him yet—if you can go about your business and keep your mouth shut."
"Oh, I will—I will," she promised eagerly. "I'll not say a word—not to anybody."
"See that you don't. Now, run along home. I'm going to have a quiet little talk with that young man. Maybe I can persuade him to change his mind," he said grimly.
"Please—if you could. I don't want to start any trouble."
Larrabie grinned, without taking his eyes from the man coming down the trail. It was usually some good-natured idiot, with a predisposition to gabbling, that made most of the trouble in the world.
"Well, you be a good girl and padlock your tongue. If you do, I'll fix it up with Tom," he promised.
He sauntered forward toward the path. Dixon, full of his news, was hurrying to the ranch. He was eager to tell it to the Sandersons, because he wanted to reinstate himself in their good graces. For, though neither of them knew he had fired the shot that wounded Weaver, he had observed a distinct coolness toward him for his desertion of Phyllis in her time of need. It had been all very well for him to explain that he had thought it best to hurry home to get help. The fact remained that he had run away and left her alone.
Now he was for pushing past Keller with a curt nod, but the latter stopped him with a lift of the hand.
"What's your sweat?"
"Want to see me, do you?"
Keller nodded easily.
"All right. Unload your mind. I can't give you but a minute."
"Press of business on to-day?"
"It's my business."
"I'm going to make it mine."
"What do you mean?" came the quick, suspicious retort.
"Let's walk back up the trail and talk it over."
"No."