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Steve Yeager, a novel by William MacLeod Raine |
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Chapter 12. Into The Desert |
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_ CHAPTER XII. INTO THE DESERT Ruth was baking apple pies in the kitchen. In her eyes there was a smile and there were little dimples near the corners of her mouth. Evidently she was thinking of something pleasant. Her nimble fingers ran around the edge of the upper crust with a fork and scalloped a design. At odd moments she would burst into a little rhapsody of song that appeared to bubble out of her heart. Some one stepped into the doorway and shut out the sunlight. Her questioning glance lifted, to meet the heavy frown of the man to whom she was engaged. At sight of him the sunshine was extinguished from her face, just as it had seemed to be from the room when his broad shoulders had filled the opening. "You--Chad!" she cried. "I thought--" "Well, I ain't. I'm here," he broke in roughly. "And you don't look glad to death to see me either." Her gentle eyes reproached him. "You're always welcome. You know that." His harsh face softened a little as he stepped forward and kissed her. "Maybe I do, but maybe I like to hear you say so. Girl, I've come to take you with me." "With you? Where?" Alarm was in the eyes that flashed to meet his. "To Noche Buena." "But--what for?" "Ain't it reason enough that I want you to go? We can get married at Arixico to-night." She broke into protest disjointed and a little incoherent. "You promised me that--that I could have all the time I wanted. You said--you said--" "That was when I was here to look after you. But I'll be staying in Sonora quite a while the way my business affairs look. I need you--and what's the sense of waiting, anyhow?" "No--no! I don't want to--not now. Please don't ask it, Chad, I--I don't want to get married--yet." Sobs began to choke up her voice. Tears welled up in her eyes. "I don't see why you don't," he insisted sullenly. "Ain't trying to back out, are you?" "No, but--" "You better not," he retorted with a threatening look. "I ain't the kind of man it's safe to jilt." "You promised me all the time I wanted," she repeated. "You wouldn't hurry me. That was what you said," she sobbed, breaking down suddenly. "All right," he conceded ungraciously. "I'm not forcing you to marry me now. But I thought it best, seeing as I've got to ask you to go with me, anyhow. O' course I can put you in charge of Carmen to chaperon you. She's the woman that keeps house for Pasquale. But it kinder seemed to me it would be better if you went as my wife. Then I could take care of you." "Go with you--now? What do you mean, Chad?" "It's this fellow Yeager. He's shot himself, and he wants to see you before he dies." From his pocket he took the note Steve had written to Threewit and handed it to Ruth. "You don't have to go, but I hate to turn down a fellow when he's all in and ready to quit the game." She read the note, her face like chalk. Not for a moment did she doubt that the cowpuncher had written it. Even if her mind had harbored any vague suspicions one line in the letter would have swept them away. _Bust up that marriage if you can._ She knew to what marriage he referred. Nobody but Yeager could have written those words. "But he says--he says"--her voice shook, but she forced herself to go on--"that this letter isn't to be sent until his death." "Yep. So it does. But he got to asking for you. So I just lit out to give you a chance to go if you want to. It's up to you. Do just as you please." "Of course I'll go. Is he--is he as bad as he says?" "Pretty bad, the doc says. But I reckon he's good for a day or two. My advice would be to start right away, though, if you want to see him alive." "Yes. That would be best. I'll see mother now." She stopped at the door and leaned against the jamb a little faintly, then turned toward him. "It was fine of you to come, Chad. I know you don't like him. But--I won't forget." "Oh, tha's all right," he mumbled. "Have you seen Mr. Threewit yet?" she asked. "Threewit--no." He was for a moment puzzled at her question. "No--he's out getting a set somewheres in the hills." Ruth came back and took the note from Harrison's reluctant fingers. "He ought to get this at once. I'll send Billie Brown out with it. He'll explain to Mr. Threewit about us going on ahead and not waiting for him." The prizefighter did not quite like the idea. He would rather have kept the note himself and burnt it later. But it was out of his charge now. Without stirring doubts he could not make any objection. Anyhow, he would be in Sonora and safely married to Ruth long before the deception was discovered. Mrs. Seymour made her protest against such an unconventional trip, but Ruth rode her objections down after the fashion of American girls. "Why can't I go for a ride with the man to whom I'm engaged? What's wrong with it? I'll stay with the lady that keeps house for General Pasquale. In two or three days I'll be back. Don't say no, mommsie." Her voice broke a little as she pleaded the cause. "He's dying--Mr. Yeager is--and he wants to see me. I'd always blame myself if I didn't go. I've just got to go." "I don't see why you have to go riding all over the country to see one man when you're engaged to another. In my time--" "If Chad doesn't object, why should you?" "Oh, I know you'll go. I suppose it's all right, but I wish Phil could go with you too." "So do I, but of course he can't. Chad says that affairs are so disturbed across the line that probably the Government won't make Phil any trouble, but that if he showed himself in Sonora some of the friends of that man Mendoza would be sure to kill him." "I suppose so." Mrs. Seymour sighed. Her harum-scarum young son was on her mind a good deal. "Now, don't you fret, honey, about Steve Yeager. He's the kind of man that will take a lot of killing. A man who has lived outdoors in the saddle for a dozen years is liable to get over a wound that would finish some one else." In his haste to reach Los Robles before Yeager the prizefighter had ruined the horse he rode. He picked up another one cheap and got for Ruth her brother's pony. Within an hour of his arrival the two animals were brought round for the start. The mother, still a little troubled in her mind, took Harrison aside for a last word. "Chad Harrison, you look after my little girl and see no harm comes to her. If anything happens to her I'll never forgive you." "Rest easy about that, Mrs. Seymour. You don't think any more of Ruth than I do. If I thought there was any danger I sure wouldn't take her. She'll come back to you safe and sound," he promised. They rode away in the afternoon sunlight toward the south. It had been understood that they were to spend the night at the Lazy B Ranch, but at the point where the road for the ranch deflected from the main pike Harrison drew rein. "Too bad there isn't another ranch farther on. It's a little better than six o'clock now. We'll lose a heap of time by stopping here. Soon the moon will be out and we could keep going till we reach Lone Tree Spring. Stopping there for two or three hours' rest, we could ride in to Noche Buena by breakfast time. But I reckon you're tired, ain't you?" "I'm not--not a bit," she answered eagerly. "Let's go on. It's cooler traveling in the evening, anyhow." He appeared to hesitate, then shook his head. "No--o, I expect that wouldn't be proper. If you was a boy instead of a girl I'd say sure." "Don't let's be silly, Chad," she pleaded. "We want to get there as soon as we can. It makes no difference if I am a girl." "I promised your maw I'd take good care of you. Would it be doing that to let you stay up 'most all night?" "Of course it would. We can sleep some at Lone Tree. I want to go on, Chad." "All right," he conceded with a manner of reluctance. This was what Harrison desired. If Yeager reached Los Robles before night a search party would be sent out. It would go straight toward the Lazy B. Chad wanted to get across the line and put as many miles as possible between him and the pursuit. Deep into the desert they struck, keeping for the most part to a rapid road gait. The dusty miles spun out behind them as they covered white sunbaked levels, cut across rough hillsides of rubble, dipped into sandy washes, and wound forward through wastes of cactus and zacaton. By the time the moon was riding high in the heavens Ruth was very tired. Her shoulders drooped and she clung to the pommel of the saddle. But she did not ask Chad to stop and let her rest. She would rather have been whipped than have confessed exhaustion. Whenever she thought he might be looking at her, the weary shoulders straightened with a pathetic attempt at jauntiness. The man knew how completely fagged she was. Riding behind her through the silver night, his greedy eyes noted her game struggle not to give in. He saw the flowing lines of the girlish figure relax with fatigue. No longer was the gallant little dusky head poised lightly above the flat straight back. But he made no offer to rest. It was essential that they should get beyond any chance of capture by her friends. Once he had her safely in his hands she might sleep round the clock undisturbed. It was midnight before they rode into the cottonwoods of Lone Tree Spring. Chad lifted her, stiff and cold from lack of circulation, to the ground. She clung to his coat sleeve for a moment dizzily before she limped forward to the live-oak that gave the place its name. The girl sank down beside the water-hole with her back to the trunk of the tree. There was faint, humorous apology in the tired smile she lifted to the man. "I guess I'm what the boys call a quitter, Chad," she decided. "You're a game little thoroughbred," he blurted out. "You're all in. That's what's the matter with you. Never mind, little girl. I'll fix the tarps so as you can get some sleep. When you wake you'll be good as ever." "Don't let me sleep too long. Perhaps I'd better just rest." "No; take a couple of hours' sleep. I'll wake you when it's time to go." He brought the saddle blankets, spread them on the ground, and covered them with his slicker. His coat served for a pillow. Above her he spread a tarp and tucked the edges under. "You're good to me, Chad," she told him with a sleepy little smile. "I aim to be." He stooped and kissed her with a sudden passionate impulse. Startled at his roughness, she drew back. "Don't ... please!" He rose abruptly. "Go to sleep," was his harsh command. A vague uneasiness that was almost fear stirred in her mind. She did not know this man at all. Except for the merest surface commonplaces he was a stranger to her. Yet she had promised to give her life into his keeping. They were alone together in this moonlit night of stars, a thousand miles from all the safeguards that had always hedged her soft youth. After she had married him they would always be together. Even her mother and Phil would be outsiders. So would all her friends--Daisy Ellington and Frank Farrar ... and Steve Yeager if he lived. And he must live. She affirmed that passionately, clung to the thought of it as a drowning man does to a plank. He would get well--of course he would.... And so she fell asleep. _ |
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