THE TRAIL OF CONFLICT by EMILIE BAKER LORING (classic fiction .txt) 📕

step of the car and seized the rail. Brakeman and conductors stood rigidly awaiting his signal. Courtlandt stepped back.

"Just a minute, Steve! Lord, I almost forgot to tell you. There is just one glint of humor in this infernally tragic night. It seems that Lochinvar is Greyson of the X Y Z ranch. Don't know where that is; perhaps you do. His lady friend got the dope about this hold-up, too. She rode to his place for help and the two flivvered down the track to stop the train, she standing on the seat grabbing his hair with one hand while with the other she waved that fool lantern. Can't you see the picture? I'll say she's some little sport."

"But--but the elopement?"

"Lord-ee, Steve, don't take this whole rotten business so to heart. You're livid. That elopement stuff is the glint. The girl had been told that there were traitors on the train. She knew Greyson's reason for flagging it mustn't be suspected; just there the elopement excuse flashed into her mind. Said she reckoned that elopers were the only people who would do such a fool stunt. She told the maid about it after things had quieted down. I'll say she's a peacherino. If I hadn't a perfectly good wife at home she could have me. Happen to know who she is?"

"Yes. I happen to know. She is--she is Mrs. Stephen Courtlandt." Nelson almost fell off the step.

"For the love of Mike! I don't wonder you're white. She--she was so darned convincing." With a chuckle he swung forward and gave the signal to the waiting crew. In a fairly successful imitation of Jerry's voice he called softly:

"Go on, Mr. Brakeman. We--we want to get to the coast."

As he made his way along the street in the starlight Courtlandt felt as though he were traveling with his double. It was as if his shadow had suddenly developed a mind which occupied itself exclusively with thoughts of Jerry, leaving his own brain free to concentrate on the business ahead. In a spirit of detachment he turned over and over her reason for the elopement announcement, pictured her ride, her furious indignation when the flesh and blood Steve had held her in his arms. There was nothing shadowy in Courtlandt's reaction to that memory.

The foyer of the small, ramshackle hotel was filled with men, tobacco smoke, and the hum and buzz of excited voices, all but the space near one closed door. When they looked in that direction men spoke in whispers, many of them dragged off their hats. It was as if the insensate wood had an aura of mystery and tragedy into which no person in the room cared or dared penetrate. Greyson was the first person to whom Courtlandt spoke.

"Bruce--I know now----" With a smile the elder laid his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Forget it, Steve. Had I been in your place I couldn't have carried off the situation as well, I am glad that I stand exonerated of that unspeakable treachery. I--I only hope that later when you learn----" he cleared his throat and went on irrelevantly, "Who's to tell Mrs. Denbigh about her husband? After all, he was her husband. You were his friend. She'll take it better from you, Steve."

A furious protest rose to Courtlandt's lips but he looked at the closed door and answered instead:

"Somebody's got to do it. I'll ride over to the X Y Z in the morning. There is no use in consulting her about any of the arrangements here. Has anyone wired Denbigh's mother for instructions?"

"No, we waited for you. You'd better get her on long distance. A train goes East at two A. M."

"I understand. While I'm doing that try to get the Double O on the 'phone, will you? Tell them to get Gerrish here as soon as possible."

"I will. The sheriff wants to see you at the jail when you can manage it. He's sent a posse after Ranlett. He's in or near that shack in Buzzard's Hollow, that is, he was."

"He's there, all right. I signaled with the rockets as Phil directed. He may be getting a little uneasy at the non-arrival of his bad men by this time though. How the dickens did you know about it?"

"Beechy put a bullet into his leg. Jerry will tell you----"

"Beechy and Jerry!"

"Don't look like that, Steve. Jerry is safe and Beechy has made good, gloriously good. Get the little girl to tell you about it. She--she's a wonder! Meantime the sheriff waits. He wants to talk to you about Simms. There can be no doubt that he shot Denbigh. He wants your deposition. Perhaps it is a cold-blooded way to look at it, but I can't help thinking that with Simms out of the way his wife and kids will have a chance at real living. That's an awful indictment of a man, isn't it?"

It was morning when Courtlandt dismounted in the corral of the Double O. Slowman hurried up to take Blue Devil. The two men talked in low tones while dawn streaked the sky in rosy peaks and the stars paled. The grass glittered with diamond-like dew, the fairies had spread their squares of gossamer everywhere. The boys had come in with the shorthorns, the corral boss reported, not one missing. The outfit had got news of the affair at Devil's Hold-up and were fit to tie that they hadn't had a chance to clean up Ranlett and his gang.

After the turmoil of the last few hours the ranch-house seemed weirdly quiet as Courtlandt entered the living-room. The night air had been keen and a few coals, like observant red eyes, glowed at him from the hearth. Scherherazade, the white Persian cat, occupied the wing-chair. She opened her topaz eyes wide as Steve approached the mantel; she watched unblinkingly as he laid his arms upon it and looked up at the portrait above him. He spoke softly as though he and the smiling woman were comrades and confidants.

"They said that Phil went out like a candle, Mother. Where did he go? Where are you? It can't be the end. If it were I shouldn't feel as though you were with me wherever I am. Was I a brute to Jerry? Will she ever forgive me? Would you if you were in her place?" The tender eyes must have reassured him for with a husky, "Good-night, Betty Fairfax!" he straightened his shoulders and turned away. For an instant he stood looking across the room. As he went toward his own door he whistled softly his favorite "Papillions." Scherherazade craned her ruffed white neck to follow the sound, her eyes narrowed to ruby slits. The coals on the hearth crumbled and fell. She sprang to the back of the chair and listened. Across the room a door had latched softly.

Out in Buzzard's Hollow a white-faced, haggard-eyed man was turning over his three prisoners to the deputy sheriff. Overhead a great bird hung motionless for an instant as it glared down at the curious creature with mammoth outspread wings that lay below.

CHAPTER XX

Breakfast in the court was a late affair the morning after the hold-up. Steve did not appear. Tommy had given Jerry a sketchy account of his adventure of the night before, minimizing his part in it. Ming Soy hovered about the table with what, in an Occidental, would be tearful devotion. The world was as clean and fresh and sweet as wind and rain and sunshine could make it. Faintly from the corral came the voices of riders coming and going; the skip and cough and stutter of tractors drifted in on the breeze. Benito, with much fluttering and shivering and croaking, was taking his matutinal plunge in the basin of the fountain. Goober lay beside Jerry's chair, his tawny eyes fixed unblinkingly on the parrot, his tongue hanging, his white teeth gleaming.

The girl, in a pink and white frock that suggested the daintiness of morning-glories, had been absorbed in the thoughts induced by Tommy's story. It was some time before she became conscious of the obstinate silence maintained by the usually talkative Peg, who was a bit more bewilderingly lovely than ever in a frock just a trifle less blue than the sky above her. Benson was tenderly solicitous of her comfort. Would she have more honey? Hopi Soy had broken his own record with the waffles; sure she wouldn't have one? Peg answered his questions with an indifferent shake of her head. Jerry observed the two in silence for a few moments before she protested:

"Don't grovel, Tommy. I don't know what you've done to displease her royal highness, but knowing you as I do I am sure that it was nothing to warrant such rudeness. 'Fess up, children, what has happened? 'Who first bred strife between the chiefs that they should thus contend?'" she quoted gayly. "That is worthy even of you, Tommy."

"You may think it's funny, Jerry," flared Peg indignantly. "But if you had been--been----"

"Say it! Tell the gentlemen of the jury just what happened, Miss Glamorgan," prompted Benson in a judicial tone and with a glint in his blue eyes. "You won't?" as the girl responded only with a glance of superb scorn. "Then I will." He disregarded her startled, "Don't dare!" and announced, "I--I kissed her yesterday, Mrs. Steve."

"I won't stay to hear!"

"Yes, you will!" He caught Peggy gently but firmly by the shoulders. He stood behind her as he explained. "You see--I want--I intend to marry your sister, Mrs. Steve. Yesterday I staked my claim. I kissed her once."

"Hmp! Squatter rights!" interpolated Peggy angrily.

"Only once! Are you--sure, Tommy?" Jerry's voice was grave but there was a traitorous quiver of her vivid lips as she asked the question.

"Only once, on honor. I told her that I should never do it again until she gave me permission. I meant it. I know that she is young. I expect to wait until----"

Peggy twisted herself free from the restraining hands on her shoulders. Half-way across the court she turned. Her hazel eyes were brilliant with laughter, her lips curved tormentingly as she flouted the two at the table.

"I--I hate--quitters!" she flung at Benson before she disappeared in the path which led to the office. Tommy followed her with his eyes, then turned to Jerry.

"I always watch where my ball falls so that I can find it quickly," he explained. The assurance had drained from his voice when he asked, "What--what do you think of my pronunciamento? Will your father stand for it, Mrs. Steve?"

"If you and Peg decide that you really care for one another he will have to," encouraged Jerry gravely.

"Peg has told me how he feels about family. Mine is the finest ever--but we don't date back to Colonial days on this continent. I suppose that we must have existed somewhere before we came to this country, we couldn't have been prestidigitated out of the everywhere into the here, could we? There is plenty of money behind us but--but that angel girl thinks I'm poor."

"Don't enlighten her. Let her think so--it may--make her kinder. When the time comes I'll talk with Dad. I'm with you heart and soul, Tommy, but I am afraid you have a long road to