Desert Dust Part 20

"Oh, no, no! Not this way. It was a mistake. I swear to you I am not to be blamed. Please let me help you. I don't know what you've heard--I don't know what has been said about me--you are angry----"

I twitched free, for she should not work upon me again. With such as she, a vampire and yet a woman, a man's safety lay not in words but in unequivocal action.

"Good-night," I bade thickly, half choked by that same nausea, now hot.

Bearing with me a satisfying but somehow annoyingly persistent imprint of moist blue eyes under s.h.i.+mmering hair, and startled white face plashed on one cheek with vivid crimson, and small hand left extended empty, I roughly stalked on and out, free of her, free of the Big Tent, her lair.

All the way to the hotel, through the garish street, I nursed my wrath while it gnawed at me like the fox in the Spartan boy's bosom; and once in my room, which fortuitously had no other tenants at this hour, I had to lean out of the narrow window for sheer relief in the coolness. Surely pride had had a fall this night.

There "roared" Benton--the Benton to which, as to prosperity, I had hopefully purchased my ticket ages ago. And here cowered I, holed up--pillaged, dishonored, worthless in even this community: a young fellow in jaunty frontier costume, new and brave, but really reduced to sackcloth and ashes; a young fellow only a husk, as false in appearance as the Big Tent itself and many another of those canvas sh.e.l.ls.

The street noises--shouts, shots, music, songs, laughter, rattle of dice, whirr of wheel and clink of gla.s.ses--a.s.sailed me discordant. The scores of tents and shacks stretching on irregularly had become pocked with dark spots, where lights had been extinguished, but the street remained ablaze and the desert without winked at the stars. There were moving gleams at the railroad yards where switch engines puffed back and forth; up the grade and the new track, pointing westward, there were sparks of camp-fires; and still in other directions beyond the town other tokens redly flickered, where overland freighters were biding till the morning.

Two or three miles in the east (Mr. Jenks had said) was his wagon train, camped at the North Platte River; and peering between the high canopy of stars and the low stratum of spectrally glowing, earthy--yes, very earthy--Benton, I tried to focus upon the haven, for comfort.

I had made up my mind to accept the berth. Anything to get away. Benton I certainly hated with the rage of the defeated. So in a fling I drew back, wrestled out of coat and boots and belt and pantaloons, tucked them in hiding against the wall at the head of my bed and my revolver underneath my stained pillow; and tried to forget Benton, all of it, with the blanket to my ears and my face to the wall, for sleep.

When once or twice I wakened from restless dreaming the glow and the noise of the street seemed scarcely abated, as if down there sleep was despised.

But when I finally aroused, and turned, gathering wits again, full daylight had paled everything else.

Snores sounded from the other beds; I saw tumbled coverings, disheveled forms and s.h.a.ggy heads. In my own corner nothing had been molested. The world outside was strangely quiet. The trail was open. So with no attention to my roommates I hastily washed and dressed, buckled on my armament, and stumped freely forth, down the somnolent hall, down the creaking stairs, and into the silent lobby.

Even the bar was vacant. Behind the office counter a clerk sat sunk into a doze. At my approach he unclosed blank, heavy eyes.

"I'm going out," I said shortly. "Number Three bed in Room Six."

"For long, sir?" he stammered. "You'll be back, or are you leaving?"

"I'm leaving. You'll find I'm paid up."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir." He rallied to the problem. "Just a moment.

Number Three, Room Six, you say. Pulling your freight, are you?" He scanned the register. "You're the gentleman from New York who came in yesterday and met with misfortune?"

"I am," said I.

"Well, better luck next time. We'll see you again?" He quickened. "Here!

One moment. Think I have a message for you." And reaching behind him into a pigeonhole he extracted an envelope, which he pa.s.sed to me. "Yours, sir?" I stared at the fine slanting script of the address:

Please deliver to Frank R. Beeson, Esqr., At the Queen Hotel.

Arrived from Albany, N. Y.

CHAPTER X

I CUT LOOSE

I nodded; rebuffing his attentive eyes I stuffed the envelope into my pantaloons pocket.

"Good-bye, sir."

"Good luck. When you come back remember the Queen."

"I'll remember the Queen," said I; and with the envelope smirching my flesh I stepped out, holding my head as high as though my pockets contained something of more value.

The events of yesterday had hardened, thank Heaven; and so had I, into an obstinacy that defied this mocking Western country. I was down to the ground and was going to scratch. To make for home like a whipped dog, there to hang about, probably become an invalid and die resistless, was unthinkable. Already the Far West air and vigor had worked a change in me.

In the fresh morning I felt like a fighting c.o.c.k, or a runner recruited by a diet of unbolted flour and strong red meat.

The falsity of the life here I looked upon as only an incident. The gay tawdry had faded; I realized how much more enduring were the rough, uncouth but genuine products like my friend Mr. Jenks and those of that ilk, who spoke me well instead of merely fair. Health of mind and body should be for me. Hurrah!

But the note! It could have been sent by only one person--the superscription, dainty and feminine, betrayed it. That woman was still pursuing me. How she had found out my name I did not know; perhaps from the label on my bag, perhaps through the hotel register. I did not recall having exchanged names with her--she never had proffered her own name. At all events she appeared determined to keep a hold upon me, and that was disgusting.

Couldn't she understand that I was no longer a fool--that I had wrenched absolutely loose from her and that she could do nothing with me? So in wrath renewed by her poor estimate of my common sense I was minded to tear the note to fragments, unread, and contemptuously scatter them. Had she been present I should have done so, to show her.

Being denied the satisfaction I saw no profit in wasting that modic.u.m of spleen, when I might double it by deliberately reading her effusion and knowingly casting it into the dust. One always can make excuses to oneself, for curiosity. Consequently I halted, around a corner in this exhausted Benton; tore the envelope open with gingerly touch. The folded paper within contained a five-dollar bank note.

That was enough to pump the blood to my face with a rush. It was an insult--a shame, first hand. A shoddy plaster, applied to me--to me, Frank Beeson, a gentleman, whether to be viewed as a plucked greenhorn or not.

With cheeks twitching I managed to read the lines accompanying the dole:

Sir:

You would not permit me to explain to you to-night, therefore I must write. The recent affair was a mistake. I had no intention that you should lose, and I supposed you were in more funds. I insist upon speaking with you. You shall not go away in this fas.h.i.+on. You will find me at the Elite Cafe, at a table, at ten o'clock in the morning.

And in case you are a little short I beg of you to make use of the enclosed, with my best wishes and apologies. You may take it as a loan; I do not care as to that. I am utterly miserable.

E.

To Frank Beeson, Esquire.

Faugh! Had there been a sewer near I believe that I should have thrown the whole enclosure in, and spat. But half unconsciously wadding both money and paper in my hand as if to squeeze the last drop of rancor from them I swung on, seeing blindly, ready to trample under foot any last obstacle to my pa.s.sage out.

Then, in the deserted way, from a lane among the straggling shacks, a figure issued. I disregarded it, only to hear it pattering behind me and its voice:

"Mr. Beeson! Wait! Please wait."

I had to turn about to avoid the further degradation of acting the churl to her, an inferior. And as I had suspected, she it was, arriving breathless and cloak inwrapped, only her white face showing.

"You have my note?" she panted.

There were dark half circles under her eyes, pinch lines about her mouth, all her face was wildly strained. She simulated distress very well indeed.

"Here it is, and your money. Take them." And I thrust my unclosed fist at her.

"No! And you were going? You didn't intend to reply?"

"Certainly not. I am done with you, and with Benton, madam. Good-morning.

I have business."

She caught at my sleeve.