The Last Straw Part 12

There was in his manner a quality which caught attention like nippers.

He stood, forcing Webb to look into his threatening face a quiet instant. Then he spoke:

"That's a lie!"

The bantering smile swept from the other's face and his mouth drew down in a slanting snarl.

"What's a lie?"

"What you said is a lie, Webb, an' you're a liar--"

The smaller man's hand whipped to his holster and Beck, breaking short, closed on him, fingers like steel gripping the ready wrist.

"Don't try that with me, you rat!"

With a steady pull he lifted the resisting hand which gripped the gun away from the man's side while Webb struggled, cursing as he found himself unable to resist that strength.

"Give me that gun!"

Beck wrenched the weapon free. The group had drawn back and behind him Sam McKee made a quick movement. Two-Bits, beside him, dropped his hand to his hip and muttered:

"Keep out of this!"

McKee, hate flickering in his face, subsided, without protest, as a craven will.

Tom broke the gun and the cartridges scattered on the floor. He closed it with a snap and sent it spinning down the bar, clear to the far end.

His eyes had not left Webb's face.

"You're a liar," he said again quietly. "You're a liar and you're going to tell all the boys here that you're a liar."

"Don't tell me I lie!"--retreating a step as Beck's body swayed toward him.

"You lied," Tom said quietly, though his voice was not just steady. His hands were clenched and he held them slightly before his body as though yearning for opportunity to seize upon and injure the other.

"What is it to you, anyhow, if--"

"It's this to me, Webb: It makes me want to strangle the foul breath in your throat! That's what it is to me an' before these boys I will if you don't swallow your own dirty words just to get their taste.

"I don't want to be a killer, even over such as you are, but you've got me mad. We don't know an' n.o.body else knows how this girl's goin' to make it in this country, but, by G.o.d, Webb, she's goin' to have a fair chance. There ain't going to be any rotten talk that ain't called for an' it ain't called for ... yet.

"I expect I'd get into trouble if I killed you for this. There's just one chance for me to keep out of trouble, and that's for you to say you lied!"

He moved closer as Webb retreated slowly, his spurs ringing ever so slightly, yet their sound was audible in the stillness.

"Say it!" he insisted. "Say it, you whelp!"

Webb's face had gone from red to the color of suet and the blotches stood sharply out against the pallor. His dirty a.s.surance was beaten down and before this man he was frightened ... and enraged at his own fright.

"Mebby I spoke too quick--"

"You lied! Nothin' short of that! Say you lied and say it now....

Quick!"

He half lurched forward, lifting his eager, vengeful hands, when Webb relaxed and gave a short, half laugh and said:

"Have it your own way. I lied, I guess. I didn't mean--"

"That'll do, Webb. You've said all that's necessary."

He stood back and dropped his hands limply to his side, eyeing the other with dying wrath. His gaze then went to Hepburn and clung there a moment, eloquent of contempt and he might as well have said: "You're her foreman. Why didn't _you_ take this up?"

Then he moved to the bar and asked for a drink. Constrained talk arose.

Webb sulkily recovered his gun and stood close to Sam McKee, drinking.

From the doorway which led into the hotel office d.i.c.k Hilton turned back, whistling lowly to himself, a speculative whistle.

Tom Beck rode home alone, hours before he had intended to leave town.

Why had he done that? Always he had disliked Webb but why had this thing roused in him such tremendous rage? he asked as he unsaddled.

He laughed softly to himself as though he had done something ridiculous; then he strolled down toward the creek and stood under the cottonwoods a long interval, watching a lighted chamber window.

"You're a queer little yellow-head," he said aloud to that window.

"You're the kind that gets men into trouble, but maybe you're ... worth it, a lot of it."

He stood for some time, until his wrath had wholly gone and the mood which sent merriment dancing in his eyes had returned. It had been a day of understanding: he had broken down the barrier of deceit which Hepburn had attempted to build, he had come to understand that there was something strange in the pursuit of Jane Hunter by d.i.c.k Hilton, he had understood that in his employer was at least a physical courage which was promising, he had humiliated Webb and given the whole country to understand that there should be no doubting of the new girl's reputation.

Of those incidents the only one now giving him concern was the att.i.tude of the foreman. His suspicion was strong, his evidence wholly inadequate.

Tom stood beside his bunk for a time. He had thrown down his gauntlet; he had taken a chance. He might, from now on, face danger or humiliation but he experienced a relief at knowledge that so far as he was concerned there was no longer anything under cover. He did not fear Hepburn or Webb so far as his own safety went. But there were other things, he told himself.

What _was_ up? Just what game would Hepburn play ... if any? And who was that man from the East? To what was Jane's confusion due that afternoon? Was it only embarra.s.sment? Only?

He dozed off and woke with a start. Again he felt the weight of her body on his arm, again the warmth of her breath on his cheek. He lay there with his heart hammering, then, with a growl, rolled over and went to sleep.

Well he could that night! But other nights were coming when he would ponder the significance of Hilton, when the cloud which he then saw vaguely over Jane Hunter's future would be real and appalling, when he would actually feel her body in his arms, when her warm breath would mingle with her warm tears on his cheek, when he would hope that death might come to him as a tribute to her. Oh, yes, Tom Beck could put it all aside and sleep this night, but there were others coming ... other nights....

CHAPTER V

THE COURTING

Jane Hunter was in work up to her trim elbows. She had little time for anything else. Twice again d.i.c.k Hilton came to see her, riding a horse in the second visit, but his stays were not lengthy ... and not satisfactory, because the girl had little thought for anything but ranch affairs.

For long hours she sat at the desk which she had placed in a bay window that commanded a superb view of far ridges and pored over records she had found. She discovered a detailed diary of events for the past ten years, a voluminous chronicle kept more for the sake of giving self-expression to the old colonel than for an efficient record, but it served her well as a key to the fortunes of the property.