In the Shadow of the Hills Part 4

"And you love him?"

"Yes, oh, yes!"

Weir sat back in his seat, lighted a cigarette and stared past her head at the opposite part.i.tion. The evil strain of the father had been continued in the son and was working here to seduce this simple, ignorant girl, incited by her physical freshness and the expectation that she should be easy prey.

"Well, I doubt if he loves you," he said, presently.

"He does, he does!"

"If he really does above everything else in the world, he'll be willing to marry you openly, no matter what his father may say or do.

That's the test, Mary. If he's in earnest, he'll agree at once to go with us to the next county seat to-morrow and be married there by a minister. Isn't that true? Answer me that squarely; isn't it true?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then by that we'll decide. If he agrees, well and good; if he refuses, that will show him up--show he never had any intention of marrying you. I'm a stranger to you, but I'm your friend. And you're not going to Los Angeles unmarried!"

The last words were uttered in a level menacing tone that caused Mary Johnson to s.h.i.+ver. To her, reared in the humble adobe house on her father's little ranch on Terry Creek, a man who could manage the great irrigation project seemed a figure out of her ken, a vast form working against the sky. His statements were not to be disputed, whatever she might think.

"Yes, sir," she said, just above a whisper.

"All right. Now we'll wait for him. He was coming back for you, wasn't he?"

"Yes. I was to stay at the hotel till train time."

"Is this your grip?"

Weir jerked a thumb towards a worn canvas "telescope" fastened with a single shawl strap, resting in the corner of the booth.

"It's mine. Yes, sir."

"How old is Ed Sorenson," he asked, after a pause.

"About thirty, maybe."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen next month."

"But sixteen yet this month."

"Yes, sir."

He said nothing more. As the minutes pa.s.sed, her timorous gaze continued steadfastly on the stern countenance before her. She dully expected something terrible to happen when Ed Sorenson appeared, for she knew Ed would be angry; but she had been powerless to prevent the intrusion of this terrible stranger.

Fear, in truth, a fear that left her heart cold, was her feeling as she contemplated Weir. Yet under that, was there not something else? A sense of safety, of comforting a.s.surance of protection?

"You--you won't hurt Ed if he won't go with us?" she asked, in a low voice. "If he gets mad and won't marry me here, I mean?"

The man's eyes came round to hers.

"I'll just break him in two, nothing more, Mary," was the calm answer.

CHAPTER III

THE ENEMY'S Sp.a.w.n

The curtain to the booth was flung back.

"I've the train tickets; come along to the hotel----" exclaimed the man who quickly entered. But the words died in his mouth at sight of Weir sitting in the place he had vacated.

He was over average height, of strong fleshy build, with a small blonde mustache on his upper lip. Under his eyes little pouches had already begun to form; his mouth was full and sensual; but he still retained an air of liveliness, of carelessness and agility, that might at first sight seem the spontaneity of youth. He wore a brown suit, a gray flannel s.h.i.+rt and Stetson hat--the common apparel of the country.

"Who the devil are you? And what are you b.u.t.ting in here for?" he exclaimed, with a vicious spark showing in his pale blue eyes. At the same time he clapped a hand on Weir's shoulder, closing it in a hard grasp.

Instantly Weir struck the hand off with his fist.

"Keep your dirty flippers to yourself," he said, rising.

The blood faded from the other's countenance, leaving it white with rage.

"Get out of this booth, or I'll throw you out."

It was Weir's turn to act. Like a flash he caught Sorenson's elbow, jerked him forward, spun him about and dropped him upon the chair.

"Sit there, you cradle-robber, until I'm through with you," he commanded. "And if you don't want everybody in this restaurant to know about your business with this girl, you'll lower your voice when you talk."

Sorenson shot an uneasy glance towards the curtain and his wrath became not less furious but better controlled. Clearly public attention was the last thing he desired in this affair. He leaned back, staring at Steele Weir insolently, and produced a cigarette, at which he began to puff.

"Mary, get ready. We'll be going in a minute," said he.

"No, you'll not, Sorenson. I've taken a hand in your game. This girl says you're going to marry her, is that right?" The other rolled his eyes upward and began to whistle a jig tune softly. "Well, this is the plan she and I've made. She'll remain at the hotel to-night--as will you and I--and to-morrow we'll drive to another county seat in my car and you'll secure a licence there. Then you'll go to a minister's, where I'll act as a witness, and the ceremony will be performed.

Afterwards the pair of you can proceed to Los Angeles, or elsewhere as you please, on your wedding journey."

"You're quite a little planner, aren't you?" the other jeered.

"That's the arrangement if you agree."

"I don't agree."

Mary Johnson, in whose eyes a light of hope had dawned during Weir's low-toned statement, began nervously to bite her lip.

"Won't you do it, Ed?" she asked, timidly.

"We'll do as I planned, or nothing," he stated. Then with sudden spite he continued, "You're responsible for this mixup. What did you let this fellow in here for while I was gone? Didn't you have sense enough to keep your mouth shut?"