The Lady of Big Shanty Part 10

For some time neither the trapper nor the Clown spoke. Both sat amazed, silently gazing into the fire. Then Hite said slowly, turning to the Clown:

"Freme, I dunno as if I ever seen a nicer man."

Once outside Thayor stretched his arms above his head.

"Ah--what a day, it has been, Billy," he sighed. "What a full, glorious day, and what a rest it has all been. At what hour do we start in the morning?" and a touch of sadness came into his voice.

"At seven," Holcomb replied; "Freme will take us out to the railroad with a team from Morrison's. We can send your telegram there."

"Good!" cried Thayor, brightening. "And, Mr. Holt--isn't he coming too?"

"I'm afraid not; he said to me before lunch that he and the dog were going to stay on for a spell."

"What--not alone! Oh, Billy, I wouldn't want to leave him here alone.

He's an old man, you know, even if he is tough as a pine knot. Can't we persuade him to go with us? He's been so loyal and lovable I hate to leave him."

"I don't think you need worry, sir--he won't be alone."

"But Skinner is going with us."

"Yes--but he'll have company."

"Who?"

"The man you saw yesterday. You didn't suspect, perhaps, but that was Bob Dinsmore, who killed Bailey."

"The hide-out!" exclaimed Thayor, with a start.

"Yes, he's been around here ever since we came."

"Oh! I'm so sorry! Why didn't you let me see him?"

"Well, we didn't think any good would come of it, sir. Hite won't let him go hungry if he can help it, and he can now. We haven't eaten half the grub we brought."

Thayor stood for a moment in deep thought, reached down into his pocket and took from it a roll of bills.

"Hand this to Holt, Billy, and tell him to give it to the poor fellow from me."

CHAPTER SIX

When Blakeman opened the steel grille for his master at an early hour the day following, the thought uppermost in his mind was the change in Thayor's appearance. He saw at a glance that the wilderness had put a firmness into his step and a heartiness in his voice, as well as a healthy colour in his cheeks, such as he had not seen in him for years. He would gladly have sacrificed his month's salary to have been with him, and more than once during his absence had he gone to his room, finding a certain consolation even in looking for rust spots on his favourite gun.

With the casting off of his heavy travelling coat and hat, Thayor's first words were of his daughter.

"And how is Miss Margaret?" he asked, as Blakeman followed him upstairs with his gun and great-coat.

Dr. Sperry's villainous verdict still rankled in the butler's mind, and at first he had half decided to tell Thayor all he had overheard in the teakwood room. Then the pain it would give his master restrained him.

"Miss Margaret is quite well, sir," he returned in the unctious, calm voice he a.s.sumed in service.

"Ah, that's good. She's asleep, I suppose, at this hour."

"I presume so, sir, as she was out rather late last night. I beg pardon, sir, but might I ask if you have had good luck?"

"Well, I managed to kill a fine buck, Blakeman," returned his master, as he continued up the stairs.

"Did you, indeed, sir!" exclaimed Blakeman, his face lighting up.

"Well, I'm happy to hear it, sir--I am, indeed. A full blue-coat, sir, I dare say."

"Yes, and a splendid set of horns."

They had reached the broad corridor leading to his wife's bedroom, Blakeman continuing up to Thayor's room with his traps.

Thayor stepped briskly to Alice's door and knocked, then stood there waiting for her response, keyed up for the scene he knew would ensue the moment he crossed the threshold. The next instant, in response to her voice, he opened the door and entered. To his amazement Alice raised her eyes to his and smiled.

"So you're back," she laughed, re-tying a ribbon at her throat.

"Yes," he replied, closing the door and drawing a chair mechanically to her bedside. "Yes, I'm back and I've had a good time, dear."

In spite of her disarming welcome he could not dispel a lingering distrust of her sincerity. "How do I look?" he added.

She leaned toward him, her head pillowed on her hand, and regarded him intently, a smile playing about the corners of her mouth. Again he searched for the truth in her eyes, and again he was baffled.

"Splendid, Sam--like a man who had never been ill."

Instantly the doubt faded. A sense of mingled relief and of intense happiness stole through him. If she would only believe in him now, he thought, and understand him, and be a help and a comfort to him.

"I was ill when I left," he continued in a softened tone. "You would not believe it, dear, but I was. I should have been ill in bed if I had stayed a day longer."

"Yes," she answered carelessly, "you must have been, otherwise I doubt if you would have had pluck enough to leave me as you did. It was quite dramatic, that little exit of yours, Sam."

"And so you got my note?" he inquired, stiffening up, yet determined to ignore her touch of sarcasm, and so preserve the peace.

"Oh, yes; Blakeman did not forget. He never forgets anything you tell him. I must say it was very thoughtful of you after our interview a night or two before." This came with a shrug of her shoulders, the smile still flickering about her mouth. "Of course you had a good time?"

"Yes, and I feel twenty years younger," he ventured; "couldn't help it, the way those men took care of me."

"Who?" she asked, still gazing at him curiously.

"Young Holcomb and--"

"Ah, yes, I remember," she mused, while she played with the lace on the sleeve of her gown.

"And there was Freme Skinner and a grizzled, kindly old trapper, named Hite Holt," he added. "I have never met with such sincere hospitality."