FullReads

Still desiring to be informed, she turned to her servants, with no better results; they knew very little about Tall Ed, “but we like him,” they were free to say.

This newly discovered mystery in the life of her hostler accomplished what his warning had failed to do; it caused her to neglect her correspondence with the major. His letter lay in a hollow willow-tree on the river road unread for nearly a week. And when, one afternoon, she finally rode by to claim it, her interest was strangely dulled. The spice of the adventure was gone.

As she was about to deliver her pony to Kelley that night he handed her an envelope, and, with penetrating glance, said: “I found this on the river road to-day. I wouldn’t write any more such–if I was you; it ain’t nice and it ain’t safe.”

It was her own letter, the one she had but just written and deposited in the tree. She chilled and stiffened under the keen edge of Kelley’s contemptuous pity, then burned hot with illogical rage.

“What right–? You spied on me. It’s a shame!”

“So it is!” he agreed, quietly; “but I don’t want any killing done–unless I do it myself.”

“You are a thief,” she accused.

“All right,” he answered, dispassionately. “Spy–keeper–big brother–dog–anything goes–only I don’t intend to let you slide to hell without a protest. You’re nothing but a kid–a baby. You don’t know what you’re going into. I’m an old stager; I know a whole lot that I wish I didn’t know. I’ve known women who said they didn’t care–lots of ’em–but they did; they all cared. They all knew they’d lost out. There’s only one end to the trail you’re starting in on, and it ain’t a pretty one. Harf married you in good faith, and even if he is gettin’ old and slow-footed and skinny, he’s your husband and entitled to a square deal.”

Blinded by her tears, and weak with passionate resentment of his tone, she could scarcely clamber down from the carriage. As soon as her feet touched the ground she started away. Kelley retained her by the force of his hand upon her wrist.

“Wait a moment,” he said, huskily. “You’re mad now and you want to murder me, but think it all over and you’ll see I’m your friend.”

There was something in his voice which caused her to look squarely up into his face, and the tenderness she saw there remained long in her memory.

“You’re too sweet and lovely to be the sport of a cheap skate like that. Don’t throw yourself away on any man. Good-by and God bless ye.”

She walked away with bent head and tear-blinded eyes, her heart filled with weakness and pain. She was like a child justly punished, yet resenting it, and mingled with her resentment was a growing love and admiration for the man whose blunt words had bruised her soul in the hope of her redemption.

* * * * *

Kelley went back to his little office, gathered his small belongings together, and called up Harford on the ‘phone. “I’ll take that blue cayuse and that Denver-brand saddle, and call it square to date…. Yes, I’m leaving. I’ve got a call to a ranch over on the Perco. Sorry, but I reckon I’ve worked out my sentence…. All right. So long.”

Ten minutes later he was mounted and riding out of town. The air was crisp with autumn frost and the stars were blazing innumerably in the sky. A coyote had begun his evening song, and to the north rose the high, dark mass of the Book cliffs. Toward this wall he directed his way. He hurried like one fleeing from temptation, and so indeed he was.

KELLY AS MARSHAL

I

Along about ’96 Sulphur Springs had become several kinds of a bad town. From being a small liquoring-up place for cattlemen it had taken on successively the character of a land-office, a lumber-camp, and a coal-mine.