PAGE 34
Without Prejudice
by
“Oh, let’s have it all, boss, now you’re at it!” broke in Nixon. “We shan’t have hysterics now. We’re past that stage.”
Warden turned with a lightning movement and laid his hand upon the girl beside him. “Gentlemen,” he said, “it’s Fletcher Hill–and not Buckskin Bill–who’s the boss of this valley. And he’s a good boss–he’s a sportsman–he’s a maker of men. And this lady is going to be his wife. You’re going to stand by her, boys. You aren’t going to make a widow of her before she’s married. You aren’t going to let a skunk like Harley make skunks of you all. You’re sportsmen, too–better sportsmen than that stands for–better sportsmen, maybe, than I am myself. What, boys? It’s your turn to speak now.”
“Wait a bit!” said Nixon. “You haven’t quite finished yet, boss.”
“No, that’s true.” Warden paused an instant, then abruptly went forward a pace and stood alone before the crowd. “I’ve taken a good many chances in my life,” he said. “But now I’m taking the biggest of ’em all. Boys, I’m a damned impostor. I’ve tricked you all, and it’s up to you to stick me against a wall and shoot me as I deserve, if you feel that way. For I’m Buckskin Bill–I’m Fortescue–and I’m several kinds of a fool to think I could ever carry it through. Now you know!”
With defiant recklessness he flung the words. They were more of a challenge than a confession. And having spoken them he moved straight forward with the moonlight on his face till he stood practically among the rough crowd.
They opened out to receive him, almost as if at a word of command. And Buckskin Bill, with his head high and his blue eyes flaming, went straight into them with the gait of a conqueror.
Suddenly, with a passionate gesture, he stopped, flinging up his empty right hand. “Well, boys, well? What’s the verdict? I’m in your hands.”
And a great hoarse roar of enthusiasm went up as they closed around him that was like the bursting asunder of mighty flood-gates. They surged about him. They lifted him on their shoulders. They yelled like maniacs and fired their revolvers in the air. It was the wildest outbreak that Barren Valley had ever heard, and to the girl who watched it, it was the most marvellous revelation of a man’s magnetism that she had ever beheld. Alone he had faced and conquered a multitude.
It pierced her strangely, that fierce enthusiasm, stirring her as personal danger had failed to stir. She turned with the tears running down her face and found Fletcher Hill standing unnoticed behind her, silently looking on.
“Oh, isn’t he great? Isn’t he great?” she said.
He took her arm and led her within. His touch was kind, but wholly without warmth. “There’s not much doubt as to who is the boss of Barren Valley,” he said.
And with the words he smiled–a smile that was sadder than her tears.
CHAPTER XIII
THE OFFICIAL SEAL
That life could possibly return to a normal course after that amazing night would have seemed to Dot preposterous but for the extremely practical attitude adopted by Fletcher Hill. But when she saw him again on the day after their safe return to Trelevan there was nothing in his demeanour to remind her of the stress through which they had passed. He was, as ever, perfectly calm and self-contained, and wholly uncommunicative. Adela sought in vain to satisfy her curiosity as to the happenings in Barren Valley which her courage had not permitted her to witness for herself. Fletcher Hill was as a closed book, and on some points Dot was equally reticent. By no persuasion could Adela induce her to speak of Bill Warden. She turned the subject whenever it approached him, professing an ignorance which Adela found excessively provoking.
They saw nothing of him during the remainder of the week, and very little of Fletcher Hill, who went to and fro upon his business with a machine-like precision that seemed to pervade his every action. He made no attempt to be alone with Dot, and she, with a shyness almost overwhelming, thankfully accepted his forbearance. The day they had fixed upon for their marriage was rapidly approaching, but she had almost ceased to contemplate it, for somehow it seemed to her that it could never dawn. Something must happen first! Surely something was about to happen! And from day to day she lived for the sight of Bill Warden’s great figure and the sound of his steady voice. Anything, she felt, would be bearable if only she could see him once again. But she looked for him in vain.