IT was noon of the next day when Bob opened his eyes and gazed at the ceiling rafters in one of the Tumbling T ranch house bed rooms. He was aware of a certain stiffness which seemed centered in his neck, and found that the lower part of his head was bandaged. With an effort he lowered his eyes to find himself looking into the face of June Tomlinson. Her anxious gaze was fixed on him almost pleadingly, and she was holding his hand tightly between both her own.
“Miss—June,” he said weakly. He found it an effort to speak.
“Bob! I’m glad you’re awake. Don’t move; you’ve been hurt.”
His brain puzzled over this for a moment, and gradually the details of that calamitous meeting in the ranch house living room came back to him. At first the most vivid recollection was that flash of fire before his eyes. It was from a gun; a gun in the hands of—
June saw his face suddenly cloud. “Dick!”
“Yes. Oh, Bob, it was dreadful! Dick, your friend.”
He gazed at her almost fiercely. “Did they get him?”
“No. He ran through the front doorway, jumped on the horse you left at the rack, and got away before the boys could saddle up.”
“Do they know, who it was?”
“No. I didn’t tell them. I said I didn’t know.”
The strained look left his face. “Don’t ever tell, June. He was cornered, desperate. He had to shoot his way out. It was my fault; I reckon he thought I was goin’ to tackle him. Don’t tell.”
“I won’t.” The tears came to her eyes and she blinked and caught her lip between her teeth.
“Where am I hit?”
“Through the neck. You were unconscious last night and all this morning. It’s just a little past noon. I’ll give you some medicine the doctor left, and then you must sleep.”
She raised his head and held the glass to his lips. Things were becoming hazy. Bob swallowed the stuff and dropped back on the pillows. His last waking memory was one of a fair face with deep violet eyes and an aura of golden hair in which the sunbeams danced.
When he awoke again she was gone, but he could hear voices in the next room. His brain was dear; he felt much stronger. And he was hungry.
The door opened noiselessly and June looked in at him. He grinned.
“If you’ll fetch my clothes, ma’am, I’ll be gettin’ out of here.”
She came in quickly then, her eyes wide with delight. “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” she told him severely. “Don’t you realize that you are badly hurt? Why, it will be days before you can leave that bed.”
The grin persisted. “Shucks! That slug didn’t hit anything vital; just stunned me, like they crease a wild horse at a water hole.”
“Just the same you stay in bed until the doctor orders otherwise. Now take some more of this medicine.”
A swarthy face appeared at the doorway. “Ees all right? He can spik weeth us?”
“Yes; you can come in, Joe.”
The Mexican, followed by the towering Ace, tiptoed into the room. June administered the medicine and left them.
“Ees good to see you mak the smile,” said Joe, his dark face beaming.
“Bet yore boots!” Ace echoed heartily. “Bob, I shore thought you’d drawed yore number. Who was it?”
“One of the five that robbed the bank. I heard them blow the safe and broke up the party. One of them rode into the moonlight and I recognized him as the red-headed jigger. How about that fella I winged?”
“They planted him this mornin’. Nobody seemed to know who he was.” Ace jerked his head toward the door. “Frank Enright and Dutch Trumbauer are in the livin’ room with Tomlinson. They want to see you. Reckon Frank is anxious to turn his boys loose.”
“Don’t let him do it until I’m up again,” urged Bob. “He’ll go in there all spraddled out and mess things up.”
“You’re right as rain.” Ace craned his neck to look through the doorway. “Here they come now.”
June entered with a bowl of broth, the two cattlemen behind her.
“I’m not sure that you should have so many visitors,” she said, “but Mr. Enright and Mr. Trumbauer have come some distance to see you. I told them they could talk while you ate your broth.” She assisted him to sit up in bed, propping pillows behind his shoulders. The two cattlemen shook his hand gravely.
“Glad to see you sittin’ up, anyhow,” said Enright.
Trumbauer beamed on him. “Py golly, it was a close shave, ain’t it?”
“As close as I want. Did the robbers get anything?”
Enright answered. “No they didn’t—thanks to you. They had a gunny sack filled, but the jigger that was totin’ it dropped it just outside the bank. If you hadn’t busted up the party there would ‘a’ been a lot of punchers without pay. Bob, I reckon it’s about time I turned my wolf loose, ain’t it?”
“Not yet, Frank. Wait until I’m up. I want you to realize that this cleanup will be something other than a mad dash into the hills. It’s got to be planned, and every detail thought out in advance. And furthermore, we must not let a word of it get around until we’re ready to spring the trap. Don’t talk, not even to your own men.”
Enright sighed resignedly. “Well, hurry up and get well then.”
“Sure!” echoed Trumbauer. “And in the meanwhile, ve our guns vill be bolishing, not?”
His visitors finally left and June removed the pillows from behind him. Bob’s eyes closed wearily. “I shore am a bother to you.”
“You’re no such thing!” June was still protesting when he fell asleep.
The sun had gone down when he awoke again, to find little Doc Witherspoon in the room. From the kitchen came various savory aromas.
“Hello, Doc,” said Bob. “When are you goin’ to let me eat a real meal?”
The other eyed him keenly, took his temperature, felt his pulse.
“You have the constitution of a mule,” the little doctor said almost complainingly. “I’ll have to let you eat or you’ll go on a rampage. Sit up now and I’ll dress that wound.”
“How long will I be laid up?”
“At the present rate of mend you’ll be on your feet in two days. I know now why they use so many forty-fives out here. They have to put a hole as big as a rabbit burrow in you cowboys to keep you down.”
June brought Bob his supper—quite a substantial one after the broth—and when he had finished eating he felt so strong that he cautiously sat up, dropped his feet to the floor, and attempted to stand. The effort was a failure, and he reluctantly sank back on the bed. He concluded that he had lost a lot of blood, but knew that rest and the proper food would soon remedy that.
June returned for the dishes, straightened his covers, and, bidding him good-night, extinguished the light and left the room. Bob lay there in the dark, thinking. Dick had put him here, but he felt no resentment. Friendship tested over a period of years is not so easily destroyed. This had been the act of a Dick temporarily irresponsible, a youth crazed with fear and remorse and the shame of having had his wrong-doing discovered by the girl he loved. Bob liked to think that even in such desperate straits Dick had not tried to kill him. It would have been simple at that short range to place a bullet between his eyes or in some other vital spot.
His thin blood burned hotly at thought of the men behind Dick’s criminal act. He remembered the conversations between Markley and the suave Duke Haslam. Had Duke let the boy alone, he would now be riding on the side of the law instead of against it. Just as surely as Haslem controlled the trigger finger which had sent John Rutherford to eternity, did he direct the shot that had nearly made Dick a murderer. There in the darkness Bob swore again to stamp out forever Duke Haslam, Kurt Dodd, and the whole wicked gang they dominated.
A slight sound at one of the windows caught his attention. The sash had been raised, and through the opening came a sharp whisper. “Bob!”
“Who is it?” Unconsciously Bob lowered his own voice.
“Dick. I’m comin’ in.”
Bob heard the scrape of Dick’s boots against the window casing, followed by soft footfalls. The next moment, Markley was kneeling beside the bed, a vague shape in the darkness. His eager hands found Bob’s arm, gripped it with crushing, nervous intensity.
“Bob, old son! How you makin’ it?”
“Fine, Dick.” Bob’s voice was light and he was grinning in the darkness. “You’re a hell of a shot.”
“Bob, I never meant to do it. I swear that hammer slipped from under my thumb! It was a new gun, and the spring was stiff. I slewed it off to one side, but when I saw you fall I thought shore I’d killed you.”
“Nobody but you and June and I know,” said Bob quietly. “I was unconscious and couldn’t give you away, and June wouldn’t.”
He heard the young fellow utter a gasp of glad surprise. “Nobody knows it? She didn’t tell?”
“No.”
He could feel Dick trembling. Markley got to his feet and stood by the bed, taut in every muscle. “She shielded me! Even after—after—! Bob, do you know what that means?” His voice was vibrant with emotion.
“I reckon it means that she—cares for you.” Bob winced as he said it, but in the darkness Dick could not see.
“It cain’t mean anything else! Bob, I’m nearly crazy! Ever since I saw her that day I’ve loved her. And I doubted, Bob. Even though I played the game like I was shore of myself, I doubted. But she must love me. She must!”
Bob spoke almost fiercely. “Dick, you’ve got to quit this thing! Now! Before it’s too late. For her sake you got to quit.”
Dick stiffened. A crack of light had appeared at the bottom of the closed door. “Somebody’s comin’,” he said.
“Take it easy. Remember, nobody knows. You’re in the clear, boy.”
“That’s right.” Markley seated himself on the edge of the bed. Soft footfalls sounded in the hall.
“Who is it?” asked Bob.
The door opened and June Tomlinson, a lighted lamp in her hand, entered. Her gaze fell on Dick and for a moment she stood regarding him, eyes wide with surprise; then she softly closed the door.
“I had to come,” Dick told her simply. “I wanted to tell Bob that it was an accident. He jumped toward me, and the hammer slipped from under my thumb. I’ve been waitin’ outside ever since dark for a chance to slip in and tell him about it.”
“I’m glad, Dick,” she said quietly. “I felt that it must have been unintentional. I didn’t see how it could be otherwise, after the years—”
“Yes, I know. I reckon you think I’m a skunk, June. But I’ll make up for it! I swear I will!”
June placed the lamp on a table and seated herself by him on the edge of the bed. “Then you must begin at once, Dick. Quit this bunch you are running with. Become a deputy under Bob, or take a place on our spread. Both of us want to help you.”
Dick’s shoulders drooped and he stared moodily at the floor. “Sometimes a fella gets in so deep—”
“Never too deep to pull out, Dick.” She placed an encouraging hand on his arm. “Especially with friends who want to help.”
He slowly straightened and a look of determination came into his face.
“You’re right. It’s not too late.” He got to his feet. “Take care of yoreself, Bob. June, look after him. I’m leavin’.” He started toward the window, but June stopped him.
“You can go out the regular way, Dick. Father is in bed, and he doesn’t know anyhow.”
Dick followed her from the room. When she entered the living room she placed the lamp on the table and followed him to the gallery. There he turned and gripped her hand almost fiercely.
“June, I shore cain’t tell you what I think of you for shieldin’ me. But I’ll never forget it; never!”
“Prove it to me, Dick.”
He nodded somberly. “I will. Good-night, June girl.”
Descending the steps, he circled the house to where he had left his horse. He was elated, lifted above himself, enthralled. June must love him, he told himself; unbelievable as it seemed, she must care for him. If he only had enough money! He dismissed the subject with a sharp frown and turned his horse toward Lariat. At the moment he felt very confident, entirely sure of himself.
It was late when he reached town, but lights still shone in the Paris. Dick dismounted outside the place and pushed through the swing doors. He saw Duke Haslam lounging at the end of the bar, a cigar between his thick lips. Dick went directly to him.
“Want to talk with you, Duke,” he said shortly.
Haslam frowned. “This isn’t the wisest thing to do,” he complained. “Go into the office through the diningroom, and be sure nobody sees you.”
Dick sauntered out and through the deserted lobby and dining-room. He stood in the dark office until Haslam arrived and lighted the lamp.
“Duke, I’m through.”
Haslam straightened and eyed him coldly. “So?” he said. “Sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down. I’m through. You heard me. It’s no use tryin’ to talk me out of it.”
“So you don’t want that ten thousand after all?”
“I want it bad enough, but I’m goin’ to get along without it.” Dick spoke fiercely. “Haslam, I shot Bob Lee last night; left him for dead. That he’s livin’ is no fault of mine. But he refused to tell who did it; he protected me, and so did Miss June.”
“And for that reason you’ve decided to quit.”
“Yes.”
Haslam’s face went hard. “You’re crazy as hell! Through? You’re just beginning! You took my money and you contracted to take more of it. Well, you’re living up to your agreement.”
“Yeah?” Dick’s face went ugly too. “I’d like to see you make me.”
“I intend to.” Haslam eyed him scornfully. “I told you I’m running this show. You’re taking orders, not giving them. Remember that pay-roll messenger of Rutherford’s—old Charley Boggs, who was shot on the trail and robbed? Well, I hold your signed confession to that job.”
Dick stared at him. “Are you loco?”
“No; just cautious. That receipt you signed—remember? The paper was folded so that you read only a part of it. The part you didn’t read consists of your confession.”
“Why damn yore soul, Haslam! I’ll kill you for that!”
Duke’s voice was contemptuous. “No you won’t. That paper will come to light if anything happens to me. They’d string you higher than a kite. What chance would you have with June Tomlinson then?”
Dick glared at him. “You keep her name out of it!”
“Sure.” Haslam quite suddenly changed. He laughed. “Forget it, kid. Sit down; I want to talk with you. No use bucking against the snubbing post; you’re thrown and hog-tied and may as well make the most of it. I got some plans that will earn you and me both some money. And that’s the keynote of success, Dick—money. With it you can buy anything from a pair of socks to a woman’s honor. Believe me, they don’t say no when you wave a bundle of banknotes under their noses, or shake a poke of gold pieces at them!
“What chance do you stand with any girl as long as you are poor? Get the dough! Feather your nest while you’re young and healthy, and live long to enjoy it afterwards! Come on; sit down. Try some of that whisky. It’s a special brand guaranteed to brighten your outlook on life.”
Dick, still scowling uncertainly, sat down. He drank, and he drank again. Haslam saw to it that the special brand which so improved one’s outlook was not spared. And under the mellowing influence of the liquor and the persuasive, oily tongue of Duke Haslam, Dick’s good resolutions melted away to nothingness, and when at last he walked unsteadily from the office, one arm was about Haslam’s shoulders and he was more deeply involved than ever.