Chapter Seventeen: GUNFIRE BY NIGHT

When Tip Rogers wakened and struck a match to look at his watch, it was seven o’clock. He knew that if he was to get down to the dining-room and eat supper before it closed, he would have to hurry with his shave. Two days and one night in the saddle heading a posse had left him stiff and sore, but he was refreshed after fourteen hours of sleep.

Down in the lobby and heading for the dining-room, he thought of Nora inside, and his face settled into gravity. He knew that she must hate him now for the stand he had taken against Johnny, and he hated it, too, but the honesty in him would not let him do otherwise.

The dining-room was almost empty. Major Fitz and Bledsoe were seated at a side table in the corner, and Major Fitz’s harsh and dogmatic voice could be heard the length of the dining-room.

Tip took a table, and Nora, who had been standing listening to Major Fitz, came over to take his order. Surprisingly, she smiled at him, and Tip smiled warmly in return. “Too late to get anying to eat, Nora?”

Nora shook her head. “No, I had the cook save something for you, Tip. Hungry?”

“Watch me.”

When she returned with his food and sat down opposite him, he observed her carefully. She was a little pale, but her eyes looked bright, almost feverish, and her talk and even her actions were animated. Tip made a vow that he would not bring into the conversation any mention of things that might upset her, such as his activities of the last few days.

Nora, however, spoiled this resolution with her first question.

“Did you have any luck with the posse, Tip?” she asked.

Tip looked up at her, his face coloring. “Of course not. If I had, I’d have brought them in.”

“Not shot them?”

Tip shook his head. “Why should I? I liked Johnny Hendry. Maybe he didn’t do what he was accused of, but he’ll never prove his innocence by running away.”

There was a quizzically probing expression in her eyes. She said, “You’d have brought him back to stand trial, then—for his own good.”

Tip grinned and shook his head. “No, I’ll be honest. Not for his good, but for mine. I won’t pass up a chance to find out who robbed the bank and got the gold.”

Nora didn’t answer for a moment, and then she said quietly, “Perhaps that’s what he needs, Tip. Somebody ought to scare him, to make him prove his innocence, even if he didn’t take the gold.”

Tip laid down a fork and stared at her, as if he had not heard rightly. Nora laughed a little self-consciously and said, “Why not? Johnny treats other people that way. Why should he expect more in return?”

Her voice shook a little with anger, but Tip was too much in love to see that Nora’s displeasure with Johnny Hendry was dictated by her mind. It was something she felt—and tried to feel—because she thought she should.

“Treats them how?”

“Oh, he makes snap judgments, believes the worst of people. He’s unfair and unjust.”

“You think that’s the kind of treatment I’ve given him?”

Nora nodded and said, “A little. But I can’t blame you, Tip. You’re only doing your job.”

“And one I don’t like,” Tip said quietly. Nora did not answer. Tip ate in silence, frowning at his plate. Suddenly, he raised his eyes to Nora’s face. “Believe me, Nora, I don’t like this. I know how you feel about Johnny, and I could understand why you’d hate me for what I’m doing.”

“How do I feel about Johnny?” Nora asked bluntly, looking him in the eye.

“Why—why—I’ve been seeing you for over a year, Nora, ever since I came here—when I ask you to marry me, you just laugh. And you’ve been just as nice, even nicer, to Johnny Hendry. But when he walks in the room, you’re different. He’s the one. My name could be Ted or Jim or Bob and you’d treat me the same. Don’t you see? I may be one in a hundred but Johnny is one in a million—to you. Maybe he always will be.”

All the while Tip was speaking, the flush on Nora’s face was deepening. When he was finished, Nora said swiftly, “Tip, that’s not true! You’ve been imagining it! I—I don’t love Johnny Hendry. Maybe for a while I was infatuated with him, but I don’t love him! And I’ve tried to treat you both the same—because I really do feel the same about you!”

Her eyes blazed.

Tip’s mouth sagged open, and he could not speak for a moment.

“I know but—”

“And that’s not because Johnny is in trouble!” Nora said defiantly. “I’m just as loyal to him as I ever was, Tip! I’ve talked to him since he was framed! If I wanted to, I could take you to his hide-out! But I won’t! So you see, I’m not deserting him in his hard luck. Only, I don’t want you or anybody else, Tip Rogers, to think I love him. I don’t!”

Wisely, Tip held his silence, but he allowed himself a broad grin, and as Nora watched him, the fire died out in her eyes, and she began to smile. Suddenly they both laughed together.

“Finish your eating, Tip,” Nora said. “I’m almost ashamed of myself.”

Tip lifted his plate off to one side and leaned both hands on the table, and he began to speak in utter seriousness.

“Today, Nora, when I got in from the mountains, I went up to the Esmerella. Sammons, the manager, had some news for me.” He paused, watching her. “He said the Esmerella will have to close. I’m out of a job. He offered me one with the same company down near the Mexican border. I’m not going.”

“But Tip, why not?”

“Because I found out something tonight. If you like me as well as you do Johnny Hendry, then I’m going to stay here until you like me better. And the only time I’ll take that job down there is when I can write the manager and tell him that he’ll have to provide quarters for a new superintendent—and wife. Her name will be Nora.”

Nora smiled shyly. “You’re nice, Tip.”

“Nora, will you marry me?”

“I—I don’t know, Tip,” Nora said. “Everything has happened so quickly. Tip, give me time. Please.”

Tip reached out for her hand and spread her fingers out in his palm. On his own little finger was a ring, its band of silver, its stone of deep-blue turquoise. He took it off and slipped it quickly on her middle finger.

Tip said gently, “The Indian who gave that to me, Nora, told me that as soon as my greatest luck had come, to pass the ring on to somebody else I wished luck for. If you take it my luck has come. Will you wear it?”

His hand relinquished hers, as if he didn’t want to put the slightest pressure on her.

Slowly, Nora raised her eyes to his. “Is this an engagement ring, Tip?”

“It’s for you to name,” Tip said gravely. “I want it to be that.”

Nora looked down at the ring. It was beautiful, its stone cool and smooth and deep, but she was thinking of what this ring symbolized, what she could make it symbolize—a new life with a man she liked, a man who was steady and honest and patient, whom she could depend on, who would not change over the years, who, while he would not make her laugh and cry and be angry with him, would be as predictable as a calendar, as steady as the sun in its course. It would be refuge and security, something she sorely needed and wanted now. But did she love him? She looked up at his face, and saw Tip’s quiet love for her shining out of eyes that were honest and very grave. For a moment, she remembered Johnny’s eyes, careless, mocking, affectionate, lighthearted, quick as mercury—

“Let’s call it an engagement, Tip,” she said softly, stubbornly, and she hardly realized she had said it until she felt Tip’s kiss on her lips. She laughed then, and pushed Tip back in his seat.

“Your supper is cold, and you’ve got to eat, Tip,” she told him, but Tip was only looking at her, filling his eyes with the beauty of her. Nora rose and went out into the kitchen.

While she was gone, a man entered the dining-room and looked around him, waved to Tip, and went over to Fitz and Bledsoe’s table. It was Les MacMahon, a tall, slim young man in careful black clothes who studied law at night and waited on customers at Bledsoe’s store in the daytime. Tip was friendly with him and liked him. MacMahon talked quietly with Fitz and Bledsoe for some minutes, and Nora returned with hot food for Tip. She sat down by him again and made Tip eat.

Presently MacMahon left Bledsoe’s table and came over to speak to Tip and Nora. “It is true the Esmerella has closed down, Tip?” he asked. His sharp face was inquisitive, amiable. Tip nodded. “What are you going to do, leave town?”

Tip looked at Nora and smiled slightly. “No chance. I’ll do something around here.”

MacMahon leaned down and talked quietly. “I just had a funny experience, Tip. Six men—I don’t know who they were—came in the store and started buying supplies—mining-tools, blankets, grub, black powder, and such. One of them, the man doing the buying, was drunk. He started talking to me about their claims, said they were the richest he’d ever seen. He told me quite a bit about them before the boss came over and shut him up.”

Tip leaned forward, his eyes intent and excited.

“Did he say where they were?”

MacMahon flushed. “I know this sounds silly, Tip, but to begin with, they bought about a thousand dollars’ worth of supplies. This drunk was bragging around that their assay showed higher than any mine that was being operated around here. I thought it was bluff, but when they’d gone out, I went over to the claim-recording office. Sure enough, six men had just filed claims together there. Furthermore, they just bought a dozen pack mules from McGrew down at the feed stable. Does that sound like it’s a bluff? They paid cash for everything.”

“It doesn’t,” Tip conceded. “Were they mining men?”

“Looked it.”

“What do you want me to do?” Tip asked, interested now.

“You’re free now. You know minerals. Get their locations at the recorder’s office and go out and if it looks good, file on some claims. I just told Bledsoe and Fitz. They said if I could get a good man to look it over, to put their names down. I’ll want one, too.” He indicated Nora. “So will Nora, won’t you?”

“Whatever Tip thinks,” Nora answered.

Tip scowled. He had been around mining camps long enough to understand that fabulous mines had been discovered on just such thin rumors. A drunken boast, an incautious poker bet, a brag on a street corner had been the start of many a paying mine. He was free now with no job to hold him in town. Besides that, he hoped he would soon have a wife to support, and it had been Tip’s dream that some day he would own a small paying mine. Perhaps this was the chance he had been waiting for.

“I’ll do it,” he said slowly, “only don’t be disappointed when I come back and tell you it’s phony.”

MacMahon drew up a chair, and soon they were deep in mining talk. MacMahon had copied out the claim locations, and now he gave them to Tip. They discussed Tip’s outfit, his expenses, and such, and while they talked, Nora listened, content only to watch Tip. She liked his quiet gravity, the slow and careful way that he arrived at decisions, the temperance of his speech, and the dry humor that crept into much he said. And she knew, too, that he would never change, that this was the way he was made, and the way he would always be. Moreover, she knew deep within her, that if her life with him would be dull at times it would be a generous life, with rewards and riches at the end.

Bledsoe and Fitz came over, and Nora rose and went about her business of clearing off the dishes. Later, when she returned to the dining-room, Tip was at the door, waiting for her. He drew her out into the dark lobby and said, “How does it sound, darling?”

“I don’t know, Tip. What do you think?”

“I think I’d be willing to gamble anything to get money and presents and things to give you,” Tip said quietly.

Nora squeezed his hand. “Not for that alone, Tip. You want to get ahead. You always would. Why don’t you take a chance?”

“I am.” He folded her in his arms and kissed her, and it was so strange that Nora almost protested, then smiled, and Tip vanished up the stairs. Back in the dining-room, MacMahon and Bledsoe were taking leave of Fitz. They were going to go down to the store to assemble Tip’s outfit.

Major Fitz beckoned to Nora, and she came back to the table. “Sit down,” he said. “I want to talk to you. Have I been drinking too much, or did I see that young scalawag kiss you, Nora?”

“You did,” Nora admitted, blushing. “I like him, Major Fitz.”

“Hmm. So do I. But I don’t kiss him.”

“I mean I like him awfully well.”

“Better than Johnny?”

Nora looked him steadily in the eye. “Better than Johnny,” she said quietly. “It’s—it’s just that Tip is steadier and more considerate than Johnny.”

“Remember, Johnny was an orphan, raised in a rough town and with rough people, Nora,” Fitz pointed out gently.

Nora patted his hand. She could not help but compare Major Fitz’s tolerance and justice to Johnny’s hotheadedness and his quick anger. Here while Johnny was hunting ways to prove Major Fitz a crook, Fitz was pleading Johnny’s case with her, and a deep wave of bitterness passed through her. Whatever doubts she had had as to preferring Tip to Johnny—and they were few and dim, she thought—were vanished now. She felt anger toward Johnny, and pity and quiet affection for this loyal man across from her.

“I understand all that, Major Fitz, but it isn’t as if I liked a man for his manners or for his polish.”

“I know that. You like me,” Fitz said, and smiled a little, “and I’m just a roughneck.”

“And I was raised on a ranch,” Nora said. “Maybe I wouldn’t know good manners if I saw them.”

“Nonsense. You’re a lady because you can’t help it.”

Nora squeezed his hand, and there were almost tears in her eyes. “Don’t be hard on me, old friend. I’m just trying to do what I think is best.”

“I know you are. They are both fine boys.” He shook his head slowly. “I wouldn’t undertake to say which you’d be the happiest with Nora—if you can be happy with any of us men. Tip is steady, maybe a little bit dull. And Johnny is wild and a hellion, but more to my taste. But you’re the one that’s choosing. You stick to what you like and you—”

Fitz stopped speaking, and his eyes shuttled quickly to the lamp overhead. Its flame was guttering, as if a sudden draft had struck it.

And then, explosively, Major Fitz shoved hard on the table, so that it slammed against Nora and carried her over backward to the floor. He dodged aside, snaking out of the chair just as the blast of a shotgun filled the room with terrible noise.

Major Fitz, lying on the floor, whipped a hand to his shoulder holster, flicked out his gun, and in one snap shot at the lamp overhead plunged the room in darkness.

Then, on his knees, he swiveled his gun to one of the back windows and emptied it in thundering peroration, filling the room with the savage hammering of his gunfire.

When the gun was empty, he paused and waited. There was no movement, not a sound from that partially opened window.

Fitz pulled himself slowly to his feet. His knees were shaky, and he was angry at himself for the sickness deep in his belly that he recognized as fear.

“Nora!” Fitz whispered. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m all right,” Nora said weakly. “What happened?”

Fitz walked over to her and lifted her to her feet in the darkness.

“If they’d hit you, Nora, I’d never have forgiven myself.”

“But who was it?”

“I don’t know,” Fitz answered simply. “Evidently I have my enemies, like every other man.”

The dining-room door opened, and the clerk came running in with a lamp. By its light, Fitz looked at the table. Its cloth was tattered, its top channeled with the blast of buckshot. And the lines it had drilled in the table top told their own story. By shoving the table against Nora and upsetting her, Fitz had saved her from taking the full charge of the buckshot in her body.

She looked at him, her eyes still wild with fright, and he folded her in his arms, trying to quiet her hysterical sobs while the clerk looked on in bewildered silence.

And looking at the scarred table top, Major Fitz knew that Leach Wigran had taken up the gauntlet.