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Brand Blotters, a fiction by William MacLeod Raine |
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Part 2. Dead Man's Cache - Chapter 13. Melissy Entertains |
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_ PART II. DEAD MAN'S CACHE CHAPTER XIII. MELISSY ENTERTAINS The notes of Schumann's "Trauemerei" died away. Melissy glanced over her music, and presently ran lightly into Chopin's "Valse Au Petit Chien." She was, after all, only a girl; and there were moments when she forgot to remember that she was wedded to the worst of unhanged villains. When she drowned herself fathoms deep in her music, she had the best chance of forgetting. Chaminade's "The Flatterer" followed. In the midst of this the door opened quietly and closed again. Melissy finished, fingered her music, and became somehow aware that she was not alone. She turned unhurriedly on the seat and met the smiling eyes of her husband. From his high-heeled boots to his black, glossy hair, Black MacQueen was dusty with travel. Beside him was a gunny sack, tied in the middle and filled at both ends. Picturesque he was and always would be, but his present costume scarce fitted the presence of a lady. Yet of this he gave no sign. He was leaning back in a morris chair, rakish, debonair, and at his ease. Evidently, he had been giving appreciative ear to the music, and more appreciative eye to the musician. "So it's you," said Melissy, white to the lips. MacQueen arose, recovered his dusty hat from the floor, and bowed theatrically. "Your long-lost husband, my dear." "What are you doing here?" "I'm visiting my wife. The explanation seems a trifle obvious." "What do you want?" "Have I said I wanted anything?" "Then you had better leave. I'll give you up if I get a chance." He looked at her with lazy derision. "I like you angry. Your eyes snap electricity, sweet." "Oh!" She gave a gesture of impatience. "Do you know that, if I were to step to that window and call out your name, the whole town would be in arms against you?" "Why don't you?" "I shall, if you don't go." "Are you alone in the house?" "Why do you ask?" Her heart was beating fast. "Because you must hide me till night. Is your father here?" "Not now. He is hunting you--to kill you if he finds you." "Servants?" "The cook is out for the afternoon. She will be back in an hour or two." "Good! Get me food." She did not rise. "I must know more. What is it? Are they hunting you? What have you done now?" A strong suppressed excitement beat in her pulses. "It is not what I have done, but what your friends have done. Yesterday I went to exchange West for the ransom money. Most of my men I had to take with me, to guard against foul play. We held the canyon from the flat tops, and everything went all right. The exchange was made. We took the ransom money back to the Cache. I don't know how it was--whether somebody played me false and sold us, or whether your friend Flatray got loose and his posse stumbled in by accident. But there they were in the Cache when we got back." "Yes?" The keenest agitation was in Melissy's voice. "They took us by surprise. We fought. Two of my men ran away. Two were shot down. I was alone." "And then?" The devil of torment moved in him. "Then I shot up one of your friend's outfit, rode away, changed my mind, and went back, shot your friend, and hiked off into the hills with a pack horse loaded with gold." Out of all this one thing stood out terribly to her. "You shot Jack Flatray--again!" He laughed. One lie more or less made no difference. "I sure did." She had to moisten her lips before she could ask the next question: "You--killed him?" "No--worse luck!" "How do you know?" "He and another man were on the trail after me to-day. I saw them pass up Moose Creek from a ledge on which I was lying. If I had had a rifle, I would have finished the job; but my carbine was gone. It was too far for a six-gun." "But, if you wounded him last night, how could he be trailing you to-day?" "I reckon it was a flesh wound. His shoulder was tied up, I noticed." Impatiently he waved Flatray out of the conversation. "I didn't come here to tell you about him. I got to get out on tonight's train. This country has grown too hot for me. You're going with me?" "No!" "Yes, by God!" "I'll never go with you--never--never!" she cried passionately. "I'm free of the bargain. You broke faith. So shall I." She saw his jaw clamp. "So you're going to throw me down, are you?" Melissy stood before him, slim and straight, without yielding an inch. She was quite colorless, for he was a man with whose impulses she could not reckon. But one thing she knew. He could never take her away with him and escape. And she knew that he must know it, too. "If you want to call it that. You tricked me into marrying you. You meant to betray me all the time. Go, while there's still a chance. I don't want your blood on my hands." It was characteristic of him that he always wanted more what he could not get. "Don't answer so quick, girl. Listen to me. I've got enough in that sack to start us in the cattle business in Argentina. There's more buried in the hills, if we need it. Girl, I tell you I'm going to run straight from to-day!" She laughed scornfully. "And in the same breath you tell me how much you have stolen and are taking with you. If you were a Croesus, I wouldn't go with you." She flamed into sudden, fierce passion. "Will you never understand that I hate and detest you?" "You think you do, but you don't. You love me--only you won't let yourself believe it." "There's no arguing with such colossal conceit," she retorted, with hard laughter. "It's no use to tell you that I should like to see you dead at my feet." Swiftly he slid a revolver from its holster, and presented it to her, butt first. "You can have your wish right easy, if you mean it. Go to it. There's no danger. All you've got to give out is that I frightened you. You'll be a heroine, too." She looked at the weapon and at him, and the very thought of it made her sick. She saw the thing almost as if it were already done--the smoking revolver in her hand, and the man lying motionless before her. "Take it away," she said, with a shudder. "You see, you can't do it! You can't even go to the window there and shout out that Black MacQueen is with you in the house. You don't hate me at all, my dear." "Because I won't kill you with my own hand? You reason logically." "Then why don't you betray my presence? Why don't you call your friends in to take me?" "I'm not sure that I won't; but if I don't, it will be for their sakes, and not for yours. They could not take you without loss of life." "You're right there," he agreed, with a flash of his tigerish ferocity. "They couldn't take me alive at all, and I reckon before I checked in a few of them would." _ |
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