Lightnin Part 15

Out of the corner of his eyes Blodgett was watching Bill. "Yes, I knew him well," said the sheriff, gruffly.

Bill leaned closer to Blodgett and looked squarely into his eyes, which showed the same doubt as his own. "I learned him all he knew about killing Indians. Did he ever tell you about the duel I fought with Settin' Bull?"

"Settin' Bull?" The sheriff sat up straight and let his glance travel the length of Bill's body and back again to the old man's eyes, which were not quivering a lash.

"He was standin' when I shot him," grinned Bill. "I never took advantage of n.o.body, not even an Indian."

The sheriff relaxed contemptuously into his chair again. "You've got a bee in your bonnet, 'ain't you?"

"What do you know 'bout bees?" Bill started to roll a cigarette.

"Not much. Do you?" was Blodgett's reply as he looked straight ahead.

Bill slowly rolled the weed, put it in his mouth, and chewed on the end of it. Then he made slow answer, halting between sentences, his eyes slanting toward Blodgett to gather the effect of his words:

"I know all about 'em. I used to be in the bee business. Drove a swarm of bees across the plains in the dead of winter once. And never lost a bee. Got stung twice."

The sheriff jumped to his feet and directed a scornful glance Bill's way as he straightened his coat about his shoulders, twisted his belt, and started for the door, taking his chair and putting it in its place against the wall on his way. "I got enough. I'm going outside."

Hammond, who had been busy going over the register all this while, now came from behind the desk and walked toward Bill. "Now look here, Mr.

Jones--"

"Won't do no good fer you to talk," Bill interrupted him, but did not even glance up, remaining seated in the middle of the lobby. "I ain't goin' to sign nothin'--understand that," he said, not ungently.

Hammond planted himself squarely in front of Bill, setting his doubled fists on his hips. "Well, if you don't," he snarled in a loud voice, "you'll find yourself without a home. You understand that--if you're not too drunk." He delivered the last remark with a sneer that was almost a bark.

"Do you think I'm drunk?" Bill went close to Hammond, his head thrown back the better to look into his opponent's s.h.i.+fting eyes.

But Hammond made him no answer, for just then Mrs. Jones, dressed in an evening gown of the latest cut, appeared on the stairs leading from the California side and walked self-consciously down on the arm of Thomas.

At first Bill did not recognize her. He thought it was some one of the boarders, who often wore evening dress for dinner. He hurried toward the Nevada desk, asking, as his eyes began at Mrs. Jones's feet incased in s.h.i.+ning silver slippers and wandered slowly up the folds of handsome yellow brocade to the wide expanse of bare neck and shoulder, "Do you want your key?"

Mrs. Jones blushed, and the tears sprang to her eyes, as she wrapped the lace scarf flung over her shoulders closer across her bosom. Turning toward Bill, she did not answer him, but took up the pen and pointed to the paper which Hammond had placed on the desk, ready for them both to sign.

By this time Bill's glance had reached her face. For a moment he stared in astonishment. Then he gave a gasp and stood back, his arms limp at his sides. "Mother, 'tain't you?" he gasped.

"Yes, it's me," Mrs. Jones replied, angrily, as she gulped to keep back the tears which were forcing themselves to the surface, part in timidity and part in rage at her spouse, who she thought was making fun of her.

Bill straightened himself and, with a droll nod of his head, replied to Hammond, "You're right, I'm drunk."

Thomas stifled the smile that rose to his lips in spite of himself. He was standing on the other side of Mrs. Jones. Now he came around and stood in front of Bill. "Don't you approve, Lightnin'?" he asked, pleasantly. "She's dressed in the height of fas.h.i.+on."

"Looks higher 'n that to me," Bill drawled, as his eyes twinkled at the eight inches of bare ankle between Mrs. Jones's skirt edge and her silver pumps.

Mrs. Jones, with an insulted toss of her head, dropped the pen with which she had signed the paper and hurried across the lobby to the dining-room door. She was crying, but Bill did not see her tears. His eyes were still fastened upon her ankles. "The mosquitoes 'll give you h.e.l.l in that this summer," he called out as she slammed the door behind her.

Thomas shrugged his shoulders and smiled indulgently. He had made up his mind to leave matters entirely in Hammond's hands now; so he went up the California stairs, calling out to Bill, "You'll get yourself disliked around here, if you don't look out."

"So'll you," Bill called back as he shambled to the same stairway.

But he got no farther than the first step. Hammond laid a detaining hand on his arm, pulling him around in front of him. "See here, Jones," he said, harshly, "I've taken over the management of this place and I don't propose to stand any more nonsense from you, and unless you do as your wife tells you to, sign this deed, I'll kick you out."

Bill pulled himself loose from Hammond and stood facing him, a defiant grin antagonizing Hammond to greater fury. "No, you won't!" Bill laughed, never flinching in the half-open eyes with which he held Hammond's eyes.

"What's the reason I won't?" Hammond asked, making a threatening move.

Still Bill remained unmoved. "'Cause you talk too much about it."

Hammond stood and looked in fury at Bill. But he knew that any harsh treatment on his part might spoil the whole game, which he now felt to be near an end, which meant victory for his plans, so he smothered his desire to lay hands on the old man, and with sudden impulse, born of a desire to end the discussion, he hurried up-stairs to his room, calling back, "You'll see whether I will or not."

CHAPTER XI

When Bill was once more alone he meandered slowly to the Nevada desk and leaned against it, looking abstractedly toward the veranda. Outside, the moon was s.h.i.+ning in long shafts of silver light through the branches of the tall cedars. Beyond the lake lay, itself a moon of silver on the floor of the valley. He could hear the hoot of a hundred billy owls.

Unthinkingly he went to the door and stood there, sniffing at the fragrance of the pines. Then he went back to the desk again.

As Mrs. Jones had closed the dining-room door behind her, he had seen that she was crying. Her tears had acted like a knife on his obstinacy.

If there was one method of bringing Bill to a realization of his shortcomings, it was the knowledge that he had brought his wife to tears. No matter what the occasion, through the years of his many omissions, he had never failed to awaken to a sense of duty at the slightest hint of a sob on her part. And now remorse was gnawing heavily at his heart. He knew that she was sorely tried by his laziness. He knew that ever since she had come from the city she had longed for some of the luxuries which she had tasted for the first and only time in those few brief days when Thomas had given her a bit of every woman's paradise. And as he looked out he wondered in his slow, but none the less logical, way what it mattered, after all, if the place did go, just so long as mother was happy. To be sure, the place was worth much more than Hammond was willing to pay them. But it was enough for their humble needs. From the door beyond he could hear the sound of her sobs. He went half-way across the room. "Yes," he reasoned with himself, "after all, the property is hers. I gave her my part of it to do as she pleased with." And a sudden resolve to do her will possessed him.

But as he reached the middle of the lobby he heard some one on tiptoe behind him. He turned to see Marvin, crouched down by the desk, so that any one coming from up-stairs could not see him.

"'s.h.!.+" Bill put up a warning hand. "Blodgett's outside there some place."

"He's snoring in his buggy," Marvin whispered back, with a half-smile.

"Bill," he added, quickly, "I've been outside and I've heard every word they've been saying to you. I haven't time to tell you all I want to just now. Promise me again that you won't sign that deed until you've talked further with me about it."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "PROMISE ME YOU WON'T SIGN THE DEED." ... BILL HESITATED]

Bill hesitated. "Well, mother wants to awful bad," he answered, slowly.

From the dining-room voices could be heard. "Ye'd better get out," said Bill.

"Not until you promise," persisted Marvin.

Bill wavered an instant. He wanted mother to be happy, and yet, another day did not make so much difference--especially when Marvin was in danger. The door in back of him swung open. Leaning quickly down to Marvin, as the latter crept toward the outer door, he whispered: "All right. I promise."

Mrs. Jones walked into the room with a swagger, half of indignation, half of sorrow. She was still wiping the tears from her eyes. The deed and the pen were in her hand.

Bill went to her, placing an affectionate hand on her bare arm. "Mother, ain't you cold?" He could not resist another tilt at her unusual costume.

"No." She stamped her foot at him, withdrawing her arm from his hand.

"I'm hot all over at you, insulting me before those gentlemen." Hurrying to the California desk, she buried her head on her crossed arms and began to cry. "Makin' fun of me," she sobbed, "because I try to look presentable for once in my life."

Following her to the desk, Bill patted her gently on the back. "It's gettin' late, mother," he coaxed. "You're tired and you've been working hard. You're all tuckered out. Now you go up-stairs and put on some clothes and go to bed."