The Girl of the Golden West Part 31

Again Johnson's hand went up imperatively.

"Don't let him come in!" he whispered.

But even then she heard not his warning, but silently, tremulously listened to Sonora, who shouted through the door: "Say, Girl, you all right?" And not until her answering voice had called back her a.s.surance that she was safe did she turn to the man at her side and whisper in a voice that showed plainly her agitation and fear:

"Jack Rance is there! If he was to see you here--he's that jealous I'd be afraid--" She checked her words and quickly put her ear close to the door, the voices outside having become louder and more distinct.

Presently she spun round on her heel and announced excitedly: "Ashby's there, too!" And again she put her ear to the door.

"Ashby!" The exclamation fell from Johnson's lips before he was aware of it. It was impossible to deceive himself any longer--the posse had tracked him!

"We want to come in, Girl!" suddenly rang out from the well-known voice of Nick.

"But you can't come in!" shouted back the Girl above the noise of the storm; then, taking advantage of a particularly loud howl of the blast, she turned to Johnson and inquired: "What will I say? What reason will I give?"

Serious as was Johnson's predicament, he could not suppress a smile. In a surprisedly calm voice he told her to say that she had gone to bed.

The Girl's eyes flooded with admiration.

"Why, o' course--that's it," she said, and turned back to the door and called through it: "I've gone to bed, Nick! I'm in bed now!"

The barkeeper's answer was lost in another loud howl of the blast. Soon afterwards, however, the Girl made out that Nick was endeavouring to convey to her a warning of some kind.

"You say you've come to warn me?" she cried.

"Yes, Ramerrez . . .!"

"What? Say that again?"

"Ramerrez is on the trail--"

"Ramerrez's on the trail!" repeated the Girl in tones of alarm; and not waiting to hear further she motioned to Johnson to conceal himself behind the curtains of the bed, muttering the while:

"I got to let 'em in--I can't keep 'em out there on such a night . . ."

He had barely reached his place of concealment when the Girl slid back the bolts and bade the boys to come in.

Headed by Rance, the men quickly filed in and deposited their lanterns on the floor. It was evident that they had found the storm most severe, for their boots were soaked through and their heavy buffalo overcoats, caps and ear-m.u.f.fs were covered with snow, which all, save Rance, proceeded to remove by shaking their shoulders and stamping their feet.

The latter, however, calmly took off his gloves, pulled out a beautifully-creased handkerchief from his pocket, and began slowly to flick off the snow from his elegant mink overcoat before hanging it carefully upon a peg on the wall. After that he went over to the table and warmed his hands over the lighted candle there. Meanwhile, Sonora, his nose, as well as his hands which with difficulty he removed from his heavy fur mittens, showing red and swollen from the effects of the biting cold, had gone over to the fire, where he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed:

"Ouf, I'm cold! Glad you're safe, Girl!"

"Yes, Girl, The Polka's had a narrow squeak," observed Nick, stamping his feet which, as well as his legs, were wrapped with pieces of blankets for added warmth.

Unconsciously, at his words, the Girl's eyes travelled to the bed; then, drawing her robe snugly about her, and seating herself, she asked with suppressed excitement:

"Why, Nick, what's the matter? What's--"

Rance took it upon himself to do the answering. Sauntering over to the Girl, he drawled out:

"It takes you a long time to get up, seems to me. You haven't so much on, either," he went on, piercing her with his eyes.

Smilingly and not in the least disconcerted by the Sheriff's remark, the Girl picked up a rug from the floor and wound it about her knees.

"Well?" she interrogated.

"Well, we was sure that you was in trouble," put in Sonora. "My breath jest stopped."

"Me? Me in trouble, Sonora?" A little laugh that was half-gay, half-derisive, accompanied her words.

"See here, that man Ramerrez--" followed up Rance with a grim look.

"--feller you was dancin' with," interposed Sonora, but checked himself instantly lest he wound the Girl's feelings.

Whereupon, Rance, with no such compunctions, became the spokesman, a grimace of pleasure spreading over his countenance as he thought of the unpleasant surprise he was about to impart. Stretching out his stiffened fingers over the blaze, he said in his most brutal tones:

"Your polkying friend is none other than Ramerrez."

The Girl's eyes opened wide, but they did not look at the Sheriff. They looked straight before her.

"I warned you, girl," spoke up Ashby, "that you should bank with us oftener."

The Girl gave no sign of having heard him. Her slender figure seemed to have shrunken perceptibly as she stared stupidly, uncomprehendingly, into s.p.a.ce.

"We say that Johnson was--" repeated Rance, impatiently.

"--what?" fell from the Girl's lips, her face pale and set.

"Are you deaf?" demanded Rance; and then, emphasising every word, he rasped out: "The fellow you've been polkying with is the man that has been asking people to hold up their hands."

"Oh, go on--you can't hand me out that!" Nevertheless the Girl looked wildly about the room.

Angrily Rance strode over to her and sneered bitingly:

"You don't believe it yet, eh?"

"No, I don't believe it yet!" rapped out the Girl, laying great stress upon the last word. "I know he isn't."

"Well, he _is_ Ramerrez, and he _did_ come to The Polka to rob it,"

retorted the Sheriff.

All at once the note of resentment in the Girl's voice became positive; she flared back at him, though she flushed in spite of herself.

"But he didn't rob it!"

"That's what gits me," fretted Sonora. "He didn't."

"I should think it would git you," snapped back the Girl, both in her look and voice rebuking him for his words.

It was left to Ashby to spring another surprise.