Part 22 (1/2)

The girl's mind indulged in one frenzied merry go-round before it settled down to constructive thinking. For the first time in her life she was squarely and uncompromisingly up against danger. Ranlett must not suspect that she had been in the shack, that Beechy was unbound. He might be in no way responsible for the condition in which she had found the ex-sergeant, but she couldn't take a chance with Carl's, ”Ranlett--for the love of--did they get you too?” still echoing in her ears. If she could only get him away from the place. The throbbing pulse in her throat, which gave the impression of delicate wings beating futilely against bars, was the only sign of her agitation as she answered the man's question gayly.

”I don't wonder you ask, Mr. Ranlett, I'm a sight.” She laid a finger cautiously against her scratched cheek and laughed. That laugh was a masterpiece of its kind. ”I started for Bear Creek to inquire for Mrs.

Carey, but yielded to the temptation to ride to the top of the hill.

Pandora with her box has nothing on me for curiosity. I was born with an irresistible desire to look on the other side of things and places.” The sudden narrowing of his eyes set her to wondering what false note she had struck, even as she went on:

”When I dismounted the better to peer down into this hollow, something gave a scream as of a thousand furies rampant.” Her shudder was genuine.

”The sound did direful things to Patches' nerves. He bolted down the hill. I bolted after him. I stumbled over something which must have been the keystone of the slope, or its twin, for the hillside gave way and landed me in an ignominious heap of dirt and gravel back of that shack.

A rolling body gathers some scratches,” she paraphrased flippantly as she felt again of her bruised face.

”I'll say you're some little talker, Mrs. Courtlandt, when--when you're frightened. You've never favored me with a word before,” observed Ranlett insolently.

Two red spots burned like able-bodied beacons in Jerry's cheeks. She knew that she had been garrulous, that she had been talking against time, but it was maddening to be told so; the sound of her own voice had sustained her courage. Every moment that she held the attention of the late manager of the Double O counted for Beechy. It took all her strength of purpose to keep her eyes from wandering to the door of the shack. It acted like a malevolent magnet.

”Where is your horse?”

”Back of the cabin. I came here to get water for him.”

”Have you been in the shack?”

”In the shack!” the shudder with which the girl turned her back upon it would have made n.a.z.imova pale with envy. ”That--that gruesome place?

Rather not----”

”Then you are not curious when it comes to empty houses? You're not consistent, Pandora. Where did you get that can?”

Jerry felt as though she were under a machine gun fire of words. The man's insolence infuriated her. She didn't dare resent it for fear he would leave her and investigate the cabin. She looked down at the can she still held between finger and thumb, then at the bed of ashes beside the pool.

”Did I find it there or behind the shack?” She mused as though interrogating herself, then quickly, ”Is it yours? Take it if you want it.”

”You know d--ed well that you didn't pick it up outside,” Ranlett exploded as he caught the girl by the shoulder; she felt his hot flesh through her thin blouse. ”You've been in that shack and you've----”

”Take your hand away! Quick!” Jerry commanded, her voice hoa.r.s.e, her face white, her eyes blazing.

”I'll let you go when I get good and ready.” The man sunk his fingers deeper into her shoulder to emphasize his words. ”What's that yellow coyote in there been telling you----”

”Nothin' to your advantage, Ranlett. Put up your hands an' put 'em up quick,” interrupted a voice. It was Beechy, Beechy leveling Jerry's villainous six-shooter at Ranlett's head. His face was white, one eye was almost closed but he had an air of c.o.c.ky unconcern.

”Mrs. Lieut., grab his horse. No you don't!” as the late manager of the Double O, arms held high above his head, tried to trip the girl. A bullet whizzed so close to his ear that Ranlett turned a sickly green.

”Yer see, I'm a little nervous. I'm used to this old-time six-shooter; I've been using a Colt 45. I'll get the range better next time and it'll come closer. I didn't get my expert rifleman badge in the army for shootin' c.r.a.p. Frisk his pockets, Mrs. Lieut.” For the fraction of a second Jerry hesitated.

”Quick! Get busy, unless you want more of his pack down on us. That's the stuff! Now you're talkin',” as the girl produced a corpulent revolver from a hip pocket. Ranlett's voice was hoa.r.s.e with fury as he dared:

”You'll need that gun, Beechy, when Courtlandt finds that you and the missus have been meeting--you sure have a way with the ladies.”

Jerry's cry was submerged in Beechy's oath. The man's face was like granite, as gray, as immovable. Only his eyes blazed. His tone was as cold and pa.s.sionless as his face.

”Meanin'? You'll pay for that, Ranlett, but not now. Just for fear your gang will b.u.t.t in we'll make our getaway, but remember--I'm comin' back.

I want you and I want the feller that cracked my head. Hand me his gun, Mrs. Lieut. Lead his horse and yours to the top of the hill and wait--don't look around--get me?”

”Yes, I get you, sergeant--but you won't----” Jerry hesitated with the bridle of Ranlett's big chestnut in her hand.