CHAPTER XI
FOR THE "KIDDIES"
Trevison dropped from Nigger at the dooryard of Levins' cabin, and lookedwith a grim smile at Levins himself lying face downward across the saddleon his own pony. He had carried Levins out of the _Belmont_ and had thrownhim, as he would have thrown a sack of meal, across the saddle, where hehad lain during the four-mile ride, except during two short intervals inwhich Trevison had lifted him off and laid him flat on the ground, torest. Trevison had meditated, not without a certain wry humor, upon thestrength and the protracted potency of Manti's whiskey, for not onceduring his home-coming had Levins shown the slightest sign of returningconsciousness. He was as slack as a meal sack now, as Trevison lifted himfrom the pony's back and let him slip gently to the ground at his feet. Afew minutes later, Trevison was standing in the doorway of the cabin, hisburden over his shoulder, the weak glare of light from within the cabinstabbing the blackness of the night and revealing him to the white-facedwoman who had answered his summons.
Her astonishment had been of the mute, agonized kind; her eyes, hollow,eloquent with unspoken misery and resignation, would have told Trevisonthat this was not the first time, had he not known from personalobservation. She stood watching, gulping, shame and mortification bringingpatches of color into her cheeks, as Trevison carried Levins into abedroom and laid him down, removing his boots. She was standing near thedoor when Trevison came out of the bedroom; she was facing the blacknessof the desert night--a blacker future, unknowingly--and Trevison halted onthe threshold of the bedroom door and set his teeth in sympathy. For thewoman deserved better treatment. He had known her for several years--sincethe time when Levins, working for him, had brought her from a ranch on theother side of the Divide, announcing their marriage. It had been adifferent Levins, then, as it was a different wife who stood at the doornow. She had faded; the inevitable metamorphosis wrought by neglect, worryand want, had left its husks--a wan, tired-looking woman of thirty who hadonly her hopes to nourish her soul. There were children, too--if that wereany consolation. Trevison saw them as he glanced around the cabin. Theywere in another bed; through an archway he could see their chubby faces.His lungs filled and his lips straightened.
But he grinned presently, in an effort to bring cheer into the cabin,reaching into a pocket and bringing out the money he had recovered forLevins.
"There are nearly a thousand dollars here. Two tin-horn gamblers tried totake it from Clay, but I headed them off. Tell Clay--"
Mrs. Levins' face whitened; it was more money than she had ever seen atone time.
"Clay's?" she interrupted, perplexedly. "Why, where--"
"I haven't the slightest idea--but he had it, they tried to take it awayfrom him--it's here now--it belongs to you." He shoved it into her handsand stepped back, smiling at the stark wonder and joy in her eyes. He sawthe joy vanish--concern and haunting worry came into her eyes.
"They told me that Clay shot--killed--a man yesterday. Is it true?" Shecast a fearing look at the bed where the children lay.
"The damned fools!"
"Then it's true!" She covered her face with her hands, the money in them.Then she took the hands away and looked at the money in them, loathingly."Do you think Clay--"
"No!" he said shortly, anticipating. "That couldn't be. For the man Claykilled had this money on him. Clay accused him of picking his pocket. Claygave the bartender in the _Plaza_ the number of each bill before he sawthem after taking the bills out of the pickpocket's clothing. So it can'tbe as you feared."
She murmured incoherently and pressed both hands to her breast. He laughedand walked to the door.
"Well, you need it, you and the kiddies. I'm glad to have been of someservice to you. Tell Clay he owes me something for cartage. If there isanything I can do for you and Clay and the kiddies I'd be only too glad."
"Nothing--now," said the woman, gratitude shining from her eyes, minglingwith a worried gleam. "Oh!" she added, passionately; "if Clay was onlydifferent! Can't you help him to be strong, Mr. Trevison? Like you? Can'tyou be with him more, to try to keep him straight for the sake of thechildren?"
"Clay's odd, lately," Trevison frowned. "He seems to have changed a lot.I'll do what I can, of course." He stepped out of the door and then lookedback, calling: "I'll put Clay's pony away. Good night." And the darknessclosed around him.
* * * * *
Over at Blakeley's ranch, J. C. Benham had just finished an inspection ofthe interior and had sank into the depths of a comfortable chair facinghis daughter. Blakeley and his wife had retired, the deal that would placethe ranch in possession of Benham having been closed. J. C. gazedcritically at his daughter.
"Like it here, eh?" he said. "Well, you look it." He shook a finger ather. "Agatha has been writing to me rather often, lately," he added. Therefollowed no answer and J. C. went on, narrowing his eyes at the girl. "Shetells me that this fellow who calls himself 'Brand' Trevison has provenhimself a--shall we say, persistent?--escort on your trips of inspectionaround the ranch."
Rosalind's face slowly crimsoned.
"H'm," said Benham.
"I thought Corrigan--" he began. The girl's eyes chilled.
"H'm," said Benham, again.