CHAPTER XIX
AN UNCONVENTIONAL TEA PARTY
As the flames broke through the roof, Langford came rushing up where thegroup stood a little apart from the press.
"Dick! I have been looking for you everywhere," he cried, hoarsely.
"What's the trouble, old man?" asked Gordon, quietly.
"I have something to tell you," said Langford, in a low voice. "Comequick--let's go back to your rooms. Why, girls--"
"We will go, too," said Mary, with quiet decision. She had caught aglimpse of Red Sanderson's face through the crowd, and she thought hehad leered at her. She had been haunted by the vague feeling that shemust have known the man who had attempted to carry her off--that dreadfulnight; but she had never been able to concentrate the abstract, fleetingimpressions into comprehensive substance--never until she had seen thatscar and glancing away in terror saw that Langford, too, had seen; butshe was not brave enough to lose herself and Louise in the crowd wherethat man was. She could not. He had leered at Louise, too, last night atsupper. They could not ask the protection of Gordon and Langford back tothe hotel then, when Langford's handsome, tanned face was white with theweight of what he had to tell.
"It will be best," he agreed, unexpectedly. "Come--we must hurry!"
It was Williston's "little girl" whom he took under his personalprotection, diving up the street in the teeth of the gale which blewcolder every moment, with a force and strength that kept Mary half thetime off her feet. A gentler knight was Gordon--though as manly. All wasdark around the premises. There was no one lurking near. Everybody wasdancing attendance on the court-house holocaust. Gordon felt for hiskeys.
"How good it is to get out of the wind," whispered Louise. Thisproceeding smacked so much of the mysterious that whispering followed asa natural sequence.
They stepped within. It was inky black.
"Lock the door," said Langford, in a low voice.
Gordon complied, surprised, but asking no question. He knew his friend,and had faith in his judgment. Then he lighted a lamp that stood on hisdesk.
"Why did you do that?" asked Louise, gravely.
"What?"
"Lock the door."
"I don't know," he answered, honestly. "I didn't think you would noticethe click. Ask Paul."
"I'll explain in a minute," said Langford. He stepped to the windows anddrew the blinds closely.
"Now that I have you safe," he said, lightly, "I'll confess I had an oldwoman's scare. It came to me that as long as you are not, strictlyspeaking, on kind and loving terms with--every one west of the river,--andthis being such an all-round nasty night anyway, why, I'd just spirityou home and give the charged atmosphere a chance of clearing a little."
Gordon looked at him steadily a moment. His face did not pale. Yet heknew that Langford had heard--or suspected--more than he intended totell--then. It was good to see him shrug his shoulders in unconcern forthe sake of the two white-faced girls who sat there in his stiff officechairs.
"You are an old duffer, Paul," he said, in pretended annoyance. "Youtreat me like a child. I won't stand it always. You'll see. Some dayI'll rebel--and--then--"
"Meanwhile, I'll just trot these ladies back to the hotel," saidLangford. "But you must promise to keep your head inside. We're fixturesuntil we have that promise."
"What, lock me up and run off with--all the ladies! I guess not! Whydidn't we round up that way, I'd like to know? This isn't Utah, Paul.You can't have both."
Paul meant for him to lie low, then. He was also in a hurry to get thegirls away. Evidently the danger lay here. There was a tightening of thefirm mouth and an ominous contraction of the pupils of the eyes. Hestirred the fire, then jammed a huge, knotted stick into the sheet ironstove. It seemed as if everybody had sheet iron stoves in this country.The log caught with a pleasant roar as the draught sent flames leapingup the chimney. But Paul made no movement to go. Then he, Gordon, hadnot understood his friend. Maybe the menace was not here, but outside.If so, he must contrive to keep his guests interested here. He wouldleave the lead to Paul. Paul knew. He went back to his living-room andreturned, bringing two heavy buggy robes.
"You will find my bachelor way of living very primitive," he said, withhis engaging smile. He arranged the robes over two of the chairs andpushed them close up to the stove. "I haven't an easy chair in thehouse--prove it by Paul, here. Haven't time to rock, and can't afford torun the risk of cultivating slothful habits. Take these, do," he urged,"and remove your coats."
"Thank you--you are very kind," said Louise. "No, I won't take off myjacket," a spot of color staining her cheek when she thought of her gaykimono. Involuntarily, she felt of her throat to make sure the mufflerhad not blown awry. "We shall be going soon, shan't we, Mr. Langford? IfMr. Gordon is in any danger, you must stay with him and let us go alone.It is not far."
"Surely," said Mary, with a big sinking of the heart, but meaning whatshe said.
"Not at all," said Gordon, decidedly. "It's just his womanish way ofbossing me. I'll rebel some day. Just wait! But before you go, I'll maketea. You must have gotten chilled through."
He would keep them here a while and then let them go--with Langford. Thethought made him feel cheap and cowardly and sneaking. Far rather wouldhe step out boldly and take his chances. But if there was to be anyshooting, it must be where Louise,--and Mary, too--was not. He believedPaul, in his zeal, had exaggerated evil omens, but there was Louise inhis bachelor rooms--where he had never thought to see her; there with hercheeks flushed with the proximity to the stove--his stove--her fair hairwindblown. No breath of evil thing must assail her that night--thatnight, when she had glorified his lonely habitation--even though hehimself must slink into a corner like a cowardly cur. A strange elationtook possession of him. She was here. He thought of last night andseemed to walk on air. If he won out, maybe--but, fool that he was! whatwas there in this rough land for a girl like--Louise?
"Oh, no, that will be too much trouble," gasped Louise, in some alarmand thinking of Aunt Helen.
"Thanks, old man, we'll stay," spoke up Langford, cheerfully. "He makesexcellent tea--really. I've tried it before. You will never regretstaying."
Silently he watched his friend in the inner room bring out a batteredtea-kettle, fill it with a steady hand and put it on the stove in theoffice, coming and going carelessly, seemingly conscious of nothing inthe world but the comfort of his unexpected guests.
True to her sex, Louise was curiously interested in the housekeepingarrangements of a genuine bachelor establishment. Woman-like, she sawmany things in the short time she was there--but nothing that diminishedher respect for Richard Gordon. The bed in the inner chamber where bothmen slept was disarranged but clean. Wearing apparel was strewn overchairs and tables. There was a litter of magazines on the floor. Shelaid them up against Langford; she did not think Gordon had the time orinclination to cultivate the magazine habit. She did not know to whoseweakness to ascribe the tobacco pouch and brier-wood pipe placedinvitingly by the side of a pair of gay, elaborately bead-embroideredmoccasons, cosily stowed away under the head of the bed; but she wasrather inclined to lay these, too, to Langford's charge. The howlingtempest outside only served to enhance the cosiness of the rumbling fireand the closely drawn blinds.
But tea was never served in those bachelor rooms that night--neither thatnight nor ever again. It was a little dream that went up in flame withthe walls that harbored it. Who first became conscious that the tang ofsmoke was gradually filling their nostrils, it was hard to tell. Theywere not far behind each other in that consciousness. It was Langfordwho discovered that the trouble was at the rear, where the wind wouldsoon have the whole building fanned into flames. Gordon unlocked thedoor quietly. He said nothing. But Paul, springing in front of him,himself threw it open. It was no new dodge, this burning a man out toshoot him as one would drown out a gopher for the killing. He need nothave been afraid. The alarm had spread. The street in front was rapidlyfilling. One would hardly have dared to shoot--th
en--if one had meant to.And he did not know. He only knew that deviltry had been in the air forGordon that night. He had suspected more than he had overheard, but ithad been in the air.
Gordon saw the action and understood it. He never forgot it. He saidnothing, but gave his friend an illuminating smile that Langfordunderstood. Neither ever spoke of it, neither ever forgot it. Howtightly can quick impulses bind--forever.
Outside, they encountered the Judge in search of his delinquent charges.
"I'm sorry, Dick," he said. "Dead loss, my boy. This beastly wind isyour undoing."
"I'm not worrying, Judge," responded Gordon, grimly. "I intend for someone else to do that."
"Hellity damn, Dick, hellity damn!" exploded Jim Munson in his ear. Thewords came whistling through his lips, caught and whirled backward bythe play of the storm. The cold was getting bitter, and a fine, cuttingsnow was at last driving before the wind.
Gordon, with a set face, plunged back into the room--already fire licked.Langford and Munson followed. There sat the little tea-service staringat them with dumb pathos. The three succeeded in rolling the safe withall its precious documents arranged within, out into the street. Nothingelse mattered much--to Gordon. But other things were saved, and Jimgallantly tossed out everything he could lay his hands on before Gordonordered everybody out for good and all. It was no longer safe to bewithin. Gordon was the last one out. He carried a battered littleteakettle in his hand. He looked at it in a whimsical surprise as if hehad not known until then that he had it in his hand. Obeying a suddenimpulse, he held it out to Louise.
"Please take care of--my poor little dream," he whispered with a strange,intent look.
Before she could comprehend the significance or give answer, the Judgehad faced about. He bore the girls back to the hotel, scoldinghelplessly all the way as they scudded with the wind. But Louise heldthe little tin kettle firmly.
Men knew of Richard Gordon that night that he was a marked man. Thesecret workings of a secret clan had him on their proscription list.Some one had at last found this unwearied and doggedly persistent youngfellow in the way. In the way, he was a menace, a danger. He must beremoved from out the way. He could not be bought from it--he should bewarned from it. So now his home--his work room and his rest room, thefirst by many hours daily the more in use, with all its furnishings ofbachelor plainness and utility, that yet had held a curious charm forsome men, friends and cronies like Langford--was burning that he might bewarned. Could any one say, "Jesse Black has done this thing"? Would henot bring down proof of guilt by a retaliation struck too soon? It wouldseem as if he were anticipating an unfavorable verdict. So men reasoned.And even then they did not arise to stamp out the evil that had enduredand hugged itself and spit out corruption in the cattle country. Thatwas reserved for--another.
They talked of a match thrown down at the courthouse by a tramp,likely,--when it was past midnight, when the fire broke out with the winda piercing gale, and when no vagrant but had long since left such coldcomfort and had slept these many weeks in sunnier climes. Some arguedthat the windows of the court-room might have been left open and thestove blown down by the wind tearing through, or the stove door mighthave blown open and remains of the fire been blown out, or the pipemight have fallen down. But it was a little odd that the same peoplesaid Dick Gordon's office likely caught fire from flying sparks. Dick'soffice was two blocks to westward of the court-house and it would havebeen a brave spark and a lively one that could have made headway againstthat northwester.