CHAPTER XI--THE STORM ABOUT TO BURST
There was a strangely paradoxical feeling in the Reverend Willett FordHunt's mind. Nell Blossom was a subject of thought he could not escape.He could not wholly overlook her manners and speech; yet he did not feelthat she was blameworthy for either.
What chance had this wild blossom of a girl ever had, out in thiswilderness, the daughter of a drunken ne'er-do-well, as he had beentold, taught from her childhood to sing for her own living and for herfather's in the saloons of mining camps? Why, almost any other girlwould have gone bad--as bad as could be. And he knew Nell Blossom was notbad.
He really wished he might make Joe Hurley his confidant about the girl,but, harking back to that letter of Joe's in which the latter had spokenso enthusiastically of Nell, the parson felt that his friend was toostrongly prejudiced in Nell's favor to risk his criticizing her in anyway.
One question recurred again and again to him: What did that man Tolley,who he knew was the proprietor of the Grub Stake saloon and dance hall,mean by commanding Nell to return to his employment?
Betty saw her brother's more serious mien, and it must be confessed,wickedly hoped that the situation as it opened before him here at CanyonPass was beginning to appall him. How could it do otherwise? Let alonethe crudeness and lack of conveniences in their dwelling place, thenature of the people with whom they must associate, and the utterforlornness of life here in the mining town, that last incident as theywalked back from the Great Hope Mine should impress Ford with the utterimpracticability of his trying to begin a pastorate here.
The awful ruffian who had sworn at the girl--horrid as she seemed tobe--shocked Betty beyond expression. And what a look that Nell Blossom,she had asked her brother the singer's name, had given her, Betty Hunt!As unfriendly, as hateful, as though the Eastern girl had done thesinger some grievous wrong.
The strange girl had insulted and flouted Ford, too. Betty's loyalty toher brother was up in arms at that, if the truth were told. She couldnot but admire after all Ford's cool assumption of authority with theruffian and with the cabaret singer as well. Why, Ford did not seem tobe afraid of these people at all. Even Joe Hurley could have been nomore sure of himself in such a situation than her brother had proved tobe.
For in spite of her disapproval of the mining man she realized that Joewas perfectly able to handle such situations and such rude people withequanimity. But then, he was of this soil. He was of the West. To tellthe truth, Betty was inclined to think of Hurley as being quite as badin manners, speech, and outlook on life as the other people of CanyonPass.
She would say nothing about all this to her brother. Betty Hunt wasquite capable of thinking things out for herself. Prejudiced she hadbeen--and was--against the town and their visit to it; but she did notutterly lack logic. She went to bed that second night in the Wild RoseHotel with somewhat different thoughts in her mind after all. At least,she did not drag the washstand in front of her locked door as a barrier.
In the morning the mining man appeared at the door of the hotel ridinghis big bay and leading two other saddled horses. The freight wagons hadcome in the evening before, and Betty had got her trunks. Out of one shehad resurrected the riding habit which she had not worn of late, butwhich still fitted her perfectly and was chic.
But Betty was daunted by the look of the mount Hurley had selected forher.
"Mr. Hurley!" exclaimed Betty emphatically, "on your honor, is thathorse safe?"
"As safe as a church. You hitch him on a railroad track, and he'd onlystep just far enough aside for the lightning express to go by withoutshaving him."
She looked at him, both puzzled and disapproving. "I never know when youare serious," she finally said.
"You can bet your last blue chip on the fact that I am taking no chancesof a hoss throwing you or cutting up rusty while you're on his back,"the man returned earnestly. "Hardscrabble is all right, Miss Betty."
He offered his hand to Betty for her to step into with all the grace ofa courtier. He looked up into her eyes, too, as she mounted past hisshoulder into the saddle, and his smile was so friendly that she couldnot help smiling in return.
Hunt swung himself on to his own mount--a rather rangy cayuse thatpromised speed as well as endurance. Hurley bounded into his own saddlefrom the step without touching the stirrups until he was seated. Bouncerstood up on his hind legs, snorted, came down stiff-legged, and buckedonce just to show that he was in fine fettle. The other horses canteredaway from the hotel more sedately.
They spattered through the West Fork and went into the canyon along theriver trail. There was not a soul in sight but themselves when theyturned the first out-thrust of the cliff. Runaway River brawled in itsbed. The huge, threatening cap of the Overhang cast its shadow almost tothe opposite wall. The mighty rocks, the deep cracks in which the brushclung with tenuous roots, the wind-wrung, anguished, stunted trees, allheld the visitors spellbound. Such a devil's slot in the hills theycould never have imagined without actually seeing it.
"Suppose that should fall?" Betty broke out pointing up at the frowningcap of the cliff.
"That's what we are supposing all the time, Miss Betty," replied Hurleyquietly. "Part of it did fall about twenty years ago. That was longbefore my time, of course. But Bill Judson and some of the otherold-timers can tell you about it. It came pretty near ringing thedeath-knell for Canyon Pass."
"Backed up the river into the town, did it?" asked the logical Hunt.
"I'll say it did! And over the town. Judson says it was so deep over hisstore that he went out from the headlands in a flatboat and grappledthrough the skylight of his joint for tobacco out of the showcase. Takesthat old-timer to spread it on thick," and he chuckled.
"But is it likely to happen again?" cried Betty.
"Any day--any hour--any minute," repeated Hurley quietly. "There arethousands of tons of stuff up there that may fall. Choke the canyonhalf-wall high. If it does, there'll be a lake here that'll furnishwater enough to irrigate blame near all of the Topaz Desert--believe me.Canyon Pass will have to go into raising frogs or such," and he laughed.
"Oh! I felt that it was a dangerous place to live in," murmured Betty.
"Great saltpeter!" exclaimed Hurley again. "No worse than folks who liveon the sides of volcanoes in Italy, for instance. Or in the earthquakebelt along the Pacific coast. Pshaw!"
"But--but there is so much room out here, Mr. Hurley," cried Betty. "Whynot choose a safer place in which to establish a town?"
"The mines and washings. Gold established Canyon Pass. It isn't abeautiful spot, but it's handy. We got to just keep on hoping that theOverhang doesn't fall."
"There is a place where some of it has fallen--and recently," Hunt brokein, with some gravity.
Half blocking the trail, and bulking along the river's edge for perhapsten yards, was a heap of gravel and soil on which no grass or otherverdure grew. Looking up the sloping canyon wall they could trace thedownfall of this small slide for more than half the distance to thesummit.
"What is that sticking out of it?" asked Betty. "A stick?"
Hurley sniffed like a bird-dog that has just raised a covey. He was towindward of the heap. Hunt had forced his mount nearer from the otherside.
"That is not a stick," he said quietly. "It looks to me like----"
Hurley ejaculated something that was very near an oath. He flung himselfout of his saddle and strode over the rubble. He stopped and examinedthe thing Betty had seen, even touching it with his gauntleted hand.
"Never heard of this," he muttered. "Odd, I must say!"
"What is it?" asked Hunt.
"A horse's leg. Been pecked clean by the vultures--not by coyotes, or thebones would be torn apart. Well!"
"Oh, there has been a dreadful accident here! Is somebody buried underthat pile of gravel?" demanded Betty.
"Not likely. Just a cayuse. Maybe a wandering critter. Happened to beright here--taking a drink at the riverside, maybe--when the slide fell.Or it might ha
ve been the cause of the slip. Came down with it," Hurleyexplained in jerky sentences. "The weight of the hoss might have brokeoff a piece of the Overhang and--here he is!"
This seemed to satisfy him. He went back to his own horse and mountedagain.
They rode several miles farther, but Joe Hurley did not seem quite sovolatile as usual. Was he "studying" on the buried horse by theriverside? At least, when they rode back toward noon, he fell behind atthe point where the small landslip had landed, halting his horse besideit for a moment. He overtook his friends in a short time, however, butdid not say anything.
As they sighted the ford again, down from the upland on this side came adashing and brilliant-hued figure--a girl on a cream-colored pony. Huntrecognized Nell Blossom at first glance.
"Hi, Nell!" shouted Hurley, raising his hand and arm, palm out, in theIndian peace sign.
She scarcely nodded to him, but she grinned elfishly as she rode downinto the shallows and her pony's flying feet spattered them all at theriver's edge. She scarcely seemed to give Hunt and his sister a glance.She plied the quirt that hung from her wrist, and the cream-colored ponyrecklessly forded the stream and climbed the further bank.
"How impolite," murmured the Eastern girl, brushing the drops from hersleeve.
"She's a little devil," agreed Hurley frankly. "That's the lady I wastelling you of, Willie. She's as wild as a jack rabbit."
Hunt nodded soberly. He made no other comment. As they rode up into MainStreet they heard wild yells and hootings from the far end, then thepattering of a pony's rapid hoofbeats. Back toward the ford tore thecream-colored pony bearing the bizarre figure of the cabaret singer.
Now Nell rode without touching the bridle reins. She swung the whip andcracked it sharply. In the other hand she gripped a six-shooter ofpractical size and weight.
"What is the matter with that crazy creature?" asked Betty.
Hurley merely laughed. Nell Blossom approached at a wild gallop. Menappeared at the doors of various stores and saloons along the street andyelled their delight.
"Ye-yip! Yip-py-yip!" shrieked the appreciative audience. "Oh, you Nell!Ye-_yow_! Git out o' town!"
The girl, her face glowing, her hair flying from under her hat, herwhole figure electric with life and abundance of spirit, rode faster andfaster. As she approached the front of the Grub Stake she saw theslouching figure of its proprietor backed against the wall by the door,smoking. He grinned evilly at the rider.
Nell pressed the trigger. Five staccato shots whistled skyward. Thesixth ruffled the lank hair on Boss Tolley's head and splintered thedoor frame just above it!
The divekeeper dodged and crouched, as though expecting another bullet.He almost slunk into his barroom. Then he realized that the girl hadmade a show of him and was riding on, applauded by the laughter andshrieks of the onlookers.
He whirled, and, lifting both hands, shook the clenched fists after theflying Nell. He was almost apoplectic with rage. He burst forth:
"You crazy, derned hoptoad of a gal! Somebody ought to grab you off thatanimal. Shootin' at folks thataway! Is that what you done when you drovepoor Dick Beckworth over the edge of the Overhang?"
The incoming trio of riders--Hurley, Hunt and Betty--were almost oppositethe Grub Stake as Tolley emitted these words. In a flash the mining manwas out of the saddle and standing in front of the startled Tolley.
"What do you mean, you miserable scoundrel?" demanded Joe in sothreatening a tone that Tolley fell back against the side of thebuilding again. "What do you mean about Dick Beckworth?"
Hunt had spurred his own horse nearer. He feared Joe would do somethingrash. The rolling, bloodshot eye of the divekeeper expressed fear of theother; but he was too much enraged to call caution to his aid at thatmoment.
"I mean what I say," he rumbled. "You don't know it, and nobody else inCanyon Pass, I reckon, knows it but me. But I know that derned crazy galwas the cause of Dick Beckworth's end. And a mean end it was."
"Dick the Devil, _dead_?"
"That's what he is," said Tolley with less vehemence. He sensed that itwould not be wise to be so vociferous with Joe Hurley's eyes glaringinto his own. "Dick come to a mighty mean end. I seen it; but I didn'tknow what it meant."
"It's more likely you killed him, Tolley--if he's dead. Or did you havehim gunned by Tom Hicks or some other of your friends?" demanded Hurleysharply.
"I never! Poor Dick wasn't expectin' nawthin', I allow. That crazygal----"
"Be blamed easy how you bring Nell's name into this," muttered Hurley,his hand upon the butt of his own gun.
Hunt leaned from his saddle and laid his hand upon his friend'sshoulder. Hurley did not look back--he knew better, for there waslikewise a gun at Boss Tolley's belt.
"All right, Willie," the mining man said. "Let's listen to what this rathas to say. But be blame careful, Tolley, that you don't raise yourvoice too high. If you do, I'll certainly maul you a pile."