*CHAPTER XXVIII*
_*Apache Kid Behaves Strangely at the Half-Way House to Kettle*_
You hear people talk of the _Autumn feeling in the air_. Well, theAutumn feeling was in the air as we drove down through the rollingfoothills to the Half-Way House.
My farewell to Mr. and Mrs. Laughlin had touched me deeply. It was onlya word or two and a handshake, for when it comes to parting in the West,there is never any effusion--partings there are so frequent that peoplespare themselves the pain of them and make them brief. Butnevertheless, they sting.
There was sunlight, to be sure, all the way; but that Autumn feeling wasthere. The sound of the wheels fell dead on the air, and we were allmoody and quiet. I got it into my head that I was soon to say farewellto Apache Kid, and that forever. He was exceedingly thoughtful andsilent, and I wondered if he was meditating on the suggestion of Mrs.Laughlin regarding the advisability of his settling down, asking MissPinkerton for her hand, and becoming a respectable person.
Before we came in sight of the Half-Way House we heard the dull rasp ofa saw, and then, topping the second last roll of the sandy hills andswinging round the base of the last one, we went rocketing up to thehotel. A man at the wood trestle, which stood at the gable-end,straightened himself and looked up at our approach, and I saw that hewas the red-headed man who had "held up" Apache Kid at the Rest House onour last journey.
Apache Kid's face went a trifle more thoughtful at sight of him, butjust then Miss Pinkerton appeared at the door to welcome us. But whenwe alighted I detected something new in her manner toward us. What itwas I cannot exactly tell. Certainly she was just as demure, asopen-eyed, as natural as before. But she did not seem to require ourpresence now for all that she welcomed us in a friendly way. There wasthat in her manner that made me think she would bid us farewell just asinnocently and pleasantly, and straightway forget about us. Her welcomeseemed a duty.
"These are the two gentlemen I told you about, George," she said to thered-headed man. "Mr. Brooks," she introduced, "but I don't know yournames, gentlemen, beyond just Apache Kid and Francis."
George nodded to us.
"I guess these names will serve," said he. "How do, gentlemen? Kind ofclose this eve."
"It is, indeed," said Apache Kid. "The Summer is ended, the harvest ispast," he quoted.
"Yes," said George, "there is that feeling in the air, now."
"As if the end of all things was at hand," said Apache Kid.
He was looking George right in the eyes.
I thought something forbidding was in their exchange of glances, butthen of course I had seen them meet before in the peculiar circumstancesof which you know. Margaret, I think, saw nothing noteworthy (for allshe was a woman), but then, she did not know that these men wereacquainted; they gave no sign of that.
"You will want a wash before you eat," she said, ushering us in, andGeorge nodded, and, "See you later," said he.
Margaret attended to our wants herself when we sat down to table in thefresh dining-room. But there was little said until the meal was over,and she sat down beside us. Apache Kid seemed to be thinking hard.
"Well, Miss Pinkerton," he said at last, making bread pills on the tableand smoothing a few crumbs about in little mountain ridges and thenlevelling them again. "You remember what we told you about Mr.Pinkerton's last wishes for you?"
"Yes," she said, "I was telling George what pop had said."
Apache's eyebrows frowned a trifle, and then settled again.
"Yes?" he said, as though requesting an explanation of what she meant bythis; but she remained silent.
"O, I thought perhaps the gentleman had made some suggestion, when youmentioned his name just now," said Apache Kid.
But she did not yet reply, and he went on again:
"Well, Miss Pinkerton, I may tell you that we failed to find any suchbonanza at the Lost Cabin as we had hoped for."
Margaret Pinkerton stiffened, and I glanced up to see her looking onApache's face with pin-points of eyes and a look on her face as thoughshe said: "So--you are a contemptible fellow, after all."
I think she had really admired Apache Kid before, but I surmised--athird party, the one who looks on and does not talk, can surmise a greatdeal--that, as the saying is, she had been _tampered with_. She hadheard tales against my friend, and now doubtless believed that she wasprovided with proof that he was a rogue. The look on her face was asthough she were gaining confirmation.
"Excuse me interrupting," said George, in the doorway, "but I supposeyou have speciments o' this ore."
I expected Apache Kid either to ignore the interruption or to recogniseit with some sarcasm or flash of anger. Instead, he turned lightly tothe speaker.
"Ah!" he said, "I had not noticed you. So you are interested in----" hepaused, "in mines," he said.
Margaret stiffened, and George said easily:
"Well in this one I reckon I am."
"Ah yes," said Apache Kid. "There has been of course a lot of talkabout it. Yes, I have specimens."
He produced two pieces and handed them to George, and then turning toMiss Pinkerton, he said:
"I was going to make a suggestion to you, Miss Pinkerton, rememberingyour father's desire that we--remembering the desire he expressed to us,I was going to make the suggestion, that, if it would not offend you,you would accept-- May I speak before this gentleman?"
"Certainly," said she, coldly.
He bowed.
"I was going to suggest that you might allow me to transfer to your bankthe sum of--let me see--" and he took a paper from his pocket. It wasinconceivable that he had forgotten the amount, but he glanced at thepaper, and then looked up as though making a computation, but in sodoing looked both at the young woman and at George, who was leaningagainst a neighbouring table. "The sum of twenty thousand, sevenhundred and forty dollars," said he.
There was no change on his face; he spoke as lightly of the sum as mighta Rockefeller, and his was the only face that remained immobile. Butthen, of course, he was the only one who knew what was coming.
George stared with a look of doubt.
Margaret looked at Apache Kid keenly and then at George for a longspace, thoughtfully.
For me--I was thunderstruck. I gasped. I think I must have cried outsomething (I know that what I thought was: "Why! This is your entireshare, apart from the turquoises,") for the three were all looking at methen.
I knew besides that he had no money left, apart from our Lost Cabinwealth; for he had told me so. Twenty thousand, seven hundred and fiftyhad been his share of the gold and ten dollars of this he had paidalready for his seat in the stage. He was giving this girl all he had.
"It will not go very far," said Apache Kid, smiling. "It is, after all,very little to offer, but I am in hopes that within a fortnight or so Imay be able to perhaps double the amount. I know," and now, if youlike, I could see the sneer creep on his face, "I know that women arenot mercenary and I must apologise for speaking of money matters. Itwas not only money matters that were in Mr. Pinkerton's mind, I believe.I believe it was your happiness that he was anxious about. I cannotpretend to myself that I could ever, by offering you money, wipe out thedebt we owe him. I know that we were the cause of his death, though wedid not fire the fatal shot. Money, to my mind, could never recompensefor a life lost for others."
He looked up and saw Margaret's eyes fixed on him--and his eyes did notremove. He gazed into hers unflinching, and as he looked hers filledwith tears. He had his head raised and she seemed to be looking clearinto his soul. Her face was very beautiful to see then.
How George took all this I do not know; for I was looking on the girl.
"O!" she said, her voice quavering. "O, I think you are just _allright_."
Then she bowed her head and wept quietly to herself and as I could notbear to see her thus and do nothing to console her, I very softly roseto steal out. I
knew myself a spectator, not an actor in this affair.Out into the red-gold evening I went and looked across the brown,rolling plain and Apache followed me and then George came after us andsaid quietly to him:
"What game is this you are playing?"
Apache Kid turned to him. "Be guided," he said, "by a woman'sintuition. You saw that she knew I was playing no game."
And then he said very quietly: "Are you aware, George, that if I wishedI could steal her away from you?"
The breath sucked into George's nostrils in a series of little gasps andcame forth similarly.
"I believe you are a devil," he said. "And if it was n't for her, I 'dfinish our other little matter right now."
"We will let that rest--for her sake," said Apache Kid. "Still, tellme, are you aware of that? Do you know that I am master here?"
George's face was pale under the sun-brown.
We were standing there in that fashion when there was a sound of slowhoofs in the sand and three ponies came ploughing along the road, anold, dry-faced Indian riding behind the string.
"You want to buy a horse?" he asked.
Apache Kid looked up.
"Well, we might trade," said he. "How much you want for them two, thisand that?"
"Heap cheap," said the Indian. "Ten dollah."
"For two?"
"No, ten dollah for one, ten dollah for one."
"It's a trade then," said Apache Kid. "Will you lend me twenty dollars,Francis?"
I glanced at George and saw him looking dazed, uncomprehending.
I think the Indian was surprised there was no attempt to beat down theprice and regretted he had not asked more.
When Apache Kid paid for the horses he gave me the halters to hold,stood absently a moment with puckered brows and biting lips, then drew along breath and stepped into the house again. George did not follow butstood looking over the plain.
"What is his game?" said George.
"I do not know," said I, "but whatever it is you may be sure it isnothing mean."
George meditated and then:
"No, I guess not," he said. "He's too deep for me, though. I don'tunderstand him. Did he ever tell you our little trouble?"
"No," said I.
"Neither will I, then," said he, "and I guess he never will."
"I would n't think of asking him," said I.
"And he would n't think of telling," replied George.
And just then Apache Kid came out and Miss Pinkerton with him. I thinkit was as well that the verandah was in shadow.
"George," she said, and I at least caught a tremble in her voice."Ain't this too bad? Apache Kid tells me that he has just reckoned onpulling out right away,--says he never meant to stay here over night. Iwanted to lend him two of our mounts, but he says he 's got these twofrom an Indian, and they 'll serve. Do you think you could get a pairof saddles turned out?"
"Ce't'inly," said George; and away he went to rout out the saddles.
I could not understand Margaret's next remark.
"If they do come down after you," said she, "I 'll tell them----"
"Better tell them you did n't see us go away," interrupted Apache Kid."Better just don't see us go away--and then you 'll be able to speak thetruth. You won't know which way we went."
She seemed very sad at this, but George now returned with the saddles,and we were soon ready for the way, our blankets strapped behind.
Margaret held up her hand.
"Good-bye," she said.
"Good-bye, Miss Pinkerton," said Apache Kid.
She stretched up and said: "You 're too good a man to be----" I lostthe rest, and, indeed, I was not meant to hear anything.
She shook hands with me.
"If ever you are in them parts again," she said, "don't forget us; butyou 'll have to ask for Mrs. Brooks then."
Apache was holding out his hand to George, who took it quickly, withaverted face.
"Good-bye, Mr. Brooks," said Apache Kid. "And, by the way, in case youmight think it worth while to have a look at that ore in place, I 'veleft a map of your route to the mountain with Miss Pinkerton, and anaccount of how you might strike it. You can tell the sheriff of Bakeryou have it. He and Slim, that lean assistant of his, are the only menwho know about the lie of the land; the Indian tracker does n't count.You can do what you like between you."
George seemed nonplussed.
"This," said he, "is real good of you, sir; but I don't know what you doit for."
"O!" said Apache Kid. "I told you I had n't much faith in its value,you remember."
"Yes, so you did," said George; but he seemed doubtful, and thensuddenly took Apache Kid's hand again and shook it. "We 're friends, wetwo," said he.
"Why, sure, you 're friends," said Margaret, hastily; but her eyeslooked out on the road to Baker City, and she seemed listening for someapproach.
Apache touched his horse, and it wheeled and sidled a little and threwup the dust, and then suddenly decided to accept this new master.
My mount was duplicating that performance, and when he got startedMargaret gave just one wave of her hand and, taking George by the arm,led him indoors. When we looked back, the house stood solitary in thesand.
"What does this mean?" I said.
But Apache Kid did not answer, and we rode on and on in silence whilethe evening darkened on the road to Camp Kettle.
But the look on Apache Kid's face forbade question.