CHAPTER XIX
READY GUN AND CLEAN HEART
Uncle Jepson understood the cow-punchers because he understood humannature, and because he had a strain of the wild in him that had beenretained since his youth. Their simplicity, their directness, had beenhis own; their frankness and generosity, their warm, manly impulses--allreminded him of the days before age, with its accompanying conservatismof thought and action, had placed a governor upon them. They understoodhim, too, recognizing him as their kind. Blair, especially, had taken afancy to him, and therefore it was not many days after the shooting ofKelso that Uncle Jepson got the story, with all its gruesome details,from his lips.
The tale was related in strictest confidence, and Uncle Jepson did notrepeat it.
But the main fact, that Randerson had killed another man in his outfit,found its way to Ruth's ears through the medium of a roaming puncher whohad stopped for an hour at the ranchhouse. Ruth had confirmed the newsthrough questioning several Flying W men, and, because of theirreluctance to answer her inquiries, their expressionless faces, shegathered that the shooting had not met with their approval. She did notconsider that they had given her no details, that they spoke no word ofblame or praise. She got nothing but the bare fact--that Randerson's gunhad again wrought havoc.
She had not seen Masten. A month had slipped by since the day of hisdeparture, when she got a note from him, by messenger, from Lazette,saying that his business was not yet concluded, and that possibly, twoweeks more would elapse before he would be able to visit the Flying W.
Had Randerson, standing near the chuck wagon on the night of the shootingof Kelso, known what effect the news would have on Ruth? "I reckon shewould have wanted it different," he had reflected, then. And he had beenentirely correct, for the news had destroyed something that had beengrowing and flourishing in her heart. It had filled her soul withdisappointment, at least; repugnance and loathing were not very far away.She had almost been persuaded, that day when he had taught her how to usethe pistol. The killing of Pickett had grown dim and distant in hermental vision; Randerson had become a compelling figure that dominatedher thoughts. But this second killing! She could no longer interpret thesteady, serene gleam in his eyes as mild confidence and frank directness;as she saw them now they reflected hypocrisy--the cold, designing cunningof the habitual taker of human life.
She had been very near to making a mistake; she had almost yielded to thelure of the romance that had seemed to surround him; the magneticpersonality of him had attracted her. He attracted her no longer--herheart was shut to him. And, during the days of Masten's continuingabsence--in the times when she reflected on her feelings toward Randersonon the day he had taught her the use of the pistol, she bitterlyreproached herself for her momentary lack of loyalty to the Easterner.She had been weak for an instant--as life is measured--and she would makeit up to Masten--by ceasing to be irritated by his moods, through payingno attention to his faults, which, she now saw, were infinitely lessgrave than those of the man who had impressed her for an instant--and byyielding to his suggestion that she marry him before the fall round-up.
In these days, too, she seriously thought of discharging Randerson, forhe had not ridden in to report the killing and to offer a defense for it,but she remembered Vickers' words: "Randerson is square," and shesupposed that all cowboys were alike, and would shoot--to kill--if theyconsidered their provocation to be great enough.
But these thoughts did not occupy all of her time. She foundopportunities to ride and sew and talk--the latter mostly with AuntMartha and Uncle Jepson. And she kept making her visits to HagarCatherson.
Of late Ruth had noticed a change in the girl's manner. She seemed tohave lost the vivacity that had swept upon her with the coming of her newclothes; she had grown quiet and thoughtful, and had moods of intenseabstraction. Ruth rode to the cabin one morning, to find her sitting onthe edge of the porch, hugging Nig tightly and whispering to him. Hereyes were moist when Ruth rode up to the porch and looked down at her,but they filled with delight when they rested upon her visitor.
She did not get up, though, and still held Nig, despite the dog'sattempts to release himself.
"Have you been crying, Hagar?" Ruth inquired as she dismounted and sat onthe edge of the porch close to the girl.
Hagar smiled wanly and rubbed her eyes vigorously with the back of herfree hand, meanwhile looking sidelong at Ruth.
"Why, I reckon not," she answered hesitatingly, "that is, not cryin'regular. But I was just tellin' Nig, here, that he's the only sure enoughfriend I've got--that can be depended on not to fool anybody."
"Why, Hagar!" Ruth was astonished and perhaps a little hurt by thispessimistic view. "What an odd idea for you to have! Who has fooled you,Hagar?"
"Nobody," said the girl almost sullenly. She dug her bare toe into thedeep sand at the edge of the porch and looked down at the miniature hillshe was making, her lips set queerly. Ruth had already noticed that shewas dressed almost as she had been at their first meeting--a slipoverapron that Ruth had given her being the only new garment. It was thelonesomeness, of course, Ruth reflected, and perhaps a vision of thedreary future, prospectless, hopeless, to be filled with the monotony ofthe past. Her arm stole out and was placed on Hagar's shoulder.
"I haven't fooled you, Hagar," she said; "have I?"
"No, ma'am." Her lips quivered. She glanced furtively at Ruth, and a halffrightened, half dreading look came into her eyes. "Nobody's fooled me,"she added with a nervous laugh. "I was just feelin' sorta dumpish, Ireckon."
"You mustn't brood, you know," consoled Ruth. "It ruins character."
"What's character?"
"Why--why," hesitated Ruth, "the thing that makes you yourself--apartfrom every other person; your reputation; the good that is in you--thegood you feel."
"I ain't got any," said the girl, morosely, grimly.
"Why, Hagar, you have! Everybody has--either good or bad."
"Mine's bad, I reckon--if I've got any." She suddenly buried her face onRuth's shoulder and sobbed.
Perplexed, astonished, almost dismayed, Ruth held her off and tried tolook at her face. But the girl only buried it deeper and continued tocry.
"Why, Hagar; whatever is the matter?"
There was no answer, and after holding her for a time, Ruth succeeded ingetting a look at her face. It was tear-stained, but dogged inexpression, and had Ruth been experienced in reading the human emotions,she could have seen the guilt in the girl's eyes, lurking far back. Shealso might have seen the determination in them--a determination not totell her secret. And a sorrow, also, was there--aroused through thethought that she had deceived Ruth, and could not tell her.
Hagar realized now that she had permitted her emotions to carry her toofar, that she had aroused Ruth's curiosity. Ruth must never know! Shemade an effort and sat up, laughing grimly through her tears, shaking herhair back from her eyes, brushing it away fiercely.
"Dad says there's times when I'm half loco," she said. "I reckon he'sright." She recovered her composure rapidly, and in a few minutes therewere no traces of tears or of mental distress. But Ruth was puzzled, andafter she left the cabin she tried in vain to provide an explanation forthe girl's strange conduct.
On her next visit to the cabin, Ruth was astonished when Hagar asked herbluntly:
"Ain't there no punishment for men who deceive girls?"
"Very little, Hagar, I fear--unless it is God's punishment."
"Shucks!" The girl's eyes flashed vindictively. "There ought to be. Durn'em, anyway!"
"Hagar, what has brought such a subject into your mind?" said Ruthwonderingly.
The girl reddened, but met Ruth's eyes determinedly. "I've got a book inhere, that dad got with some other traps from ol' man Cullen's girls,back in Red Rock--they thought we was poorly, an' they helped usthat-a-way. It's 'Millie's Lovers,' an' it tells how a man deceived agirl, an' run away an' left her--the sneakin' coyote!"
; "Girls shouldn't read such books, Hagar."
"Yes, they ought to. But it ought to tell in 'em how to get even with themen who do things like that!" She frowned as she looked at Ruth. "Whatwould you think of a man that done that in real life?"
"I should think that he wouldn't be much of a man," said Ruth.
As before, Ruth departed from this visit, puzzled and wondering.
On another morning, a few days following Ruth's discovery of the shootingof Kelso, she found Hagar standing on the porch. The dog had apprisedHagar of the coming of her visitor. Hagar's first words were:
"Did you hear? Rex Randerson killed Kelso."
"I heard about it some days ago," said Ruth. "It's horrible!"
"What do you reckon is horrible about it?" questioned Hagar, with a queerlook at her friend.
"Why," returned Ruth, surprised; "the deed itself! The very thought ofone human being taking the life of another!"
"There's worse things than killin' a man that's tryin' to make youshuffle off," declared Hagar evenly. "Rex Randerson wouldn't kill nobodyunless they made him do it. An' accordin' to what dad says, Kelso pulledfirst. Rex ain't lettin' nobody perforate _him_, you bet!"
"He is too ready with his pistol."
The girl caught the repugnance in Ruth's voice. "I thought you kind ofliked Randerson," she said.
Ruth blushed. "What made you think that?" she demanded.
"I've heard that you've gone ridin' with him a lot. I just reckoned it."
"You are mistaken, Hagar. I do not like Randerson at all. He is my rangeboss--that is all. A murderer could never be a friend to me."
A shadow came over Hagar's face. "Rex Randerson has got a clean heart,"she said slowly. She stood looking at Ruth, disappointment plain in hereyes. The disappointment was quickly succeeded by suspicion; she caughther breath, and the hands that were under her apron gripped each otherhard.
"I reckon you'll take up with Masten again," she said, trying to controlher voice.
Ruth looked intently at her, but she did not notice the girl's emotionthrough her interest in her words.
"What do you mean by 'again'?"
"I heard that you'd broke your engagement."
"Who told you that?" Ruth's voice was sharp, for she thought Randersonperhaps had been talking.
Hagar blushed crimson and resorted to a lie. "My dad told me. He saidhe'd heard it."
"Well, it isn't true," Ruth told her firmly; "I have never broken withMr. Masten. And we are to be married soon."
She turned, for she was slightly indignant at this evidence that thepeople in the country near her had been meddling with her affairs, andshe did not see the ashen pallor that quickly spread over Hagar's face.Had Ruth been looking she must have suspected the girl's secret. But ittook her some time to mount her pony, and then looking back she waved herhand at Hagar, who was smiling, though with pale and drawn face.
Hagar stood rigid on the porch until she could no longer see Ruth. Thenshe sank to the edge of the porch, gathered the dog Nig into her arms,and buried her face in his unkempt shoulder. Rocking back and forth in aparoxysm of impotent passion, she spoke to the dog:
"I can't kill him now, Nig, he's goin' to marry _her_! Oh Nig, Nig, whatam I goin' to do now?" And then she looked up scornfully, her eyesflashing. "She won't let Rex be a friend of hers, because he's killed twomen that God had ought to have killed a long while ago! But she'll marryMasten--who ain't fit to be Rex's dog. She won't, Nig! Why--?"
She got up and started for the door. But nearing it, she sank upon thethreshold, crying and moaning, while Nig, perplexed at this conduct onthe part of his mistress, stood off a little and barked loudly at her.