The Trail Horde by Charles Alden Seltzer (beautiful books to read TXT) 📕

and he stood tense and stiff behind Warden as the latter glared out of the window, his lips in a bestial pout.

Warden spoke at last, his voice dry and light and vibrant with cold fury.

"No women, Singleton; he told me he'd kill me if I dragged any of his women into this deal. And now——"

"An' now he's drugged in the woman you've took a shine to," sympathized Singleton. He scratched his head in puzzlement. "Hell's fire!" he added; "I didn't think that of Lawler. I ain't never admired the cuss none—a damned sight less since he walloped me—but I didn't think he'd drag another man's woman into a cabin like that, an'—"

"Bah! Shut up!" commanded Warden, glaring malignantly at the other.

"Sure; I reckon you don't like to think of it," said Singleton. "It would rile me some, too."

Aware that this was a matter which would not permit of even suggestion on his part, Singleton soon found an excuse to take leave of Warden. And for an hour after Singleton's departure, Warden stood at the window fighting for his composure. Then, when he had succeeded, he walked out of the front door of the saloon and made his way down the street to the Willets Hotel. He told Keller, the proprietor, about Miss Wharton's disappearance, and he succeeded in simulating an excellent counterfeit of astonishment when Keller informed him that Miss Wharton was at that moment up stairs in her room—that she had been at the hotel since the storm broke. He pretended not to see the flush on Keller's face as he told the lie; and his greeting to Della was distinguished by calm casualness.

Later, when Warden told her that the Two Diamond had been lonely without her, and that the trail was in condition for travel, she readily agreed to accompany him. And, shortly after noon they rode out of town together, Warden apparently in the best of humor over finding her safe; Della elated over the success of the deception.

It was late when they reached the Two Diamond. Several of the men cheered delightedly when they rode into the ranch yard; and Aunt Hannah was tearfully grateful.

However, twice during the evening meal, as they sat opposite each other, Della noted a look of sullen preoccupation in Warden's eyes. And then, studying him covertly while she ate, she observed that he was paler than usual; that his lips were straight and stiff, even when he smiled; that he seemed to have little appetite and was restless and jerky.

Warden was suspicious—that was evident. She had thought, when he had entered her room at the hotel, that his manner was strange and not nearly so hearty as it should have been over finding her. He had been too matter-of-fact and undemonstrative.

She never had loved Warden; she had not even respected him. She had plumbed his nature and had found him narrow, selfish—even brutal. But she had permitted him to make love to her occasionally—mildly, for what doubtful amusement she got out of it, and she had responded merely for the thrill it gave her to have a man pursue her.

When, after supper, Warden called her into his office and closed the door behind her, she had steeled herself for any attack he might make. She was calm, and unmoved by what she saw in Warden's face.

A lamp glowed on Warden's desk, and he motioned her to a chair that stood beside it, so that when she seated herself the glare of the lamp was on her face.

While she sat there, a little malice in her heart for Warden—because he had dared to suspect her—he moved toward her and without saying a word laid before her the handkerchief he had found.

She took it up deliberately, looked at it, and as deliberately stuck it into her belt.

"It's mine, Gary," she said.

"I found it in a bunk at a Circle L line camp, occupied during the storm by Kane Lawler. I thought perhaps you would like to explain how it got there."

"I left it there, Gary—I forgot it."

"You admit you were there?"

"Certainly. Why should I deny it? Do you want to know why I went there, Gary?"

"I'd like to know, of course," said Warden. He was standing, tense, his eyes glowing with passion that he was trying to control; his face ashen.

"I started for the Circle L. I wanted to see Lawler. You didn't know that I had met him one day at the foot of the stairs leading from your office, in town. Well, I did, Gary; and I fell in love with him."

She heard Warden's gasp; saw his eyes glow into hers with a jealous fury that seemed to threaten to drive him to violence.

"Bah; don't be silly, Gary," she admonished coldly. "You know I never have cared for you in the way you wanted. I shall have to respect the man I marry, and I never could respect you, Gary. You are too—too much as you are now. You'd like to punish me, physically; you'd like to hurt me, in some way—if you could. You'll never be a lover to any woman, Gary—you are too insincere. You never have loved me; you have merely been flattered over having me near you. And it is only your vanity that is hurt, now."

Warden laughed unpleasantly; though she knew from the expression of his eyes that he knew she had spoken truthfully.

"Well—go on," he said, shortly.

"That is all, Gary," she laughed. "Except that I got lost and went to the cabin instead of the house. Lawler was there; we were both there—for ten days. And then, because I didn't want my reputation to suffer, I had Lawler take me to the hotel at night, to make it appear that I had been there all the time. Interesting, isn't it?"

"Very," said Warden. "I think I understand. But why didn't Lawler marry you to save your reputation—if you loved him so much?"

Her smile was shallow and hard.

"I expect Lawler thought my reputation didn't need saving—or wasn't worth it. For he refused me, point blank."

"Gallant—eh?" mocked Warden.

She laughed. "Well, I don't know that I blame him. I have thought, since, that I went at it very crudely. I should have played the innocent instead of doing what I did. He's wary as a serpent, Gary, and wise."

"Do you still love him?"

Her eyes flashed spitefully. "I hate him, now! I think I was merely infatuated. I thought it was love, but I can see now that it wasn't. I don't think I ever really have loved a man, Gary."

Warden laughed. He knew she had told him the truth—he could see truth in her eyes.

"He killed Link and Givens," said Warden. "Did you see it?" At her nod he went on: "Just how did it happen?"

She told him, and he evinced disappointment. Then, during a silence, he watched her keenly, a gleam of craft in his eyes.

"How much do you hate him, Della?"

Her eyes narrowed and she regarded him steadily, noting the subtle glow in his eyes. She smiled, with sinister understanding.

"You want me to swear that he killed those two men wantonly, Gary—is that it?" She laughed mirthlessly; "I would do it if—if I didn't have to risk my precious reputation."

"You won't risk your reputation," exulted Warden. "I'll fix that. We don't want to charge him openly with the murder—and he can't be convicted without evidence. What we want to do is to hold a threat of exposure over him—to fix him so that he won't ever be able to run for an office in this state—as he intends to. For they are grooming him, right now. And the governor is back of the scheme to break him—you know that. If you'll sign a statement to the effect that you were a witness of the murder, and that Lawler was the aggressor, I'll hold it over him, and we'll make him get down off his hind legs and be good. When I show him the statement you can be sure he will never want to stand trial. And we won't force him. We'll let the court at Willets examine him; and they'll have to let him off."

"It would be satisfying—wouldn't it, Gary?" she said, after a time.

"You're a brick, Della!" he laughed.

She got up and stood beside him as he wrote. And Warden did not see the designing light in her eyes as she watched him. And her smile, as she signed her name to what he had written, was inscrutable—containing much knowledge of Warden's motives, and concealing still more of her own.

In her room, while undressing, she laughed.

CHAPTER XXVI A MENACE APPEARS

Sheriff Moreton waited for Warden to act, as he had promised. And the sheriff continued to wait. For Warden did not appear with his evidence. It seemed that the power behind Warden had called a truce; that it had been disconcerted by its failures, and was waiting—slowly marshaling its forces for another assault. But the power was working secretly, if it worked at all, for during the winter there were no visible signs which would indicate activity on the part of Lawler's enemies.

Nature seemed to wait, also. The country, between storms, lay bare and naked, bleakly barren where the winds swept; somber in the valleys, with desolation reigning on the coldly gleaming peaks of the hills and the distant mountains.

Willets was somnolent, lethargic. Occasionally a canvas-covered wagon rumbled over the frozen windrows of the town's one street, and rumbled out again, loaded with supplies for a distant ranch; or a group of cowboys, in search of diversion, came into town for a night. But these visitations were so infrequent as to create no disturbance in the dull, slumberous routine of Willets' citizens.

Warden and Della Wharton, accompanied by Aunt Hannah, had taken a west-bound train shortly after Miss Wharton's adventure in the Circle L line cabin. It was whispered they had gone to the capital for the winter.

Sheriff Moreton had ridden over to the Circle L, to quiz Lawler about the killing of Link and Givens.

"The coroner's verdict didn't incriminate no one," said Moreton. "I told him some Two Diamond men had found the bodies down south a ways, an' that they wasn't no evidence to show who'd done for 'em. Now, Lawler, if you'd give me a straight story I'd be obliged to you."

Lawler gave him a "straight" story, merely omitting mention of Miss Wharton.

"Cut your fence, eh?" muttered the sheriff, gruffly; "well, I reckon they got what was comin' to 'em!"

Lawler had ridden over to the Hamlin cabin twice, making his visits short, for he saw the embarrassment in Ruth's eyes, over what he had done for Hamlin.

A change had come over Hamlin. His eyes held a straightforward gleam that had not been in them for a long time; he held his head erect, his step was springy and full of reliance. He seemed rejuvenated, imbued with a new spirit. Several times Lawler saw Ruth's eyes following him with pleasure; though she blushed when she caught Lawler watching her.

When the mild winds of spring began to sweep across the wide levels, and the sun began to shed its welcome warmth over the land, Lawler rode again to the Hamlin cabin. This time there was an anxious light in Hamlin's eyes; and Ruth was pale and worried.

"There's been strange doin's around here, lately, Lawler," Hamlin said when Lawler questioned him. "If you hadn't rode over today, I was intendin' to sneak over to the Circle L an' tell you about it.

"The other night I was ridin' north—near Bolton's Shallow—where the old trail crosses, leadin' to Kinney's cañon. There's some new grass there, an' my cattle is dead set on gettin' it. I'd got 'em, an' started back with 'em—easin' 'em down that little gully near the river—an' bein' plumb out of sight from the shallow—when I seen a trail herd comin'—west!

"Lawler, I watched 'em. I seen 'em cross the river, still headin' west, easin' off a little to the south. They was above