“Russ, a promise like that is nothing—if a man loves a girl,” she retorted. “Don't make any more love to me, please, unless you want me to laugh at you. And don't feel such terrible trouble if you happen to see me flirting occasionally.”
She ended with a little mocking laugh. That was the perverse side of her, the cat using her claws. I tried not to be angry, but failed.
“All right. I'll take my medicine,” I replied bitterly. “I'll certainly never make love to you again. And I'll stand it if I happen to see Waters kiss you, or any other decent fellow. But look out how you let that damned backbiter Wright fool around you!”
I spoke to her as I had never spoken before, in quick, fierce meaning, with eyes holding hers.
She paled. But even my scarce-veiled hint did not chill her anger. Tossing her head she wheeled and rode away.
I followed at a little distance, and thus we traveled the ten miles back to the ranch. When we reached the corrals she dismounted and, turning her horse over to Dick, she went off toward the house without so much as a nod or good-by to me.
I went down to town for once in a mood to live up to what had been heretofore only a sham character.
But turning a corner into the main street I instantly forgot myself at the sight of a crowd congregated before the town hall. There was a babel of voices and an air of excitement that I immediately associated with Sampson, who as mayor of Linrock, once in a month of moons held court in this hall.
It took slipping and elbowing to get through the crowd. Once inside the door I saw that the crowd was mostly outside, and evidently not so desirous as I was to enter.
The first man I saw was Steele looming up; the next was Sampson chewing his mustache—the third, Wright, whose dark and sinister face told much. Something was up in Linrock. Steele had opened the hall.
There were other men in the hall, a dozen or more, and all seemed shouting excitedly in unison with the crowd outside. I did not try to hear what was said. I edged closer in, among the men to the front.
Sampson sat at a table up on a platform. Near him sat a thick-set grizzled man, with deep eyes; and this was Hanford Owens, county judge.
To the right stood a tall, angular, yellow-faced fellow with a drooping, sandy mustache. Conspicuous on his vest was a huge silver shield. This was Gorsech, one of Sampson's sheriffs.
There were four other men whom I knew, several whose faces were familiar, and half a dozen strangers, all dusty horsemen.
Steele stood apart from them, a little to one side, so that he faced them all. His hair was disheveled, and his shirt open at the neck. He looked cool and hard.
When I caught his eye I realized in an instant that the long deferred action, the beginning of our real fight was at hand.
Sampson pounded hard on the table to be heard. Mayor or not, he was unable at once to quell the excitement.
Gradually, however, it subsided and from the last few utterances before quiet was restored I gathered that Steele had intruded upon some kind of a meeting in the hall.
“Steele, what'd you break in here for?” demanded Sampson.
“Isn't this court? Aren't you the mayor of Linrock?” interrogated Steele. His voice was so clear and loud, almost piercing, that I saw at once that he wanted all those outside to hear.
“Yes,” replied Sampson. Like flint he seemed, yet I felt his intense interest.
I had no doubt then that Steele intended to make him stand out before this crowd as the real mayor of Linrock or as a man whose office was a sham.
“I've arrested a criminal,” said Steele. “Bud Snell. I charge him with assault on Jim Hoden and attempted robbery—if not murder. Snell had a shady past here, as the court will know if it keeps a record.”
Then I saw Snell hunching down on a bench, a nerveless and shaken man if there ever was one. He had been a hanger-on round the gambling dens, the kind of sneak I never turned my back to.
Jim Hoden, the restaurant keeper, was present also, and on second glance I saw that he was pale. There was blood on his face. I knew Jim, liked him, had tried to make a friend of him.
I was not dead to the stinging interrogation in the concluding sentence of Steele's speech. Then I felt sure I had correctly judged Steele's motive. I began to warm to the situation.
“What's this I hear about you, Bud? Get up and speak for yourself,” said Sampson, gruffly.
Snell got up, not without a furtive glance at Steele, and he had shuffled forward a few steps toward the mayor. He had an evil front, but not the boldness even of a rustler.
“It ain't so, Sampson,” he began loudly. “I went in Hoden's place fer grub. Some feller I never seen before come in from the hall an' hit him an' wrastled him on the floor. Then this big Ranger grabbed me an' fetched me here. I didn't do nothin'. This Ranger's hankerin' to arrest somebody. Thet's my hunch, Sampson.”
“What have you to say about this, Hoden?” sharply queried Sampson. “I call to your mind the fact that you once testified falsely in court, and got punished for it.”
Why did my sharpened and experienced wits interpret a hint of threat or menace in Sampson's reminder? Hoden rose from the bench and with an unsteady hand reached down to support himself.
He was no longer young, and he seemed broken in health and spirit. He had been hurt somewhat about the head.
“I haven't much to say,” he replied. “The Ranger dragged me here. I told him I didn't take my troubles to court. Besides, I can't swear it was Snell who hit me.”
