Rafe

Rafe, glowering after him, slammed the door so violently that, off out of sight, something fell with a clatter. Still muttering, fierce scowling, he threw open the window to blow the place out.

But there wasn't so much as a breath of air stirring. All the open window did was let in more heat and with a snarl of disgust Rafe picked up his shell belt and buckled it around him, looking sure enough about as rile as a man could get.

He wished now he'd asked what Sparks proposed to do about the pair outside that was keeping him bottled up in this place—not that he was like to have done anything anyway. At least it would have given Rafe a chance to work off some of his spleen. Still thinking about it, he hauled open the door and went prowling for Bunny.

She was still in the kitchen, flour on her arms and dough on the bread board. She looked around with a smile that tried hard to stay as she took in, sobering, the signs of Rafe's mood. She said, 'It won't be forever, if that's any consolation. Why don't you go sit on the porch and cool off?'

He said, in self-pity, 'You tryin' to get me a harp?'

'I don't think those fellows will do anything so long as they believe you're not trying to duck out.'

'Well, thanks,' Rafe said thinly. 'Sure pleasures my thinkin' a heap to hear that!'

She made a little face. Then she sighed, prodding her dough. 'Most of the boys I knew back home, if they'd been cooped up like this with a girl, would have better things to do with their time than moping around, fretting and stewing, the way you've been ever since you've been up.'

Rafe, stopped short, went still as a fence post, looking at her as though she'd sprouted two heads.

'They'd know a girl likes to be noticed. Probably most of them,' she said, going on with her work, would have first of all figured on improving their acquaintance?'

Rafe's mouth dropped open. His cheeks fired up. His eyes bugged out like two knobs on a stick.

She slanched him a look as she was rolling out her dough. 'I guess those tales I've heard of Southem gallantry—'

Rafe, anyway, had heard more than enough. He got out of that kitchen like the heel flies was after him.

'Lordy!' he breathed, propping a chair against his door, eyes big as slop buckets. He dragged a sleeve across his face, sagged into the chair, looking about as limp as a bundle of dish rags. Talk about your Delilahs! He'd encountered some pretty designing females in some of the places he'd been since the War but never, by grab, any girl bold as her!

He got onto his feet with his clothes sticking to him, too upset to think straight, too indignant to sit still; and yet, someway, filled with a strange and delicious excitement. He realized this was her wiles tightening round him. There was no defense against a scheming woman—or, he thought, suddenly colder than frog legs, a woman scorned! And it was no danged help for him to stand here shaking. He'd better dig for the tules—andale pronto!

This was the straw he fastened to in his perturbation, completely forgetting the gunhawks outside. He found his hat and chin-strapped it to him, was taking a last nervous look around when remembrance of Spangler's henchmen hit, pretty near taking the legs out from under him. With both fists gripped to the sash he stopped.

'Lord God a'mighty!' he gasped, backing off. He saw his goggling stare dreadfully reflected in the wavery hand-rolled lights of the window. He gulped for wind, swallowing like he'd got a bone in his throat, shuddery sort of, all his thoughts upside down.

He made a real effort to pull himself together, desperately trying to drive back the unnerving vision of Spangler's hardfaced pistoleros. If they were still out there, and their job was to get him, you could dang well bet they'd make their try—but you couldn't tell what a fool female might do—probably whatever popped into her head; and just the bare thought was more than Rafe could put up with. He grabbed a quick breath and made a dash for the door.

And the worst of it was he might have got clean away with it. But just as his best hand went out to yank it open, Bunny's voice called. Letting go of the knob Rafe jerked half around, flopping like a fish with a hook through its gills.

She was in the kitchen doorway with her blue rounded eyes looking big almost as teacups. One flour-daubed hand was against her throat and Rafe, for the life of him, couldn't say a thing. Filled with guilt and consternation he reckoned she'd seen right enough what he was up to. It gave him a turn the way she looked, so forlorn and defeated, so someway wistful.

'Rafe!'

You'd of swore her cry came straight from the heart. A man just plain couldn't help being affected; Rafe stood with bowed shoulders, itchy with embarrassment, feeling—dad drat it—like a damn caught Judas!

By girding himself, looking off past her, he could ignore the unexpected brimming of tears, but he had no shield against the words that came tumbling so pitifully out of her. 'You,' she gulped, 'were figuring to go without ever a word?'

He stared at the floor, trying to shut out the sound, seeming about as low down as a growed man could get. She honestly had him, coming and going; but, woman fashion, couldn't leave it there. She had to rub his nose in it.

'After all we've been to each other.' She sighed. 'Oh, Rafe—how could you!'

Since they hadn't been anything at all to each other, this struck a jarring off-key chord in a man who, though groggy, was still on his feet. It was just like pumping new blood through his veins. Time she came, groping, arms out and reaching toward him, Rafe had got off the hook and was going through the door.

IX

The man out front must have been plumb asleep. Rafe, hunting Bathsheba, got clean around the house and halfway to the shed before he got loose enough of the spell she'd put on him to remember Spangler's gunnies. With a startled yelp he plunged against the door, only to find it re-enforced with a padlock!

Rafe didn't waste any time shouting curses. He dragged out his pistol and banged the butt against the thing, again and again until the lock flopped open.