Paradise Bend Part 41

With elaborate politeness Loudon repeated his request.

"Oh, no," said Mrs. Mace, "the door must be left open. Mis' Burr said so. A sick-room needs lots of fresh air. I wouldn't dare close the door. Mis' Burr wouldn't like it."

"She'd scalp us if we closed it during the day," observed Dorothy.

The wretched Loudon could almost see the wink which accompanied this statement.

"But he's got a headache," said Mrs. Mace. "We'd ought to do somethin'

for that. Can't allow him to have a headache, Dorothy. You get the towels an' I'll get some cold water. We'll bathe his head for him.

That'll fix him up."

"It ain't as bad as all that," denied Loudon. "It's goin' away already. An' I don't want my head bathed nohow. An' I ain't goin' to have it bathed, an' that's flat!"

At this juncture Kate entered the kitchen, announcing that she was starved. Dorothy and Mrs. Mace, both talking at once, a.s.serted that Loudon had a violent headache and would not allow them to alleviate his suffering; that he had been a most troublesome patient and had kept them busy attending to his manifold desires.

"Don't you believe 'em!" cried Loudon. "I ain't done a thing. They been pesterin' me all mornin'. Won't let me sleep or nothin'."

"There! Listen to him!" exclaimed Mrs. Mace. "We did our level best to please, an' that's all the thanks we get. C'mon, Dorothy, let's go over to my house. We ain't wanted now. Yore dinner's in the oven, Kate. He's had his. Hope you'll have better luck managin' him than we did. I'd sooner wrangle forty hosses than one sick man."

The slam of the kitchen door put a period to her remarks. Kate entered Loudon's room, a pucker of concern between her eyebrows.

"Have you really a headache?" she inquired.

"Of course I haven't. But they was botherin' me--oh, I dunno, makin'

fool remarks an' all like that. Say, did yuh find out anythin'?"

"Not much of any value, I'm afraid. But you're the better judge of that. Pete O'Leary writes to only one person--William Archer of Marysville. O'Leary writes to him once a week usually, but for the last month he's written twice a week, and this week he mailed four letters to Marysville."

"Archer--Archer," mused Loudon. "I can't think just now of anybody o'

that name in Marysville. But that town ain't such a great way from the 88 ranch house--not more'n thirty mile at the most. Archer, whoever he is, could easy keep in touch with--with----"

"Don't boggle so over that man's name. You don't hurt my feelings in the least by mentioning Sam Blakely. Yes, he could keep in touch with Blakely very easily. I learned, too, that O'Leary receives letters about as frequently as he mails them. They are all in the same handwriting, and they are all postmarked Marysville. One came for him this morning. Mrs. Ragsdale let me see it, but the handwriting was strange to me. If it had been Blakely's I'd have recognized it. I'll keep in with Mrs. Ragsdale. I'll visit her every time a mail arrives."

"No, it ain't necessary. It's enough to know he writes to Marysville.

First thing to do is see Archer, an' find out some of his habits. He's the link between Pete O'Leary an' the 88, that's a cinch."

"Then I really did learn something of value. I am glad. I was afraid it wouldn't be worth a very great deal, and I do so want to help you."

"Well, yuh sh.o.r.e have, Kate. n.o.body could 'a' helped me any better.

But don't do no more. There ain't no reason why you should. It ain't a woman's job anyhow."

"Oh, you've said that before. I intend to help you all I can. I'm as interested as you are in the ultimate crus.h.i.+ng of the 88 outfit."

"Yes, but----"

"We won't discuss it, please. How does the ankle feel?"

"It's comin' along fine. I want to get up right now."

"Day after to-morrow you can get dressed if you like and sit out in the kitchen for a while. Oh, I know how hard it is to lie in bed, but one can't hurry a sprain. You have a lot of hard work ahead, and you must be in shape to go through with it. Listen, how would it be if I wrote to Mr. Richie of the Cross-in-a-box and asked him to find out about this Archer man?"

"No, I'd rather manage that myself. I'll go to Marysville."

"You can't! Why, the judge who issued that warrant for you lives there! You insist on going to Farewell, and that's madness. But visiting Marysville would be worse."

"Oh, no, it wouldn't. n.o.body knows me there. I was never in the place in my life. It'll be a lot safer than Farewell."

"B-but I'm afraid! I know something will happen to you! I know it! I know it!"

"Nothin'll happen," said Loudon, acutely conscious that the situation was getting out of hand.

Presently his worst fears were realized. Kate, genuine misery in her dark eyes, stared at him silently. Her hands were gripped together so that the knuckles showed white. Suddenly she turned side wise, flung an elbow over the back of the chair and buried her face in her hands.

She began to cry softly.

"Oh!" she wailed, her shoulders shaking. "Oh, I love you so! I love you so! And you don't care--you don't care a bit!"

Sobs racked her whole body. She completely lost control of herself and burst into a storm of pa.s.sionate weeping. To Loudon it seemed that this state of affairs endured for an age, but not more than five minutes elapsed before Kate swayed to her feet and stumbled from the room. She did not close the door, and Loudon could hear her m.u.f.fled gasps as she strove with her distress.

At that moment it seemed to him that the girl who had called him an ignorant puncher was a wraith of the dim and misty past. Certainly the present Kate Saltoun was a different person. She no longer flirted, she was plainly sorry for what she had done, and apparently she loved him utterly.

No man can remain unmoved while a beautiful woman weeps for love of him. Loudon was moved. He was impelled to call to her, to tell her to come to him. But he hesitated. He was not at all sure that his feeling was any emotion other than pity. He had spent miserable weeks schooling himself to forget his love and her. Now he did not know his own mind, and he could not decide what to do. While he lay hesitating he heard the sc.r.a.ping of a chair being pushed back, the sound of her feet crossing the floor, and the slam of the kitchen door.

Half an hour later Mrs. Mace came in like a whirlwind. She halted in the doorway and surveyed Loudon with unfriendly eyes. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it without uttering a word, flounced back into the kitchen and shut his door. Almost immediately she opened it.

"Want anythin'?" she inquired, ungraciously.

"No, thank yuh just the same," replied the mystified Loudon.

Mrs. Mace closed the door without comment. It was not opened again till Dorothy brought in his supper. She inquired politely after his health, but he could see that she was displeased with him.

"What's the matter with everybody?" he asked. "What makes Mis' Mace look at me like I was poison, an' what makes you look as if yuh had a pain?"

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Dorothy, severely, and marched out, her back stiff as a rifle-barrel.

"I've done somethin' desperate, whatever it is," he said, addressing the closed door. "I sh.o.r.e have. I might 'a' come to like that Dorothy girl real well--sometime maybe. But I never will now, an' that's no merry jest."

Gloomily he ate his supper. When Dorothy entered to take away the dishes he demanded to know why he should be ashamed of himself.

"Because you should!" she snapped. "I'm not going to bandy words with you! Just wait till mother comes home--just you wait!"

After which ominous utterance she departed. Loudon scratched his head and thought long and deeply.

"Now I'd like to know what I've done," he mused. "Mis' Mace don't like me a little bit, an' that Dorothy girl talks an' acts like I'd poisoned a well or scalped a dozen babies. It's one too many for me. But I'll know about it when Mis' Burr gets home, will I? That's fine, that is.

I'll bet she'll explain till the cows come home. Why didn't I go to that hotel? I will as soon's I'm able. This house ain't no place for a peace-lovin' man."

He was rather relieved that Kate no longer came near him. It saved trouble. He did not quite know what he would say to Kate at their next meeting. What could he say? What, indeed? He pondered the question till he fell asleep, having arrived at no conclusion.

Next morning Jim Mace came to see him. Loudon besought Jim to help him move to the hotel.