Keith of the Border Part 16

"I'm sorry to hear that; what became of Haggerty?"

The marshal let his eyes rest questioningly on the doctor's face for an instant.

"Well, I happened to be just behind Ned when he went in," he said gently, "and 'Red' will be buried on 'Boots Hill' to-morrow. I'm afraid I don't give you much chance to show your skill, Doc," with a smile.

"If they all shot like you do, my profession would be useless. What's the matter with your other deputies?"

"Lack of nerve, princ.i.p.ally, I reckon; ain't one of 'em worth the powder to blow him up. I'd give something just now for a fellow I had down at Dodge--he was a man. Never had to tell him when to go in; good judgment too; wasn't out hunting for trouble, but always ready enough to take his share. Old soldier in our army, Captain I heard, though he never talked much about himself; maybe you knew him--Jack Keith."

"Well, I reckon," in quick surprise, "and what's more to the point, he's here--slept in my room last night."

"Keith here? In Sheridan? And hasn't even hunted me up yet? That's like him, all right, but I honestly want to see the boy. Here's your hotel.

Shall you need me any longer?"

"Better step in with us, Bill," the doctor advised, "your moral influence might aid in procuring the lady a decent room."

"I reckon it might."

They pa.s.sed together up the three rickety steps leading into the front hall, which latter opened directly into the cramped office; to the left was the wide-open barroom, clamorous and throbbing with life. A narrow bench stood against the wall, with a couple of half drunken men lounging upon it. The marshal routed them out with a single, expressive gesture.

"Wait here with the lady, Fairbain," he said shortly, "and I'll arrange for the room."

They watched him glance in at the bar, vigilant and cautious, and then move directly across to the desk.

"Tommy," he said genially to the clerk. "I've just escorted a lady here from the train--Miss Maclaire--and want you to give her the very best room in your old shebang."

The other looked at him doubtfully.

"h.e.l.l, Bill, I don't know how I'm goin' to do that," acknowledged. "She wrote in here to the boss for a room; said she'd be along yesterday.

Well, she didn't show up, an' so to-night we let a fellow have it. He's up there now."

"Well, he'll have to vamose--who is he?"

"Englishman--'Walter Spotteswood Montgomery,'" consulting his book.

"h.e.l.l of a pompous duck; the boys call him 'Juke Montgomery.'"

"All right; send some one up to rout his lords.h.i.+p out lively."

Tommy shuffled his feet, and looked again at the marshal; he had received positive orders about that room, and was fully convinced that Montgomery would not take kindly to eviction. But Hick.o.c.k's quiet gray eyes were insistent.

"Here, 'Red,'" he finally called to the burly porter, "hustle up to '15,' an' tell that fellow Montgomery he's got to get out; tell him we want the room for a lady."

Hick.o.c.k watched the man disappear up the stairs, helped himself carefully to a cigar out of the stand, tossing a coin to the clerk and then deliberately lighting up.

"Think Montgomery will be pleased?" he asked shortly.

"No; he'll probably throw 'Red' down stairs."

The marshal smiled, his glance turning expectantly in that direction.

"Then perhaps I had better remain, Tommy." And he strolled nonchalantly over to the open window, and stood there looking quietly out, a spiral of blue smoke rising from his cigar.

They could distinctly hear the pounding on the door above, and occasionally the sound of the porter's voice, but the straight, erect figure at the window remained motionless. Finally "Red" came down, nursing his knuckles.

"Says he'll be d.a.m.ned if he will--says he's gone to bed, an' that there ain't a cussed female in this blasted country he'd git up for," he reported circ.u.mstantially to the clerk. "He told me to tell you to go plumb to h.e.l.l, an' that if any one else come poundin' 'round thar to-night, he'd take a pot shot at 'em through the door. 'Fifteen' seemed a bit peevish, sir, an' I reckoned if he was riled up much more, he might git rambunctious; his language was sure fierce."

"Wild Bill" turned slowly around, still calmly smoking, his eyes exhibiting mild amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Did you clearly inform Mr.--ah--Montgomery that we desired the room for the use of a lady?" he questioned gently, apparently both pained and shocked.

"I did, sir."

"It surprises me to find one in our city with so little regard for the ordinary courtesies of life, Tommy. Perhaps I can persuade the gentleman."

He disappeared up the stairs, taking them deliberately step by step, the cigar still smoking between his lips. "Red" called after him.

"Keep away from in front of the door, Bill; he'll shoot sure, for he c.o.c.ked his gun when I was up there."

Hick.o.c.k glanced back, and waved his hand.

"Don't worry--the room occupied by Mr.--ah--Montgomery was '15,' I believe you said?"

Whatever occurred above, it was over with very shortly. Those listening at the foot of the stairs heard the first gentle rap on the door, an outburst of profanity, followed almost instantly by a sharp snap, as if a lock had given way, then brief scuffling mingled with the loud creaking of a bed. Scarcely a minute later the marshal appeared on the landing above, one hand firmly gripped in the neck-band of an unders.h.i.+rt, thus securely holding the writhing, helpless figure of a man, who swore violently every time he could catch his breath.

"Any other room you could conveniently a.s.sign Mr.--ah--Montgomery to, Tommy?" he asked pleasantly. "If he doesn't like it in the morning, he could be changed, you know."

"Give--give him '47.'"

"All right. I'm the bell-boy temporarily, Montgomery; easy now, my man, easy, or I'll be compelled to use both hands. 'Red,' carry the gentleman's luggage to '47'--he has kindly consented to give up his old room to a lady--come along, Montgomery."

It was possibly five minutes later when he came down, still smoking, his face not even flushed.

"Montgomery is feeling so badly we were obliged to lock him in," he reported to the clerk. "Seems to be of a somewhat nervous disposition.

Well, good-night, Doctor," he lifted his hat. "And to you, Miss, pleasant dreams."

Hope watched him as he stepped outside, pausing a moment in the shadows to glance keenly up and down the long street before venturing down the steps. This quiet man had enemies, hundreds of them, desperate and reckless; ceaseless vigilance alone protected him. Yet her eyes only, and not her thoughts, were riveted on the disappearing marshal. She turned to Fairbain, who had risen to his feet.

"I wish I might see him, also," she said, as though continuing an interrupted conversation.

"See him? Who?"

"Mr. Keith. I--I knew him once, and--and, Doctor, won't you tell him I should like to have him come and see me just--just as soon as he can."

Chapter XXII. An Interrupted Interview