Jim Waring of Sonora-Town Part 54

Alice Weston held Lorry's attention from the beginning, as she had intended. She was gowned in some pale-green material touched here and there with a film of lace. Lorry was fascinated by her full, rounded arms, her beautifully strong wrists, and by the way in which she had arranged her heavy, dark hair. In the daylight that afternoon he had noticed that her eyes were blue. He had thought them brown. But they were the color of wood violets untouched by the sun. While she lacked the positive outdoor coloring of Dorothy, her complexion was radiant with youth and health. Lorry felt subdued, disinclined to talk despite Dorothy's obvious attempts to be entertaining. He realized that Dorothy was being exceedingly nice to him, although he knew that she was a little high-strung and nervous that evening.

After dinner Bronson and Lorry smoked out on the veranda. When the others came out, Bronson suggested that they have some music. Lorry promptly invited them to his cabin.

"Alice plays wonderfully," said Dorothy.

Bronson, talking with Mrs. Weston, enjoyed himself. He had been isolated so long that news from the "outside" interested him.

Lorry, gravely attentive to the playing, happened to glance up. Dorothy was gazing at him with a most peculiar expression. He flushed. He had not realized that he had been staring at Alice Weston; at her round, white throat and graceful arms. But just then she ceased playing.

"Have you any music that you would like?" she asked Lorry.

"There's some here. I don't know what it's like. Some songs and dances the boys fetched up for Bud."

"What fun!" said Alice. "And what an a.s.sortment! Shall we try this?"

And she began to play a flimsy tune printed on a flimsy sheet that doubled and slid to the keys. Lorry jumped up, spread it out, and stood holding a corner of it while she played. Close to her, he was sensible of a desire to caress her hair, to kiss her vivid lips as she glanced up at him and smiled. He had no idea then that she was deliberately enthralling him with every grace she possessed.

The fact that she rather liked him made her subtleties all the more potent. It flattered her to see the frank admiration in his gray eyes.

She knew he was anything but "soft," which made the game all the more alluring. He was to leave soon--to-morrow. Meanwhile, she determined that he should remember her.

Late that evening Bronson and the others said good-night. Alice, not Dorothy, asked Lorry when he was to leave. His "some time to-morrow"

sounded unnaturally indefinite.

He was standing in the doorway of his camp as the others entered Bronson's cabin. Alice Weston was the last to enter. For an instant she stood in the lamplight that floated through the doorway, looking back toward him. Impulsively he waved good-night. Her att.i.tude had seemed to call for it. He saw her fingers flash to her lips. She tilted her chin and threw him a kiss.

"Dog-gone the luck!" he growled as he entered his cabin. And with the brief expletive he condemned his disloyalty to the sprightly, slender Dorothy; the Peter Pan of the Blue Mesa; the dream girl of that idle noon at the Big Spring. The other girl--well, she was just playing with him.

In view of Lorry's training and natural carefulness it was especially significant that he decided next day that he had forgotten to lay in enough supplies for his journey south. He would ride to Jason and pack in what he needed. He had a fair excuse. Bronson had recently borrowed some of his canned provisions. He was well on his way to Jason that morning before the others had arisen.

He was back at the camp shortly after nine that night. As he pa.s.sed Bronson's cabin he saw a light in the window. Mrs. Weston was talking with Dorothy. Lorry had hoped to catch a glimpse of Alice Weston. He had been hoping all that day that he would see her again before he left.

Perhaps she was asleep.

As he pa.s.sed the corral a greeting came from the darkness:--

"Good-evening! I thought you had gone."

"I--I didn't see you," he stammered.

Alice Weston laughed softly. "Oh, I was just out here looking at the stars. It's cooler out here. Then you changed your mind about going?"

"Nope. I had to go to Jason for grub. I'm going to-morrow."

"Oh, I see! We thought you had gone."

"Got a headache?" queried Lorry.

Her voice had been so unnaturally low, almost sad.

"No. I just wanted to be alone."

Lorry fumbled in his pockets. "I got the mail," he stated.

"I'll give it to Mr. Bronson."

Lorry leaned down and gave her the packet of letters and papers.

"Good-bye. I won't see you in the mornin'"

"We'll miss you."

"Honest?"

"Of course!" And she gave him her hand.

He drew his foot from the stirrup. "Put your foot in there," he said, still holding her hand.

"But why?"

"'Cause I'm goin' to ride off with you, like in books." He laughed, but his laughter was tense and unnatural.

It was dark. The stars shone faintly. The air was soft with a subtle fragrance; the fragrance of sun-warmed pine that the night had stolen from the slumbering woodlands. She slipped her foot in the wide stirrup.

Half laughing, she allowed him to draw her up. She felt the hard strength of his arm, and was thrilled. She had not meant to do anything like this.

"You been playin' with me," he told her, whispering, "and I take my pay."

She turned her face away, but he found her lips and crushed her to him.

"Oh!" she whispered as he kissed her again and again.

Slowly his arm relaxed. White-faced and trembling, she slid to the ground and stood looking up at him.

"I hate you!" she said.

"No, you don't," said Lorry quite cheerfully.

And he reached out his hand as though to take her hand again.

She stood still, making no effort to avoid him. Then--"No, please!" she begged.

Lorry sat for a moment looking down at her. There had been no make-believe on her part when he held her in his arms. He knew that. And now? She had said that she hated him. Perhaps she did for having made her do that which she had never dreamed of doing. But he told himself that he could stand a whole lot of that kind of hate. And did he really care for her? Could a girl give what she had given and forget on the morrow? He would never forget.

She had told herself that he should have reason to remember her.

After he had gone she stood gazing across the starlit mesa. She heard Lorry whistling cheerily as he unsaddled his pony. A falling star flamed and faded across the night.