The Girl of the Golden West, David Belasco [read with me txt] 📗

down in the next room, concluding warningly:

"They've had about enough."

When the barkeeper had gone to do her bidding, the Girl picked up an egg, and, poising it over a glass, she went on:

"Say, look 'ere, Sonora, before I crack this 'ere egg, I'd like to state that eggs is four bits apiece. Only two hens left--" She broke off short, and turning upon Handsome, who had been gradually sidling up until his elbows almost touched hers, she repulsed him a trifle impatiently:

"Oh, run away, Handsome!"

A flush of pleasure at Handsome's evident discomfiture spread over Sonora's countenance, and comical, indeed, to the Girl, was the majestic air he took on when he ordered recklessly:

"Oh, crack the egg--I'll stand for it."

But Sonora's fancied advantage over the others was of short duration, for the next instant Nick, stepping quickly forward with a drink, handed it to the Girl with the words:

"Regards of Blonde Harry."

Again Sonora experienced a feeling akin to jealousy at what he termed Blonde Harry's impudence. It almost immediately gave way to a paroxysm of chuckling; for, the Girl, quickly taking the glass from Nick's hand, flung its contents into a nearby receptacle.

"There--tell 'im that it hit the spot!" She laughed.

Nick roared with the others, but on the threshold of the dance-hall he paused, hesitated, and finally came back, and advised in a low tone:

"Throw around a few kind words, Girl--good for the bar."

The Girl surveyed the barkeeper with playful disapproval in her eye. However advantageous might be his method of working up trade, she disdained to follow his advice, and her laughing answer was:

"Oh, you Nick!"

The peal of laughter that rung in Nick's ears as he disappeared through the door, awakened Ashby and brought him instantly to his feet. Despite his size, he was remarkably quick in his movements, and in no time at all he was standing before the bar with a glass, which he had filled from the bottle that had stood in front of him on the table, and was saying:

"Compliments of Wells Fargo."

"Thank you," returned the Girl; and then while she shook the prairie oyster: "You see we live high-shouldered here."

"That's what!" put in Sonora with a broad grin.

"What cigars have you?" asked Ashby, at the conclusion of his round of drinks.

"Regalias, Auroras and Eurekas," reeled off the Girl with her eye upon Billy Jackrabbit, who had quietly come in and was sneaking about in an endeavour to find something worth pilfering.

"Oh, any will do," Ashby told her, with a smile; and while he was helping himself from a box of Regalias, Nick suddenly appeared, calling out excitedly:

"Man jest come in threatenin' to shoot up the furniture!"

"Who is it?" calmly inquired the Girl, returning the cigar-box to its place on the shelf.

"Old man Watson!"

"Leave 'im shoot,--he's good for it!"

"Nick! Nick!" yelled several voices in the dance-hall where old man Watson was surely having the time of his life.

And still the Girl paid not the slightest attention to the shooting or the cries of the men; what did concern her, however, was the fact that the Indian was drinking up the dregs in the whisky glasses on the faro table.

"Here, you, Billy Jackrabbit! What are you doin' here?" she exclaimed sharply, causing that generally imperturbable redskin to start perceptibly. "Did you marry my squaw yet?"

Billy Jackrabbit's face wore as stolid an expression as ever, when he answered:

"Not so much married squaw--yet."

"Not so much married . . ." repeated the Girl when the merriment, which his words provoked, had subsided. "Come 'ere, you thievin' redskin!" And when he had slid up to the bar, and she had extracted from his pockets a number of cigars which she knew had been pilfered, she added: "You git up to my cabin an' marry my squaw before I git there." And at another emphatic "Git!" the Indian, much to the amusement of all, started for the Girl's cabin.

"Here--here's your prairie oyster, Sonora," at last said the Girl; and then turning to the Sheriff and speaking to him for the first time, she called out gaily: "Hello, Rance!"

"Hello, Girl!" replied the Gambler without even a glance at her or ceasing to shuffle the cards.

Presently, Sonora pulled out a bag of gold-dust and told the Girl to clear the slate out of it. She was in the act of taking the sack when Nick, rushing into the room and jerking his thumb over his shoulder, said:

"Say, Girl, there's a fellow in there wants to know if we can help out on provisions."

"Sure; what does he want?" returned the Girl with a show of willingness to accommodate him.

"Bread."

"Bread? Does he think we're runnin' a bakery?"

"Then he asked for sardines."

"Sardines? Great Gilead! You tell 'im we have nothin' but straight provisions here. We got pickled oysters, smokin' tobacco an' the best whisky he ever saw," rapped out the Girl, proudly, and turned her attention to the slate.

"You bet!" vouched Trinidad with a nod, as Nick departed on his errand.

Finally, the Girl, having made her calculations, opened the counter drawer and brought forth some silver Mexican dollars, saying:

"Sonora, an' Mr. Ashby, your change!"

Ashby picked up his money, only to throw it instantly back on the bar, and say gallantly:

"Keep the change--buy a ribbon at The Ridge--compliments of Wells Fargo."

"Thank you," smiled the Girl, sweeping the money into the drawer, but her manner showed plainly that it was not an unusual thing for the patrons of The Polka to refuse to accept the change.

Not to be outdone, Sonora quickly arose and went over to the counter where, pointing to his stack of silver dollars, he said:

"Girl, buy two ribbons at The Ridge;" and then with a significant glance towards Ashby, he added: "Fawn's my colour."

And again, as before, the voice that said, "Thank you," was colourless, while her eyes rested upon the ubiquitous Nick, who had entered with an armful of wood and was intent upon making the room warmer.

Rance snorted disapprovingly at Sonora's prodigality. That he considered that both his and Ashby's attentions to the Girl had gone far enough was made apparent by the severe manner in which he envisaged them and drawled out:

"Play cyards?"

But to that gentleman's surprise the men did not move. Instead, Ashby raising a warning finger to the Girl, went on to advise that she should bank with them oftener, concluding with:

"And then if this road agent Ramerrez should drop in, you won't lose so much--"

"The devil you say!" cut in Sonora; while Trinidad broke out into a scornful laugh.

"Oh, go on, Mr. Ashby!" smilingly scoffed the Girl. "I keep the specie in an empty keg now. But I've took to bankin' personally in my stockin'," she confided without the slightest trace of embarrassment.

"But say, we've got an awful pile this month," observed Nick, anxiously, leaving the fireplace and joining the little ring of men about her. "It makes me sort o' nervous--why, Sonora's got ten thousand alone fer safe keepin' in that keg an'--"

"--Ramerrez' band's everywhere," completed Ashby with a start, his quick and trained ear having caught the sound of horses' hoofs.

"But if a road agent did come here, I could offer 'im a drink an' he'd treat me like a perfect lady," contended the Girl, confidently.

"You bet he would, the durned old halibut!" was Sonora's comment, while Nick took occasion to ask the Girl for some tobacco.

"Solace or Honeydew?" she inquired, her hands already on the assortment of tobacco underneath the bar.

"Dew," was Nick's laconic answer.

And then it was that the Girl heard for the first time the sound of the galloping hoofs; startled for the moment, she inquired somewhat uneasily:

"Who's this, I wonder?"

But no sooner were the words spoken than a voice outside in the darkness sung out sharply:

"Hello!"

"Hello!" instantly returned another voice, which the Girl recognised at once as being that of the Deputy.

"Big holdup last night at The Forks!" the first voice was now saying.

"Holdup!" repeated several voices outside in tones of excitement.

"Ramerrez--" went on the first voice, at which ominous word all, including Ashby, began to exchange significant glances as they echoed:

"Ramerrez!"

The name had barely died on their lips, however, than Nick precipitated himself into their midst and announced that The Pony Express had arrived, handing up to the Girl, at the same time, a bundle of letters and one paper.

"You see!" maintained Ashby, stoutly, as he watched her sort the letters; "I was right when I told you . . ."

"Look sharp! There's a greaser on the trail!" rang out warningly the voice of The Pony Express.

"A greaser!" exclaimed Rance, for the first time showing any interest in the proceedings; and then without looking up and after the manner of a man speaking to a good dog, he told the Deputy, who had followed Nick into the room:

"Find him, Dep."

For some time the Girl occupied herself with cashing in the chips which Nick brought to her--a task which she performed with amazing correctness and speed considering that her knowledge of the science of mathematics had been derived solely from the handling of money at The Polka. Now she went over to Sonora, who sat at a table reading.

"You got the newspaper, I see," she observed. "But you, Trin, I'm sorry you ain't got nothin'," she added, with a sad, little smile.

"So long!" hollered The Pony Express at that moment; whereupon, Ashby rushed over to the door and called after him:

"Pony Express, I want you!" Satisfied that his command had been heard he retraced his footsteps and found Handsome peering eagerly over Sonora's shoulder.

"So, Sonora, you've got a newspaper," Handsome was saying.

"Yes, but the infernal thing's two months old," returned the other disgustedly.

Handsome laughed, and wheeling round was just in time to see the door flung open and a young fellow advance towards Ashby.

The Pony Express was a young man of not more than twenty years of age. He was smooth-faced and unshaven and, needless to say, was light of build, for these riders were selected for their weight as well as for their nerve. He wore a sombrero, a buckskin hunting-shirt, tight trousers tucked into high boots with spurs, all of which were weather-beaten and faded by wind, rain, dust and alkali. A pair of Colt revolvers could be seen in his holsters, and he carried in his hands, which were covered with heavy gloves, a mail pouch--it being the company's orders not to let his _muchilo_ of heavy leather out of his hands for a second.

"You drop mail at the greaser settlement?" inquired Ashby in his peremptory and incisive manner.

"Yes, sir," quickly responded the young man; and then volunteered: "It's a tough place."

Ashby scrutinised the newcomer closely before going on with:

"Know a girl there named Nina Micheltorena?"

But before The Pony Express had time to reply the Girl interposed scornfully:

"Nina Micheltorena? Why, they all know 'er! She's one o' them Cachuca girls with droopy, Spanish eyes! Oh, ask the boys about 'er!" And with that she started to leave the room, stopping on her way