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

and all that could be heard was the ever-decreasing sound of rushing hoofs, did the outlaw turn back into the saloon over which there hung a silence which, by contrast, he found strangely depressing.


VIII.


There was a subtle change, an obvious lack of warmth in Johnson's manner, which the Girl was quick to feel upon returning to the now practically deserted saloon.

"Don't it feel funny here--kind o' creepy?" She gave the words a peculiar emphasis, which made Johnson flash a quick, inquisitorial look at her; and then, no comment being forthcoming, she went on to explain: "I s'pose though that's 'cause I don't remember seein' the bar so empty before."

A somewhat awkward silence followed, which at length was broken by the Girl, who ordered:

"Lights out now! Put out the candle here, too, Nick!" But while the little barkeeper proceeded to carry out her instructions she turned to Johnson with an eager, frank expression on her face, and said: "Oh, you ain't goin', are you?"

"No--not yet--no--" stammered Johnson, half-surprisedly, half-wonderingly.

The Girl's face wore a pleased look as she answered:

"Oh, I'm so glad o' that!"

Another embarrassing silence followed. At last Nick made a movement towards the window, saying:

"I'm goin' to put the shutters up."

"So early? What?" The Girl looked her surprise.

"Well, you see, the boys are out huntin' Ramerrez, and there's too much money here . . ." said Nick in a low tone.

The Girl laughed lightly.

"Oh, all right--cash in--but don't put the head on the keg--I ain't cashed in m'self yet."

Rolling the keg to one side of the room, Nick beckoned to the Girl to come close to him, which she did; and pointing to Johnson, who was strolling about the room, humming softly to himself, he whispered:

"Say, Girl, know anythin' about--about him?"

But very significant as was Nick's pantomime, which included the keg and Johnson, it succeeded only in bringing forth a laugh from the Girl, and the words:

"Oh, sure!"

Nevertheless, the faithful guardian of the Girl's interests sent a startled glance of inquiry about the room, and again asked:

"All right, eh?"

The Girl ignored the implication contained in the other's glance, and answered "Yep," in such a tone of finality that Nick, reassured at last, began to put things ship-shape for the night. This took but a moment or two, however, and then he quietly disappeared.

"Well, Mr. Johnson, it seems to be us a-keepin' house here to-night, don't it?" said the Girl, alone now with the road agent.

Her observation might easily have been interpreted as purposely introductory to an intimate scene, notwithstanding that it was made in a thoroughly matter-of-fact tone and without the slightest trace of coquetry. But Johnson did not make the mistake of misconstruing her words, puzzled though he was to find a clue to them. His curiosity about her was intense, and it showed plainly in the voice that said presently:

"Isn't it strange how things come about? Strange that I should have looked everywhere for you and in the end find you here--at The Polka."

Johnson's emphasis on his last words sent a bright red rushing over her, colouring her neck, her ears and her broad, white forehead.

"Anythin' wrong with The Polka?"

Johnson was conscious of an indiscreet remark; nevertheless he ventured:

"Well, it's hardly the place for a young woman like you."

The Girl made no reply to this but busied herself with the closing-up of the saloon. Johnson interpreted her silence as a difference of opinion. Nevertheless, he repeated with emphasis:

"It is decidedly no place for you."

"How so?"

"Well, it's rather unprotected, and--"

"Oh, pshaw!" interrupted the Girl somewhat irritably. "I tol' Ashby only to-night that I bet if a rud agent come in here I could offer 'im a drink an' he'd treat me like a perfect lady." She stopped and turned upon him impulsively with: "Say, that reminds me, won't you take somethin'?"

Before answering, Johnson shot her a quick look of inquiry to see whether there was not a hidden meaning in her words. Of course there was not, the remark being impelled by a sudden consciousness that he might consider her inhospitable. Nevertheless, her going behind the bar and picking up a bottle came somewhat as a relief to him.

"No, thank you," at last he said; and then as he leaned heavily on the bar: "But I would very much like to ask you a question."

Instantly, to his great surprise, the Girl was eyeing him with mingled reproach and coquetry. So he was going to do it! Was it possible that he thought so lightly of her, she wondered. With all her heart she wished that he would not make the same mistake that others had.

"I know what it is--every stranger asks it--but I didn't think you would. You want to know if I am decent? Well, I am, you bet!" she returned, a defiant note creeping into her voice as she uttered the concluding words.

"Oh, Girl, I'm not blind!" His eyes quailed before the look that flamed in hers. "And that was not the question."

Instinctively something told the Girl that the man spoke the truth, but notwithstanding which, she permitted her eyes to express disbelief and "Dear me suz!" fell from her lips with an odd little laugh. On the other hand, Johnson declined to treat the subject other than seriously. He had no desire, of course, to enlarge upon the unconventionality of her attitude, but he felt that his feelings towards her, even if they were only friendly, justified him in giving her a warning. Moreover, he refused to admit to himself that this was a mere chance meeting. He had a consciousness, vague, but nevertheless real that, at last, after all his searching, Fate had brought him face to face with the one woman in all the world for him. Unknown to himself, therefore, there was a sort of jealous proprietorship in his manner towards her as he now said:

"What I meant was this: I am sorry to find you here almost at the mercy of the passer-by, where a man may come, may drink, may rob you if he will--" and here a flush of shame spread over his features in spite of himself--"and where, I daresay, more than one has laid claim to a kiss."

The Girl turned upon him in good-natured contempt.

"There's a good many people claimin' things they never git. I've got my first kiss to give."

Once more a brief silence fell upon them in which the Girl busied herself with her cash box. She was not unaware that his eyes were upon her, but she was by no means sure that he believed her words. Nor could she tell herself, unfortunately for her peace of mind, that it made no difference to her.

"Have you been here long?" suddenly he asked.

"Yep."

"Lived in The Polka?"

"Nope."

"Where do you live?"

"Cabin up the mountain a little ways."

"Cabin up the mountain a little ways," echoed Johnson, reflectively. The next instant the little figure before him had faded from his sight and instead there appeared a vision of the little hut on the top of Cloudy Mountain. Only a few hours back he had stood on the precipice which looked towards it, and had felt a vague, indefinable something, had heard a voice speak to him out of the vastness which he now believed to have been her spirit calling to him.

"You're worth something better than this," after a while he murmured with the tenderness of real love in his voice.

"What's better'n this?" questioned the Girl with a toss of her pretty blonde head. "I ain't a-boastin' but if keepin' this saloon don't give me sort of a position 'round here I dunno what does."

But the next moment there had flashed through her mind a new thought concerning him. She came out from behind the bar and confronted him with the question:

"Look 'ere, you ain't one o' them exhorters from the Missionaries' Camp, are you?"

The road agent smiled.

"My profession has its faults," he acknowledged, "but I am not an exhorter."

But still the Girl was nonplussed, and eyed him steadily for a moment or two.

"You know I can't figger out jest exactly what you are?" she admitted smilingly.

"Well, try . . ." he suggested, slightly colouring under her persistent gaze.

"Well, you ain't one o' us."

"No?"

"Oh, I can tell--I can spot my man every time. I tell you, keepin' saloon's a great educator." And so saying she plumped herself down in a chair and went on very seriously now: "I dunno but what it's a good way to bring up girls--they git to know things. Now," and here she looked at him long and earnestly, "I'd trust you."

Johnson was conscious of a guilty feeling, though he said as he took a seat beside her:

"You would trust me?"

The Girl nodded an assent and observed in a tone that was intended to be thoroughly conclusive:

"Notice I danced with you to-night?"

"Yes," was his brief reply, though the next moment he wondered that he had not found something more to say.

"I seen from the first that you were the real article."

"I beg your pardon," he said absently, still lost in thought.

"Why, that was a compliment I handed out to you," returned the Girl with a pained look on her face.

"Oh!" he ejaculated with a faint little smile.

Now the Girl, who had drawn up her chair close to his, leaned over and said in a low, confidential voice:

"Your kind don't prevail much here. I can tell--I got what you call a quick eye."

As might be expected Johnson flushed guiltily at this remark. No different, for that matter, would have acted many a man whose conscience was far clearer.

"Oh, I'm afraid that men like me prevail--prevail, as you say,--almost everywhere," he said, laying such stress on the words that it would seem almost impossible for anyone not to see that they were shot through with self-depreciation.

The Girl gave him a playful dig with her elbow.

"Go on! What are you givin' me! O' course they don't . . .!" She laughed outright; but the next instant checking herself, went on with absolute ingenuousness: "Before I went on that trip to Monterey I tho't Rance here was the genuine thing in a gent, but the minute I kind o' glanced over you on the road I--I seen he wasn't." She stopped, a realisation having suddenly been borne in upon her that perhaps she was laying her heart too bare to him. To cover up her embarrassment, therefore, she took refuge, as before, in hospitality, and rushing over to the bar she called to Nick to come and serve Mr. Johnson with a drink, only to dismiss him the moment he put his head through the door with: "Never mind, I'll help Mr. Johnson m'self." Turning to her visitor again, she said: "Have your whisky with water, won't you?"

"But I don't--" began Johnson in protest.

"Say," interrupted the Girl, falling back into her favourite position of resting both elbows on the bar, her face in her hands, "I've got you figgered out. You're awful good or awful bad." A remark which seemed to amuse the man, for he laughed heartily.

"Now,