Desert Conquest, A. M. Chisholm [best reads .TXT] 📗

gal," Feng proceeded. "Have hiyu dolla'. You bet. She one hiyu dam' plitty gal, savvy?"

"Hush!" Clyde whispered, as Casey would have put an end to this risky eavesdropping. "I didn't think that Feng had such good taste. I'm getting compliments from everybody to-night. I'm really flattered. I want to hear some more."

"Better not," he advised apprehensively.

"But I want to."

"Ya-as," Simon drawled again. "Hyas kloshe tenas klootchman—ah-ha. What name you callum?"

"Missee Clyde Bullaby," Feng replied, making a manful attempt at Clyde's surname, which was quite beyond his lingual attainments.

"Clyde!" Simon repeated, in accents of incredulity. "Me savvy 'Clyde.' Him big man-horse hyas skookum man-horse. Him mammook plow, mammook haul wagon!"

"You hyas damfool Injun!" said his host politely. "Missee Clyde Chlistian gal's name, catchum in Chlistian Bible; all same Swede Annie, all same Spokane Sue, all same Po'tland Lily."

Simon digested this information with preternatural gravity. "Ya-as," said he. "Casey like Clyde?"

"Clyde likee Casey," Feng responded knowingly. "Casey call um woman fliend. Lats! All same big Melican bluff, makee me sick. Bimeby some time she makee mally him. Bimeby baby stop. Then me quit. Me go back to China."

The prophet's last words blurred in Clyde's ringing ears. The friendly darkness hid her flaming cheeks. Why, oh why, had she listened? She was not even shocked by Casey's muttered curse. She felt his hand on her arm, drawing her gently back into the deeper shadows. In silence she followed.

"I'll fire that infernal yellow scoundrel to-morrow," he growled.

"No, no, it was my own fault," she declared. "Absolutely and entirely my own. I—I——Oh, don't look at me, please!"

"I won't," he promised, but his voice shook slightly.

"You're laughing!" she accused him tragically.

"Indeed I'm not," he denied; but with the words came an involuntary sound strongly resembling a chuckle.

"Shame!" she cried.

"Yes, yes!" he gasped. "I know it. It's too bad. Ha-ha! I really beg your pardon. I——Oh, good Lord!"

But Clyde gathered up her skirts and fled, whirling up the veranda steps and into the house like a small cyclone, never pausing until a locked door lay between her and a ribald, unfeeling world.

CHAPTER XXIV

It was after midnight when Clyde awoke. She passed from slumber to wakefulness instantly, without the usual intervening stages of drowsiness.

Outside a gale was blowing, and volleys of rain pattered like spent shot on windows and roof. Thunder rumbled ceaselessly. A vivid flash rent the outer darkness, illuminating the room, and the succeeding crack shook the house. It was a storm, rare in the dry belt, of which there were not more than one or two in the year. For Casey's sake she hoped that there would be no hail with it. Better continued drought than a ruinous bombardment of frozen pellets from the heavens which would beat the crops to the ground, utterly destroying them.

As she lay listening she seemed to hear sounds not of the storm, as of some one moving on the veranda. Then came a loud, insistent knocking. She heard the door of Wade's room open, and a long crack of light beneath her own showed that he had lit a lamp.

"Hello! Who's there?" he asked.

The reply was indistinguishable. A violent blow on the door followed it. She sprang out of bed, threw on a dressing gown, thrust her feet into slippers, opened her door, and peered out.

A single hand lamp on the table showed Wade, clad in pajamas and slippers, standing before the door. His attitude expressed uncertainty. He glanced back and saw Clyde.

"What is it?" she asked. "Who is there?"

"I don't know," he replied. "There are men out there. They want me to open the door. Do you know where there's a gun in the house? I haven't——"

The impact of a heavy body cut him short. The lock gave way, and the door swung inward. Wade sprang back and caught up a chair. Framed in the door, silhouetted against the outer blackness, appeared a man. His hat was pulled low over his eyes. A handkerchief cut with eyeholes concealed his face. His right hand held a six-shooter, with which he covered Wade. Back of him, pressing forward, were other armed men.

"Put that chair down!" he ordered. "Nobody's goin' to hurt you."

"Glad to hear it!" snapped Wade, who was the fortunate owner of unlimited sand. "What do you mean by breaking into a house in the middle of the night and frightening women? If you want money I've got about fifty dollars, and that's all. You're welcome to it if you'll clear out."

"Keep it," the intruder returned contemptuously. He stepped into the room, followed by four others. "I guess your name is Wade. We don't want you. We want McHale."

"Well, I haven't got him," said Wade.

"Where is he?"

"What do you want with him?"

"That's none of your business."

"All right. If that's so it's none of my business where he is."

"You'd better make it your business," said the other suggestively.

"Well, I won't," Wade retorted. "He isn't here, and that'll have to do you."

"On general principles it don't do to believe a lawyer. Where's Dunne?"

"He isn't here, either."

"I reckon we'll make sure of that." He took a step in the direction of Clyde's room. Wade stepped in front of him.

"No, you don't, my friend," said he. "That room belongs to a lady. You keep out of it."

The leader stopped. "Well," he said, "I don't want to scare no women; but all the same I'm goin' to see the inside of every room in this house. S'pose you knock and tell that lady to fix herself up so's she won't mind my takin' a look in. I'm goin' to make mighty sure her name ain't McHale."

Clyde opened the door, and walked into the room. She was surprised to find that she was not in the least frightened. Said she:

"Good evening, gentlemen. Do you think I resemble Mr. McHale?"

"No, ma'am," said the leader; "I don't reckon you favour him much."

Admiration was apparent in his voice. Clyde smiled at him.

"Then perhaps you'll take a look at my room now, and allow me to retire again."

"I don't need to look there, ma'am," the man replied. "I'm awful sorry we troubled you."

"That's the way to talk," said a quiet voice from the door.

The leader whirled instantly to look into the ominous muzzle of a heavy automatic held by Casey Dunne.

"Put that gun down, and your hands up!" snapped Casey. "Quick! No nonsense! I'll kill the first man that tries anything."

The quiet had gone from his voice; it bit like acid. Strange, hard lights danced in his eyes. The hand that held the gun had not a tremor. Clyde, looking at him, saw and recognized in his face the cold deadliness which she had once seen in McHale's.

Without an instant's hesitation the leader put his weapon on the table. "You win once," he observed.

"That's sensible," Casey commented. "Now, perhaps you'll tell me what this means?"

"No objection in the world," the other replied coolly. "We wanted to interview McHale."

"Is that so? Well, Tom isn't here to-night Mr. Dade. By the way, unless you really like it you needn't wear that transformation scheme across your face. Same remark applies to the other gentlemen. I like to know my visitors."

Dade laughed, removing the handkerchief. "Take a good look. You may see me again."

"Any time you like, Mr. Dade. And what did you want with McHale?"

"Well," Dade answered calmly, "we figured that he'd help us take the stretch out of a new rope."

"Nobody else would do?" queried Casey.

"We wanted him."

"I see. And had our mutual friend, Mr. Cross, anything to do with your desire? By the way, how is Mr. Cross? Or should I say the late Mr. Cross?"

"Not yet," Dade replied. "He's got a chance."

"Then aren't you too previous?"

"McHale laid for him, and plugged him as he came out of Shiller's," Dade declared.

"Cross came out of Shiller's with his gun in his hand to get McHale," said Casey. "McHale was entitled to shoot. It was an even break."

"That's not how I heard it."

"That's what McHale says, and it goes with me."

"It don't go with me," Dade declared. "Me and Cross is partners—has been for years. I'm out to get McHale, and you can send him word. I reckon he ain't here, or he'd be obvious."

"He'd be mighty obvious," Casey agreed. "I may as well tell you, Mr. Dade, that this feud business makes me tired. It's sinful, and, worse than that, it's out of date. You take notice, now, that we won't stand for it. You've pretty well played out your string here, anyway."

Dade stared at him. "I reckon you'll have to talk a little plainer, Dunne."

"Isn't that plain enough? This shooting was square. You let it go as it lies. Otherwise we'll clean up your whole bunch."

Dade laughed. "That's sure plain," he admitted. "I like nerve, and you've got it a-plenty, but you ain't got me buffaloed at all. You heard what I said. It goes."

"Suit yourself," said Casey. "I'll send McHale word. Anything else I can do for you to-night?"

"Not a thing," Dade replied. "We'll be going—unless you want us to stay. I'm sorry we disturbed the lady, but I sure thought McHale was in here."

"She'll forgive you," said Casey. "That part of it's all right. Better think over what I said. I mean it."

"So do I," said Dade grimly. "You can send McHale word."

As Casey closed the door and set a chair against it in place of the damaged fastenings, Kitty Wade peeped from her room.

"Are the outlaws g-gone?" she asked.

"They have went," her husband replied. "You are saved, m'dear. Your little heart may now palpitate in normal palps."

His wife, looking altogether charming and girlish, emerged.

"Well, I was frightened," she admitted. "I'd give worlds to be as brave as Clyde."

Clyde, feeling Casey's eyes upon her, flushed and gathered her dressing gown closer, conscious for the first time of her attire. "Oh, nonsense, Kitty!" she responded. "I was really shaking in my shoes."

"You didn't show it," Casey commented. "There isn't one girl in a thousand who would have been as cool."

"I agree with you," said Wade. He put his arm around his wife. "Better go back to roost, little girl."

"Not until I hear all about it," said Kitty. "Go and get a bath robe or something, like a good boy. Pajamas are very becoming, and all the best people wear 'em, but——"

"I beg everybody's pardon!" Wade exclaimed in confusion. "I thought I had on my—er—that is, it never struck me that I wasn't clad in orthodox garments." He was back in a moment, swathed in a bath robe. "Now, Casey, tell us how you happened to make that stage entrance?"

"Not much to tell about it," Casey replied. "I had an old Indian bedded down in the hay in the stable, and he saw or heard this outfit riding in and woke me up. As a matter of fact, the old boy was just outside with a shotgun all the time. We had that much moral support. He came to tell me that this outfit meant to get Tom."

"This McHale business is serious," said Wade.

"Very serious. I don't mean so far as Tom is concerned; he can take care of himself. But you can see that we can't allow these men to bulldoze us. It's McHale now. To-morrow it may be some one else."

"Yes, I see. But what can you do about it? The law——"

"It's outside the law," said Casey. "The law is too slow. We'll make our own law. Hello! What's that?"

He jumped to his feet, gun in hand, as the chair set against the door scraped back from it. Out of the darkness staggered Sheila McCrae.

Water dripped from her old pony hat and ran in little rivulets from a long, yellow slicker. From head to foot she was spattered with mud. Her face was pale, drawn, and dirt-smeared, and blood oozed slowly from a jagged cut above her left eye. She swayed from side to side as she walked.

Kitty Wade cried out; Clyde rose swiftly in quick sympathy. But Casey was before her.

"Sheila—girl—what's the matter?" he exclaimed.

She stretched