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Then, too, he had spoken of this high-spirited girl as if she were a colt to be broken and he the man to wield the whip. Her rebellion against fate meant nothing more to him than a tantrum to be curbed. He did not in the least divine the spiritual unrest back of her explosion. Beaudry shrugged his shoulders. He was lucky for once.
Tighe beat his fist on the table, his face a map of appalling fury and hate. "Let him go to it, then. I've been a cripple seventeen years because Beaudry shot me up. By God! I'll gun his son inside of twenty-four hours. I'll stomp him off'n the map like he was a rattlesnake." "No," vetoed Rutherford curtly. "What! What's that you say?" snarled the other. "I say he'll get a run for his money.
From out of the feed-bin the owner of the corral brought his boy to the father whose life was ebbing. The child was trembling like an aspen leaf. "Picture," gasped Beaudry, his hand moving feebly toward the chain. A bullet had struck the edge of the daguerreo-type case. "She . . . tried . . . to save me . . . again," murmured the dying man with a faint smile.
You ought to be singing hymns because I didn't let you have it in the haid, which I'd most certainly have done if you had harmed my friend. Get up, you bully, and stop cursing. There's a lady here, and you ain't damaged, anyhow." The eyes of Beaudry met those of Beulah. It seemed to him that her lip curled contemptuously.
I can put you through for rustling any time I have a mind to move. And if you don't let young Beaudry alone, I'll do it." "Am I the only man that ever rustled? Ain't there others in the park? I reckon you've done some night-riding yore own self." "Some," drawled Rutherford, with a grim little smile. "By and large, I've raised a considerable crop of hell. But I'm reforming in my old age.
Mountain-born and bred, she was active as a bighorn. Her slenderness was deceptive. It concealed the pack of her long rippling muscles, the deep-breasted strength of her torso. One might have marched a long day's journey without finding a young woman more perfectly modeled for grace and for endurance. "What are you going to try to do?" Beaudry asked of her timidly.
No, you can't get rid of me that easy. I'm a regular adhesive plaster for sticking." "I don't want to get rid of you," she answered naïvely. "I'd be afraid without you. Will you promise to stay close all the time I sleep?" "Yes." "I know I won't sleep, but if you want me to try " "I do." She snuggled down into the blankets and was asleep in five minutes. Beaudry watched her with hungry eyes.
"If Jeff is too busy I'll take you myself," she told Beaudry. "Oh, Jeff won't be too busy. He can take a half-day off," put in his father. When Charlton left, Beulah followed him as far as the porch. "Do you think Mr. Street is a horse-thief that you ask him so many questions?" she demanded indignantly. He looked straight at her. "I don't know what he is, Beulah, but I'm going to find out."
A wolf pelt, nailed to the wall, was hanging up to dry. He knew that this was the home of Meldrum, the ex-convict. Beaudry followed a bed of boulders that straggled toward the pine grove. It was light enough now, and he had to move with caution so as to take advantage of all the cover he could find. Once in the grove, he crawled from tree to tree.
A man might have found safety from pursuit in one of these for a lifetime if he had been provisioned. "Where were you going when you found me?" the young woman asked. "Up to the mountain ranches of Big Creek. I was lost, so we ought to put it that you found me," Beaudry answered with the flash of a pleasant smile. "What are you going to do up there?" Her keen suspicious eyes watched him warily.
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