_ CHAPTER XXIII. CHALLENGE AND RETORT
Kenneth could hardly contain himself until the time came for him to go home for his noon-day meal. Try as he would, he could not divorce his thoughts from the trouble that had come to Viola. The sinister tragedy in Martin Hawk's cabin was as nothing compared to the calamity that had befallen the girl he loved, for Moll Hawk's troubles would pass like a whiff of the wind while Viola's would endure to the end of time,--always a shadow hanging over her brightest day, a cloud that would not vanish. Out of the silence had come a murmur more desolating than the thunderbolt with all its bombastic fury; out of the silence had come a voice that would go on forever whispering into her ear an unlovely story.
A crowd still hung about the jail and small, ever-shifting groups held sober discourse in front of business places. He hurried by them and struck off up the road, his mind so intent upon what lay ahead of him that he failed to notice that Jack Trentman had detached himself from the group in front of the undertaker's and was following swiftly after him. He was nearly half-way home when he turned, in response to a call from behind, and beheld the gambler.
"I'd like a word with you, Mr. Gwynne," drawled Jack.
"I am in somewhat of a hurry, Mr.--"
"I'll walk along with you, if you don't mind," said the other, coming up beside him. "I'm not in the habit of beating about the bush. When I've got anything to do, I do it without much fiddling. Barry Lapelle is down at my place. He has asked me to represent him in a little controversy that seems to call for physical adjudication. How will day after to-morrow at five in the morning suit you?"
"Perfectly," replied Kenneth stiffly. "Convey my compliments to Mr. Lapelle and say to him that I overlook the irregularity and will be glad to meet him at any time and any place."
"I know it's irregular," admitted Mr. Trentman, with an apologetic wave of the hand, "but he was in some doubt as to who might have the honour to act for you, Mr. Gwynne, so he suggested that I come to you direct. If you will oblige me with the name of the friend who is to act as your second, I will make a point of apologizing for having accosted you in this manner, and also perfect the details with him."
"I haven't given the matter a moment's thought," said Kenneth, frowning. "Day after to-morrow morning, you say?"
"Yes, sir."
"Can't you arrange it for to-morrow morning?"
Mr. Trentman spread out his hands in a deprecatory manner. "In view of the fact that you are expected to appear in court at nine to-morrow morning to defend an unfortunate girl, Mr. Lapelle feels that he would be doing your client a very grave injustice if he killed her lawyer--er--a trifle prematurely, you might say. He has confided to me that he is the young woman's friend and can't bear the thought of having her chances jeopardized by--"
"Pardon me, Mr. Trentman," interrupted Kenneth shortly. "Both of you are uncommonly thoughtful and considerate. Now that I am reminded of my pleasant little encounter with Mr. Lapelle this morning, I am constrained to remark that I have had all the satisfaction I desire. You may say to him that I am a gentleman and not in the habit of fighting duels with horse-thieves."
Mr. Trentman started. His vaunted aplomb sustained a sharp spasm that left him with a slightly fallen jaw.
"Am I to understand, sir, that you are referring to my friend as a horse-thief?" he demanded, bridling.
"I merely asked you to take that message to him," said Kenneth coolly. "I might add cattle-thief, sheep-stealer, hog-thief or--"
"Why, good God, sir," gasped Mr. Trentman, "he'd shoot you down like a dog if I--"
"You may also tell Mr. Lapelle that his bosom friend Martin Hawk is in jail."
"Well, what of it?"
"Does Lapelle know that Martin is in jail?"
"Certainly,--and he says he ought to be hung. That's what he thinks of Hawk. A man that would sell his own--"
"Hawk is in jail for stock-stealing, Mr. Trentman."
"What's that got to do with the case? What's that got to do with your calling my friend a horse-thief?"
"A whole lot, sir. You will probably find out before the day is over that you are harbouring and concealing a thief down there in your shanty, and you may thank Martin Hawk for the information in case you prefer not to accept the word of a gentleman. If you were to come to me as a client seeking counsel, I should not hesitate to advise you,--as your lawyer,--that there is a law against harbouring criminals and that you are laying yourself open to prosecution."
Trentman dubiously felt of his chin.
"Being well versed in the law," he said, "I suppose you realize that Mr. Lapelle can recover heavy damages against you in case what you have said to me isn't true."
"Perfectly. Therefore, I repeat to you that I cannot engage in an affair of honour with a thief. I knocked him down this morning, but that was in the heat of righteous anger. For fear that your report to him may lead Mr. Lapelle to construe my refusal to meet him day after to-morrow morning as cowardice on my part, permit me to make this request of you. Please say to him that I shall arm myself with a pistol as soon as I have reached my house, and that I expect to be going about the streets of Lafayette as usual."
"I see," said Mr. Trentman, after a moment. "You mean you'll be ready for him in case he hunts you up."
"Exactly."
"By the way, Mr. Gwynne, have you ever fought a duel?"
"No."
"Would it interest you to know that Mr. Lapelle has engaged in several, with disastrous results to his adversaries?"
"I think he has already mentioned something of the kind to me."
"I'd sooner be your friend than your enemy, Mr. Gwynne," said the gambler earnestly. "I am a permanent citizen of this town and I have no quarrel with you. As your friend, I am obliged to inform you that Barry Lapelle is a dead shot and as quick as lightning with a pistol. I hope you will take this in the same spirit that it is given."
"I thank you, sir," said Kenneth, courteously. "By the way, do you happen to have a pistol with you at present, Mr. Trentman?"
The other looked at him keenly for a few seconds before answering. "I have. I seldom go without one."
"If you will do me the kindness to walk with me up to the woods beyond the lake and will grant me the loan of your weapon for half a minute, I think I may be able to demonstrate to you that Mr. Lapelle is not the only dead shot in the world. I was brought up with a pistol in my hand, so to speak. Have you ever tried to shoot a ground squirrel at twenty paces? You have to be pretty quick to do that, you know."
Trentman shook his head. "There's a lot of difference between shooting a ground squirrel and blazing away at a man who is blazing away at you at the same time. I'll take your word for the ground squirrel business, Mr. Gwynne, and bid you good day."
"My regrets to your principal and my apologies to you, Mr. Trentman," said Kenneth, lifting his hat.
The gambler raised his own hat. A close observer would have noticed a troubled, anxious gleam in his eye as he turned to retrace his steps in the direction of the square. It was his custom to saunter slowly when traversing the streets of the town, as one who produces his own importance and enjoys it leisurely. He never hurried. He loitered rather more gracefully when walking than when standing still. But now he strode along briskly,--in fact, with such lively decision that for once in his life he appeared actually to be going somewhere. As he rounded the corner and came in sight of the jail, he directed a fixed, consuming glare upon the barred windows; a quite noticeable scowl settled upon his ordinarily unruffled brow,--the scowl of one searching intently, even apprehensively.
He was troubled. His composure was sadly disturbed. Kenneth Gwynne had given him something to think about,--and the more he thought about it the faster he walked. He was perspiring quite freely and he was a little short of breath when he flung open the door and entered his "den of iniquity" down by the river. He took in at a glance the three men seated at a table in a corner of the somewhat commodious "card-room." One of them was dealing "cold hands" to his companions. A fourth man, his dealer, was leaning against the window frame, gazing pensively down upon the slow-moving river. Two of the men at the table were newcomers in town. They had come up on the _Revere_ and they had already established themselves in his estimation as "skeletons"; that is, they had been picked pretty clean by "buzzards" in other climes before gravitating to his "boneyard." He considered himself a good judge of men, and he did not like the looks of this ill-favoured pair. He had made up his mind that he did not want them hanging around the "shanty"; men of that stripe were just the sort to give the place a bad name! One of them had recalled himself to Barry Lapelle the night before; said he used to work for a trader down south or somewhere.
Without the ceremony of a knock on the door, Mr. Trentman entered a room at the end of the shanty, and there he found Lapelle reclining on a cot. Two narrow slits in a puffed expanse of purple grading off to a greenish yellow indicated the position of Barry's eyes. The once resplendent dandy was now a sorry sight.
"Say," began Trentman, after he had closed the door, "I want to know just how things stand with you and Martin Hawk. No beating about the bush, Barry. I want the truth and nothing else."
Barry raised himself on one elbow and peered at his host. "What are you driving at, Jack?" he demanded, throatily.
"Are you mixed up with him in this stock-running business?"
"Well, that's a hell of a question to ask a--"
"It's easy to answer. Are you?"
"Certainly not,--and I ought to put a bullet through you for asking such an insulting question."
"He's in jail, charged with stealing sheep and calves, and he's started to talk. Now, look here, Lapelle, I'm your friend, but if you are mixed up in this business the sooner you get out of here the better it will suit me. Wait a minute! I've got more to say. I know you're planning to go down on the boat to-morrow, but I don't believe it's soon enough. I've seen Gwynne. He says in plain English that he won't fight a duel with a horse-thief. He must have some reason for saying that. He has been employed as Moll Hawk's lawyer. She's probably been talking, too. I've been thinking pretty hard the last ten minutes or so, and I'm beginning to understand why you wanted me to arrange the duel for day after to-morrow when you knew you were leaving town on the _Revere_ in the morning. You were trying to throw Gwynne off the track. I thought at first it was because you were afraid to fight him, but now I see things differently. I'll be obliged to you if you'll come straight out and tell me what's in the air. I'm a square man and I like to know whether I'm dealing with square men or not."
Lapelle sat up suddenly on the edge of the bed. Somehow, it seemed to Trentman, the greenish yellow had spread lightly over the rest of his face.
"You say Martin's in jail for stealing?" he asked, gripping the corn-husk bedtick with tense, nervous fingers, "and not in connection with the killing of Suggs?"
"Yep. And I sort of guess you'll be with him before you're much older, if Gwynne knows what he's--"
"I've got to get out of this town to-night, Jack," cried the younger man, starting to his feet. "Understand, I'm not saying I am mixed up in any way with Hawk and his crowd, but--but I've got important business in Attica early to-morrow morning. That's all you can get me to say. I'll sneak up the back road to the tavern and pack my saddle-bags this afternoon, and I'll leave money with you to settle with Johnson. I may have to ask you to fetch my horse down here--"
"Just a minute," broke in Trentman, who had been regarding him with hard, calculating eyes. "If it's as bad as all this, I guess you'd better not wait till to-night. It may be too late,--and besides I don't want the sheriff coming down here and jerking you out of my place. You don't need to tell me anything more about your relations with Hawk. I'm no fool, Barry. I know now that you are mixed up in this stock-stealing business that's been going on for months. It don't take a very smart brain to grasp the situation. You've probably been making a pretty good thing out of moving this stuff down the river on your boats, and--Now, don't get up on your ear, my friend! No use trying to bamboozle me. You're scared stiff,--and that's enough for me. And you've got a right to be. This will put an end to your company's boats coming up here for traffic,--it will kill you deader'n a doornail so far as business is concerned. So you'd better get out at once. I never liked you very much anyhow and now I've got no use for you at all. Just to save my own skin and my own reputation as a law-abiding citizen, I'll help you to get away. Now, here's what I'll do. I'll send up and get your horse and have him down here inside of fifteen minutes. There's so darned much excitement up in town about this murder that nobody's going to notice you for the time being. And besides a lot of farmers from over west are coming in, scared half to death about Black Hawk's Indians. They'll be out looking for you before long, your lordship, and it won't be for the purpose of inviting you to have a drink. They'll probably bring a rail along with 'em, so's you'll at least have the consolation of riding up to the calaboose. You'll--"
"Oh, for God's sake!" grated Barry, furiously. "Don't try to be comical, Trentman. This is no time to joke,--or preach either. Give me a swig of--"
"Nope! No whiskey, my friend," said the gambler firmly. "Whiskey always puts false courage into a man, and I don't want you to be doing anything foolish. I'll have your mare Fancy down here in fifteen minutes, saddled and everything, and you will hop on her and ride up the street, right past the court house, just as if you're out for an hour's canter for your health. You will not have any saddle-bags or traps. You'll ride light, my friend. That will throw 'em off the track. But what I want you to do as soon as you get out the other side of the tanyard is to turn in your saddle and wave a last farewell to the Star City. You might throw a kiss at it, too, while you're about it. Because you've got a long journey ahead of you and you're not coming back,--that is, unless they overtake you. There's some pretty fast horses in this town, as you may happen to remember. So I'd advise you to get a good long start,--and keep it."
If Lapelle heard all of this he gave no sign, for he had sidled over to the little window and was peering obliquely through the trees toward the road that led from the "shanty" toward the town. Suddenly he turned upon the gambler, a savage oath on his lips.
"You bet I'll come back! And when I do, I'll give this town something to talk about. I'll make tracks now. It's the only thing to do. But I'm not licked--not by a long shot, Jack Trentman. I'll be back inside of--"
"I'll make you a present of a couple of pistols a fellow left with me for a debt a month or so ago. You may need 'em," said Trentman blandly. "Better get ready to start. I'll have the horse here in no time."
"You're damned cold-blooded," growled Barry, pettishly.
"Yep," agreed the other. "But I'm kind-hearted."
He went out, slamming the door behind him. Twenty minutes later, Barry emerged from the "shanty" and mounted his sleek, restless thoroughbred. Having recovered, for purposes of deception, his lordly, cock-o'-the-walk attitude toward the world, he rode off jauntily in the direction of the town, according Trentman the scant courtesy of a careless wave of the hand at parting. He had counted his money, examined the borrowed pistols, and at the last moment had hurriedly dashed off a brief letter to Kenneth Gwynne, to be posted the following day by the avid though obliging Mr. Trentman.
Stifling his rancour and coercing his vanity at the same time, he cantered boldly past the Tavern, bitterly aware of the protracted look of amazement that interrupted the conversation of some of the most influential citizens of the place as at least a score of eyes fell upon his battered visage. Pride and rage got the better of him. He whirled Fancy about with a savage jerk and rode back to the group.
"Take a good look, gentlemen," he snapped out, his eyes gleaming for all the world like two thin little slivers of red-hot iron. "The coward who hit me before I had a chance to defend myself has just denied me the satisfaction of a duel. I sent him a challenge to fight it out with pistols day after to-morrow morning. He is afraid to meet me. The challenge still stands. If you should see Mr. Gwynne, gentlemen, between now and Friday morning, do me the favour to say to him that I will be the happiest man on earth if he can muster up sufficient courage to change his mind. Good day, gentlemen."
With this vainglorious though vicarious challenge to an absent enemy, he touched the gad to Fancy's flank and rode away, his head erect, his back as stiff as a ramrod, leaving behind him a staring group whose astonishment did not give way to levity until he was nearing the corner of the square. He cursed softly under his breath at the sound of the first guffaw; he subdued with difficulty a wild, reckless impulse to turn in the saddle and send a shot or two at them. But this was no time for folly,--no time to lose his head.
Out of the corner of his eye he took in the jail and the group of citizens on the court house steps. Something seemed to tell him that these men were saying, "There he goes,--stop him! He's getting away!" They were looking at him; of that he was subtly conscious, although he managed to keep his eyes set straight ahead. Only the most determined effort of the will kept him from suddenly putting spur to the mare. Afterwards he complimented himself on his remarkable self-control, and laughed as he likened his present alarm to that of a boy passing a graveyard at night. Nevertheless, he was now filled with an acute, very real sense of anxiety and apprehension; every nerve was on edge.
It was all very well for Jack Trentman to say that this was the safest, most sensible way to go about it, but had Jack ever been through it himself? At any moment Martin Hawk might catch a glimpse of him through the barred window of the jail and let out a shout of warning; at any moment the sheriff himself might dash out of the court house with a warrant in his hand,--and then what? He had the chill, uneasy feeling that they would be piling out after him before he could reach the corner of the friendly thickets at the lower end of the street.
A pressing weight seemed to slide off his shoulders and neck as Fancy swung smartly around the bend into the narrow wagon-road that stretched its aimless way through the scrubby bottom-lands and over the ridge to the open sweep of the plains beyond. Presently he urged the mare to a rhythmic lope, and all the while his ears were alert for the thud of galloping horses behind. It was not until he reached the table-land to the south that he drove the rowels into the flanks of the swift four-year-old and leaned forward in the saddle to meet the rush of the wind. Full well he knew that given the start of an hour no horse in the county could catch his darling Fancy!
And so it was that Barry Lapelle rode out of the town of Lafayette, never to return again. _