The Girl of the Golden West - David Belasco (tharntype novel english .txt) 📗

snugly about her, and seating herself, she asked with suppressed excitement:

"Why, Nick, what's the matter? What's--"

Rance took it upon himself to do the answering. Sauntering over to the Girl, he drawled out:

"It takes you a long time to get up, seems to me. You haven't so much on, either," he went on, piercing her with his eyes.

Smilingly and not in the least disconcerted by the Sheriff's remark, the Girl picked up a rug from the floor and wound it about her knees.

"Well?" she interrogated.

"Well, we was sure that you was in trouble," put in Sonora. "My breath jest stopped."

"Me? Me in trouble, Sonora?" A little laugh that was half-gay, half-derisive, accompanied her words.

"See here, that man Ramerrez--" followed up Rance with a grim look.

"--feller you was dancin' with," interposed Sonora, but checked himself instantly lest he wound the Girl's feelings.

Whereupon, Rance, with no such compunctions, became the spokesman, a grimace of pleasure spreading over his countenance as he thought of the unpleasant surprise he was about to impart. Stretching out his stiffened fingers over the blaze, he said in his most brutal tones:

"Your polkying friend is none other than Ramerrez."

The Girl's eyes opened wide, but they did not look at the Sheriff. They looked straight before her.

"I warned you, girl," spoke up Ashby, "that you should bank with us oftener."

The Girl gave no sign of having heard him. Her slender figure seemed to have shrunken perceptibly as she stared stupidly, uncomprehendingly, into space.

"We say that Johnson was--" repeated Rance, impatiently.

"--what?" fell from the Girl's lips, her face pale and set.

"Are you deaf?" demanded Rance; and then, emphasising every word, he rasped out: "The fellow you've been polkying with is the man that has been asking people to hold up their hands."

"Oh, go on--you can't hand me out that!" Nevertheless the Girl looked wildly about the room.

Angrily Rance strode over to her and sneered bitingly:

"You don't believe it yet, eh?"

"No, I don't believe it yet!" rapped out the Girl, laying great stress upon the last word. "I know he isn't."

"Well, he _is_ Ramerrez, and he _did_ come to The Polka to rob it," retorted the Sheriff.

All at once the note of resentment in the Girl's voice became positive; she flared back at him, though she flushed in spite of herself.

"But he didn't rob it!"

"That's what gits me," fretted Sonora. "He didn't."

"I should think it would git you," snapped back the Girl, both in her look and voice rebuking him for his words.

It was left to Ashby to spring another surprise.

"We've got his horse," he said pointedly.

"An' I never knowed one o' these men to separate from his horse," commented Sonora, still smarting under the Girl's reprimand.

"Right you are! And now that we've got his horse and this storm is on, we've got him," said Rance, triumphantly. "But the last seen of Johnson," he went on with a hasty movement towards the Girl and eyeing her critically, "he was heading this way. You seen anything of him?"

The Girl struggled hard to appear composed.

"Heading this way?" she inquired, reddening.

"So Nick said," declared Sonora, looking towards that individual for proof of his words.

But Nick had caught the Girl's lightning glance imposing silence upon him; in some embarrassment he stammered out:

"That is, he was--Sid said he saw 'im take the trail, too."

"But the trail ends here," pointed out Rance, at the same time looking hard at the Girl. "And if she hasn't seen him, where was he going?"

At this juncture Nick espied a cigar butt on the floor; unseen by the others, he hurriedly picked it up and threw it in the fire.

"One o' our dollar Havanas! Good Lord, he's here!" he muttered to himself.

"Rance is right. Where was he goin'?" was the question with which he was confronted by Sonora when about to return to the others.

"Well, I tho't I seen him," evaded Nick with considerable uneasiness. "I couldn't swear to it. You see it was dark, an'--Moses but the Sidney Duck's a liar!"

At length, Ashby decided that the man had in all probability been snowed under, ending confidently with:

"Something scared him off and he lit out without his horse." Which remark brought temporary relief to the Girl, for Nick, watching her, saw the colour return to her face.

Unconsciously, during this discussion, the Girl had risen to her feet, but only to fall back in her chair again almost as suddenly, a sign of nervousness which did not escape the sharp eye of the Sheriff.

"How do you know the man's a road agent?" A shade almost of contempt was in the Girl's question.

Sonora breathed on his badly nipped fingers before answering:

"Well, two greasers jest now were pretty positive before they quit."

Instantly the Girl's head went up in the air.

"Greasers!" she ejaculated scornfully, while her eyes unfalteringly met Rance's steady gaze.

"But the woman knew him," was the Sheriff's vindictive thrust.

The Girl started; her face went white.

"The woman--the woman d'you say?"

"Why, yes, it was a woman that first tol' them that Ramerrez was in the camp to rob The Polka," Sonora informed her, though his tone showed plainly his surprise at being compelled to repeat a thing which, he wrongly believed, she already knew.

"We saw her at The Palmetto," leered Rance.

"And we missed the reward," frowned Ashby; at which Rance quickly turned upon the speaker with:

"But Ramerrez is trapped."

There was a moment's startled pause in which the Girl struggled with her passions; at last, she ventured:

"Who's this woman?"

The Sheriff laughed discordantly.

"Why, the woman of the back trail," he sneered.

"Nina Micheltorena! Then she does know 'im--it's true--it goes through me!" unwittingly burst from the Girl's lips.

The Sheriff, evidently, found the Situation amusing, for he laughed outright.

"He's the sort of a man who polkas with you first and then cuts your throat," was his next stab.

The Girl turned upon him with eyes flashing and retorted:

"Well, it's my throat, ain't it?"

"Well I'll be!--" The Sheriff's sentence was left unfinished, for Nick, quickly pulling him to one side, whispered:

"Say, Rance, the Girl's cut up because she vouched for 'im. Don't rub it in."

Notwithstanding, Rance, to the Girl's query of "How did this Nina Micheltorena know it?" took a keen delight in telling her:

"She's his girl."

"His girl?" repeated the Girl, mechanically.

"Yes. She gave us his picture," went on Rance; and taking the photograph out of his pocket, he added maliciously, "with love written on the back of it."

A glance at the photograph, which she fairly snatched out of his hands, convinced the Girl of the truthfulness of his assertion. With a movement of pain she threw it upon the floor, crying out bitterly:

"Nina Micheltorena! Nina Micheltorena!" Turning to Ashby with an abrupt change of manner she said contritely: "I'm sorry, Mr. Ashby, I vouched for 'im."

The Wells Fargo Agent softened at the note in the Girl's voice; he was about to utter some comforting words to her when suddenly she spoke again.

"I s'pose they had one o' them little lovers' quarrels an' that made 'er tell you, eh?" She laughed a forced little laugh, though her heart was beating strangely as she kept on: "He's the kind o' man who sort o' polkas with every girl he meets." And at this she began to laugh almost hysterically.

Rance, who resented her apologising to anyone but himself, stood scowling at her.

"What are you laughing at?" he questioned.

"Oh, nothin', Jack, nothin'," half-cried, half-laughed the Girl. "Only it's kind o' funny how things come out, ain't it? Took in! Nina Micheltorena! Nice company he keeps--one o' them Cachuca girls with eyelashes at half-mast!"

Once more, she broke out into a fit of laughter.

"Well, well," she resumed, "an' she sold 'im out for money! Ah, Jack Rance, you're a better guesser'n I am!" And with these words she sank down at the table in an apathy of misery. Horror and hatred and hopelessness had possession of her. A fierce look was in her eyes when a moment later she raised her head and abruptly dismissed the boys, saying:

"Well, boys, it's gittin' late--good-night!"

Sonora was the first to make a movement towards the door.

"Come on, boys," he growled in his deep bass voice; "don't you intend to let a lady go to bed?"

One by one the men filed through the door which Nick held open for them; but when all but himself had left, the devoted little barkeeper turned to the Girl with a look full of meaning, and whispered:

"Do you want me to stay?"

"Me? Oh, no, Nick!" And with a "Good-night, all! Good-night, Sonora, an' thank you! Good-night, Nick!" the Girl closed the door upon them. The last that she heard from them was the muffled ejaculation:

"Oh, Lordy, we'll never git down to Cloudy to-night!"

Now the Girl slid the bolts and stood with her back against the door as if to take extra precautions to bar out any intrusion, and with eyes that blazed she yelled out:

"Come out o' that, now! Step out there, Mr. Johnson!"

Slowly the road agent parted the curtains and came forward in an attitude of dejection.

"You came here to rob me," at once began the Girl, but her anger made it impossible for her to continue.

"I didn't," denied the road agent, quietly, his countenance reflecting how deeply hurt he was by her words.

"You lie!" insisted the Girl, beside herself with rage.

"I don't--"

"You do!"

"I admit that every circumstance points to--"

"Stop! Don't you give me any more o' that Webster Unabridged. You git to cases. If you didn't come here to steal you came to The Polka to rob it, didn't you?"

Johnson, his eyes lowered, was forced to admit that such were his intentions, adding swiftly:

"But when I knew about you--" He broke off and took a step towards her.

"Wait! Wait! Wait where you are! Don't you take a step further or I'll--" She made a significant gesture towards her bosom, and then, laughing harshly, went on denouncingly: "A road agent! A road agent! Well, ain't it my luck! Wouldn't anybody know to look at me that a gentleman wouldn't fall my way! A road agent! A road agent!" And again she laughed bitterly before going on: "But now you can git--git, you thief, you imposer on a decent woman! I ought to have tol' 'em all, but I wa'n't goin' to be the joke o' the world with you behind the curtains an' me eatin' charlotte rusks an' lemming turnovers an' a-polkyin' with a road agent! But now you can git--git, do you hear me?"

Johnson heard her to the end with bowed head; and so scathing had been her denunciations of his actions that the fact that pride alone kept her from breaking down completely escaped his notice. With his eyes still downcast be said in painful fragments:

"One word only--only a word and I'm not going to say anything in defence of myself. For it's all true--everything is true except that I would