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  CHAPTER II

  THE DEVIL'S OWN NIGHT

  Hap Smith, the last to come in, opened the front door which the windsnatched from his hands and slammed violently against the wall. In thesudden draft the old newspapers on one of the oil-cloth covered tableswent flying across the room, while the rain drove in and blackened thefloor. Hap Smith got the door shut and for a moment stood with his backagainst it, his two mail bags, a lean and a fat, tied together and flungover his shoulder, while he smote his hands together and laughed.

  "A night for the devil to go skylarkin' in!" he cried jovially. "A nightfor murder an' arson an' robbin' graveyards! Listen to her, boys! Hearher roar! Poke Drury, I'm tellin' you, I'm glad your shack's right whereit is instead of seventeen miles fu'ther on. An' ... Where's the girl?"He had swept the room with his roving eye; now, dropping his voice alittle he came on down the room and to the bar. "Gone to bed?"

  As one thoroughly at home here he went for a moment behind the bar,dropped the bags into a corner for safety and threw off his heavy outercoat, frankly exposing the big revolver which dragged openly at hisright hip. Bill Varney had always carried a rifle and had been unable toavail himself of it in time; Hap Smith in assuming the responsibilitiesof the United States Mail had forthwith invested heavily of his cash onhand for a Colt forty-five and wore it frankly in the open. His, by theway, was the only gun in sight, although there were perhaps a half dozenin the room.

  "She ain't exactly gone to bed," giggled the garrulous old man Adams,"bein' as there ain't no bed for her to go to. Ma Drury is inhabitin'one right now, while the other two is pre-empted by Lew Yates' wife an'his mother-in-law."

  "Pshaw," muttered Hap Smith. "That ain't right. She's an awful nice girlan' she's clean tuckered out an' cold an' wet. She'd ought to have a bedto creep into." His eyes reproachfully trailed off to Poke Drury. Theone-legged man made a grimace and shrugged.

  "I can't drag Lew's folks out, can I?" he demanded. "An' I'd like to seethe jasper as would try pryin' Ma loose from the covers right now. Itcan't be did, Hap."

  Hap sighed, seeming to agree, and sighing reached out a big hairy handfor the bottle.

  "She's an awful nice girl, jus' the same," he repeated with head-noddingemphasis. And then, feeling no doubt that he had done his chivalrousduty, he tossed off his liquor, stretched his thick arms high over hishead, squared his shoulders comfortably in his blue flannel shirt andgrinned in wide good humour. "This here campoody of yours ain't aterrible bad place to be right bow, Poke, old scout. Not a bad placea-tall."

  "You said twice, she was nice," put in old man Adams, his bleary, redrimmed ferret eyes gimleting at the stage driver. "But you ain't saidwho she was? Now..."

  Hap Smith stared at him and chuckled.

  "Ain't that jus' like Adams for you?" he wanted to know. "Who is she, hesays! An' here I been ridin' alongside her all day an' never once doesit pop into my head to ask whether she minds the name of Daisy or SweetMarie!"

  "Name's Winifred Waverly," chirped up the old man. "But a name don'tmean much; not in this end of the world least ways. But us boys finds itkind of interestin' how she hangs out to Dead Man's Alley. That bein'kind of strange an' ..."

  "Poh!" snorted Hap Smith disdainfully. "Her hang out in that little townof Hill's Corners? Seein' as she ain't ever been there, havin' tol' meso on the stage less'n two hours ago, what's the sense of sayin' a foolthing like that? She ain't the kind as dwells in the likes of that nestof polecats an' sidewinders. Poh!"

  "Poh, is it?" jeered old man Adams tremulously. "Clap your peep sight onthat, Hap Smith. Poh at me, will you?" and close up to the driver's eyeshe thrust the road house register with its newly pencilled inscriptionso close that Hap Smith dodged and was some time deciphering the brieflegend.

  "Beats me," he grunted, when he had done. He tossed the book to a tableas a matter of no moment and shrugged. "Anyways she's a nice girl, Idon't care where she abides, so to speak. An' me an' these other boys,"with a sweeping glance at the four of his recent male passengers, "ishungrier than wolves. How about it, Poke? Late hours, but considerin'the kind of night the devil's dealin' we're lucky to be here a-tall. Icould eat the hind leg off a ten year ol' steer."

  "Jus' because a girl's got a red mouth an' purty eyes ..." began old manAdams knowingly. But Smith snorted "Poh!" at him again and clapped himgood naturedly on the thin old shoulders after such a fashion as todouble the old man up and send him coughing and catching at his breathback to his chair by the fire.

  Poke Drury, staring strangely at Smith, showed unmistakable signs of hisembarrassment. Slowly under several pairs of interested eyes his facewent a flaming red.

  "I don't know what's got into me tonight," he muttered, slapping a veryhigh and shining forehead with a very soft, flabby hand. "I clean forgotyou boys hadn't had supper. An' now ... the grub's all in the kitchenan' ... _she's_ in there, all curled up in a quilt an' mos' likelyasleep."

  Several mouths dropped. As for Hap Smith he again smote his big handstogether and laughed.

  "Drinks on Poke Drury," he announced cheerfully. "For havin' got soexcited over a pretty girl he forgot we hadn't had supper! Bein' that'swhat's got into him."

  Drury hastily set forth bottles and glasses. More than that, beingtactful, he started Hap Smith talking. He asked of the roads, calledattention to the fact that the stage was several hours late, hinted atdanger from the same gentleman who had taken off Bill Varney onlyrecently, and so succeeded in attaining the desired result. Hap Smith,a glass twisting slowly in his hand, declaimed long and loudly.

  But in the midst of his dissertation the kitchen door opened and thegirl, her quilt about her shoulders like a shawl, came in.

  "I heard," she said quietly. "You are all hungry and the food is inthere." She came on to the fireplace and sat down. "I am hungry, too.And cold." She looked upon the broad genial face of Hap Smith as uponthe visage of an old friend. "I am not going to be stupid," sheannounced with a little air of taking the situation in hand. "I wouldbe, if I stayed in there and caught cold. Tell them," and it was stillHap Smith whom she addressed, "to go on with whatever they are doing."

  Again she came in for a close general scrutiny, one of serious, frankand matter of fact appraisal. Conscious of it, as she could not helpbeing, she for a little lifted her head and turned her eyes gravely tomeet the eyes directed upon her. Hers were clear, untroubled, a deepgrey and eminently pleasant to look into; especially now that she putinto them a little friendly smile. But in another moment and with a halfsigh of weariness, she settled into a chair at the fireside and let hergaze wander back to the blazing fire.

  Again among themselves they conceded, what by glances and covert nods,that she was most decidedly worth a man's second look and another afterthat. "Pretty, like a picture," offered Joe Hamby in a guarded whisperto one of the recent arrivals, who was standing with him at the bar."Or," amended Joe with a flash of inspiration, "like a flower; one ofthem nice blue flowers on a long stem down by the crick."

  "Nice to talk to, too," returned Joe's companion, something of the prideof ownership in his tone and look. For, during the day on the stage hadhe not once summoned the courage for a stammering remark to her, and hadshe not replied pleasantly? "Never travelled with a nicer lady."Whereupon Joe Hamby regarded him enviously. And old man Adams, with asly look out of his senile old eyes, jerked his thin old body across thefloor, dragging a chair after him, and sat down to entertain the lady.Who, it would seem from the twitching of her lips, had been in realitywooed out of herself and highly amused, when the interruption to thequiet hour came, abruptly and without warning.

  Poke Drury, willingly aided by the hungrier of his guests, had broughtin the cold dishes; a big roast of beef, boiled potatoes, quantities ofbread and butter and the last of Ma Drury's dried-apple pies. The longdining table had begun to take on a truly festive air. The coffee wasboiling in the coals of the fireplace. Then the front door, the knobturned and released from without, was blown wide open by the gusty windand a tall
man stood in the black rectangle of the doorway. Hisappearance and attitude were significant, making useless all conjecture.A faded red bandana handkerchief was knotted about his face with rudeslits for the eyes. A broad black hat with flapping, dripping brim wasdown over his forehead. In his two hands, the barrel thrust forward intothe room, was a sawed-off shotgun.

  He did not speak, it being plain that words were utterly superfluous andthat he knew it. Nor was there any outcry in the room. At first the girlhad not seen, her back being to the door. Nor had old man Adams, his redrimmed eyes being on the girl. They turned together. The old man's jawdropped; the girl's eyes widened, rather to a lively interest, it wouldseem, than to alarm. One had but to sit tight at times like this andobey orders....

  The intruder's eyes were everywhere. His chief concern, however, fromthe start appeared to be Hap Smith. The stage driver's hand had gone tothe butt of his revolver and now rested there. The muzzle of the shortbarrelled shotgun made a short quick arc and came to bear on Hap Smith.Slowly his fingers dropped from his belt.

  Bert Stone, a quick eyed little man from Barstow's Springs, whipped outa revolver from its hidden place on his person and fired. But he hadbeen over hasty and the man in the doorway had seen the gesture. Theroar of the shotgun there in the house sounded like that of a cannon;the smoke lifted and spread and swirled in the draft. Bert Stone wentdown with a scream of pain as a load of buckshot flung him about andhalf tore off his outer arm. Only the fact that Stone, in firing, hadwisely thrown his body a little to the side, saved the head upon hisbody.

  The wind swept through the open door with fresh fury. Here a lamp wentout, there the unsteady flame of a candle was extinguished. The smokefrom the shotgun was mingled with much wood smoke whipped out of thefireplace. The man in the doorway, neither hesitating nor hurrying,eminently cool and confident, came into the room. The girl studied himcuriously, marking each trifling detail of his costume: the shaggy blackchaps like those of a cowboy off for a gay holiday; the soft grey shirtand silk handkerchief to match knotted loosely about a brown throat. Hewas very tall and wore boots with tall heels; his black hat had a crownwhich added to the impression of great height. To the fascinated eyes ofthe girl he appeared little less than a giant.

  He stopped and for a moment remained tensely, watchfully still. She felthis eyes on her; she could not see them in the shadow of his hat, buthad an unpleasant sensation of a pair of sinister eyes narrowing intheir keen regard of her. She shivered as though cold.

  Moving again he made his away along the wall and to the bar. He steppedbehind it, still with neither hesitation nor haste, and found the twomail bags with his feet. And with his feet he pushed them out to theopen, along the wall, toward the door. Hap Smith snarled; his face nolonger one of broad good humour. The shotgun barrel bore upon himsteadily, warningly. Hap's rising hand dropped again.

  Then suddenly all was uproar and confusion, those who had been chainedto their chairs or places on the floor springing into action. The manhad backed to the door, swept up the mail bags and now suddenly leapedbackward into the outside night. Hap Smith and four or five other menhad drawn their guns and were firing after him. There were outcries,above them surging the curses of the stage driver. Bert Stone wasmoaning on the floor. The girl wanted to go to him but for a littlemerely regarded him with wide eyes; there was a spreading pool on thebare floor at his side, looking in the uncertain light like spilled ink.A thud of bare feet, and Ma Drury came running into the room, her nightdress flying after her.

  "Pa!" she cried wildly. "You ain't killed, are you, Pa?"

  "Bert is, most likely," he answered, swinging across the room to thefallen man. Then it was that the girl by the fire sprang to her feetand ran to Bert Stone's side.

  "Who was it? What happened?" Ma Drury asked shrilly.

  The men looked from one to another of their set-faced crowd. Gettingonly silence for her answer Ma Drury with characteristic irritationdemanded again to be told full particulars and in the same breathordered the door shut. A tardy squeal and another like an echo came fromthe room which harboured Lew Yates's wife and mother-in-law. Perhapsthey had just come out from under the covers for air and squealed anddived back again ... not being used to the customs obtaining in thevicinity of Drury's road house as Poke himself had remarked.

  Hap Smith was the first one of the men who had dashed outside to return.He carried a mail bag in each hand, muddy and wet, having stumbled overthem in the wild chase. He dropped them to the floor and stared angrilyat them.

  The bulky mail bag, save for the damp and mud, was untouched. The leanbag however had been slit open. Hap Smith kicked it in a sudden accessof rage.

  "There was ten thousan' dollars in there, in green backs," he saidheavily. "They trusted it to me an' Bert Stone to get across with it.An' now ..."

  His face was puckered with rage and shame. He went slowly to where BertStone lay. His friend was white and unconscious ... perhaps already histale was told. Hap Smith looked from him to the girl who, her face aswhite as Bert's, was trying to staunch the flow of blood.

  "I said it," he muttered lugubriously; "the devil's own night."