Part 21 (2/2)

He pa.s.sed the end of the davenport and she, in turn, retreated to the far side.

”When I go, two of--”

”I take it that you heard what was said to you, sir.”

At the sound of the intruding voice Hilton wheeled sharply. He faced Tom Beck, who stood in the doorway, framed against the black night, arms limp and rather awkwardly hanging at his sides, eyes dangerously luminous; still, playing across them was that half amused look, as though this were not in reality so serious a matter.

For an interval there was no sound except Hilton's breathing: a sort of hoa.r.s.e gasp. The two men eyed each other and Jane, supporting her suddenly weakened limbs by a hand on the table, looked from one to the other.

”What the devil are you doing here?” d.i.c.k asked heavily.

”Just standin' quiet, waiting to open the gate for you when you ride out.”

The Easterner braced his shoulders backward and sniffed.

”And if I don't choose to ride out? What will you do then?”

Beck looked at Jane slowly and his eyes danced.

”It ain't necessary to talk about things that won't happen. You're going to go.”

”Who the h.e.l.l are you to be so certain?”

”My name's Beck, sir. I'm just workin' here.”

”And playing the role of a protector?”

”Well, nothing much ever comes up that I don't _try_ to do.”

Hilton made as if to speak again but checked himself, walked down the room in long strides, seized his coat, thrust his arms into the sleeves viciously and stood b.u.t.toning the garment. Beck looked away into the night as though nothing within interested him and Jane stood clutching the locket at her throat, caressing it with her slim, nervous fingers.

”Under the circ.u.mstances, making my farewells must be to the point,”

Hilton said. He spoke sharply, belligerently. ”I have just this to say: I am not through.”

”Oh, go!” moaned Jane, dropping into a chair and covering her face with her hands.

She heard the men leave the veranda, heard a gruff, low word from Hilton and knew that he went on alone. After the outer gate had closed she heard Tom walk slowly up the path toward the bunk house. He had left her without comment, without any attempt at an expression of concern or sympathy. She knew it was no oversight, but only a delicacy which would not have been shown by many men.

Her loathing was gone, her anger dead; the near past was a numb memory and she looked up and about the room as though it were a strange place.

There, within those walls, she had experienced the rebirth, she had felt ambition to stand alone come into full being, she had shaken off the fetters with which the past had sought to hamper her....

And now she was free, wholly free. The tentacle that had been reached out to draw her back had been cast away. Tonight's renunciation had burned the last bridge to that which had been; d.i.c.k Hilton, she believed, would never again be an active influence in her life.

She could not--perhaps fortunately--foretell how mistaken this belief actually would prove to be. She did not know the intensity of a man's jealousy, particularly when Fate has tricked him of his most valued prize. Nor could she foresee those events which would impell her to send for Hilton, to call him back, and the wells of misery which that action would tap!

To-night he was gone, and she was even strong enough to rise above loathing and pity him for the failure he was. Just one fact of him remained. Again she heard his ominous prediction, p.r.o.nounced on his first visit there: You cannot stand alone! You will fail! You will come back to me!

She knew, now, that she would never return to him, but there were other possibilities as disastrous. Could she meet this new life and beat it and make in it a place for herself? Was her faith in herself strong enough to outride the defeat which very possibly confronted her?

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