Part 33 (1/2)

”Jail?”

Jane Hunter had stepped into the bunk house. It was the first time she had ever been there and that was reason enough to rivet attention on her; but now she came under circ.u.mstances which were stressed, her face was white, lips parted, eyes wide with a child-like wonder and as she paused on the threshold, one hand against the casing, dread was in every line of her figure.

”Jail?” she repeated in a strained voice. ”And why?”

The silence was oppressive and for a breath no one moved or spoke. Beck had not turned to face her; his eyes never left Hepburn's face and it was he who broke the suspense with one word, addressed to the foreman.

”Well?”--a challenge.

Hepburn moved slowly toward the girl.

”There's been a little trouble, Miss Hunter,” with an attempt at a laugh, which resulted dismally.

”Trouble?”--with rising inflection.

She took a step forward, looking about at the serious faces. She looked back at Hepburn; then at Beck. Her eyes clung to him a moment, then swept the circle again.

”Trouble? About what? Who is in trouble?”

”I didn't want to bother you with it,” her foreman said, his a.s.surance coming back, for Beck had ceased looking at him. ”It's a nasty mess; I don't like it. None of us like it. Even if he is inclined to be a little hot-headed, we all thought better of Tom--”

”Tom?”

Slowly she turned to face Beck.

”Yes. Tom. We're.... We're sorry, ma'am,” Dad stammered; then recovered and with an effort to belittle the situation by his manner proceeded: ”Somebody did a small amount of shootin' at me this afternoon. Webb, here, an' I was at the head of Twenty-Mile and somebody fired three times at me. Tom come in tonight with three empty sh.e.l.ls in his gun.

He.... He didn't explain well enough to suit us because all he could say was that he fired at a coyote comin' down the road, but--”

”And you're going to take him to jail?”

Her hand had gone slowly to her throat, fingers clamping on the gold locket as if for support. Her eyes had become very dark.

”Well, ma'am, that's about all we can do: turn him over to the sheriff,” Hepburn said.

She drew a deep breath, a second interval of tense silence prevailed and then Jane, putting one arm across her eyes, began to laugh. The laugh started low in her throat and rippled upward until it was full and as clear as the ringing of a gla.s.s gong. She swayed back against the wall and pressed her extended palms hard against the tough logs....

”On that evidence?” she cried. ”On such evidence you would charge a man with attempted murder and turn him over to the law? Because there were empty sh.e.l.ls in his revolver?

”Why, I was with him when he came down the road and he _did_ shoot at a coyote ... three times ... I heard it; I saw it ... I was there.”

She leaned her head back and her body shook with silent, nervous laughter.

”Praise ye the Lord!” chanted the Reverend, ”For his ways are wonderous and strange to behold!”

A babel of comments, loud, profane, excited, relieved, arose. Hepburn stood as if struck dumb, mouth agape and then, face growing dark with a rush of blood under the bronzed skin, he said:

”I thought you said you didn't see a soul!”

”I said I didn't see a man, you pole-cat!” Beck retorted and his eyes danced. Webb sat down on a bunk as though suddenly weakened. Riley, voice husky, took Tom's hand, shook it gravely.