Part 8 (1/2)
”I met Bland's wife this mornin'. She seen you the other day when you rode in. She sh.o.r.e wants to meet you, an' so do some of the other women in camp. They always want to meet the new fellers who've just come in. It's lonesome for women here, an' they like to hear news from the towns.”
”Well, Euchre, I don't want to be impolite, but I'd rather not meet any women,” rejoined Duane.
”I was afraid you wouldn't. Don't blame you much. Women are h.e.l.l. I was hopin', though, you might talk a little to thet poor lonesome kid.”
”What kid?” inquired Duane, in surprise.
”Didn't I tell you about Jennie--the girl Bland's holdin' here--the one Jackrabbit Benson had a hand in stealin'?”
”You mentioned a girl. That's all. Tell me now,” replied Duane, abruptly.
”Wal, I got it this way. Mebbe it's straight, an' mebbe it ain't. Some years ago Benson made a trip over the river to buy mescal an' other drinks. He'll sneak over there once in a while. An' as I get it he run across a gang of greasers with some gringo prisoners. I don't know, but I reckon there was some barterin', perhaps murderin'. Anyway, Benson fetched the girl back. She was more dead than alive. But it turned out she was only starved an' scared half to death. She hadn't been harmed.
I reckon she was then about fourteen years old. Benson's idee, he said, was to use her in his den sellin' drinks an' the like. But I never went much on Jackrabbit's word. Bland seen the kid right off and took her--bought her from Benson. You can gamble Bland didn't do thet from notions of chivalry. I ain't gainsayin, however, but thet Jennie was better off with Kate Bland. She's been hard on Jennie, but she's kept Bland an' the other men from treatin' the kid shameful. Late Jennie has growed into an all-fired pretty girl, an' Kate is powerful jealous of her. I can see h.e.l.l brewin' over there in Bland's cabin. Thet's why I wish you'd come over with me. Bland's hardly ever home. His wife's invited you. Sh.o.r.e, if she gets sweet on you, as she has on--Wal, thet 'd complicate matters. But you'd get to see Jennie, an' mebbe you could help her. Mind, I ain't hintin' nothin'. I'm just wantin' to put her in your way. You're a man an' can think fer yourself. I had a baby girl once, an' if she'd lived she be as big as Jennie now, an', by Gawd, I wouldn't want her here in Bland's camp.”
”I'll go, Euchre. Take me over,” replied Duane. He felt Euchre's eyes upon him. The old outlaw, however, had no more to say.
In the afternoon Euchre set off with Duane, and soon they reached Bland's cabin. Duane remembered it as the one where he had seen the pretty woman watching him ride by. He could not recall what she looked like. The cabin was the same as the other adobe structures in the valley, but it was larger and pleasantly located rather high up in a grove of cottonwoods. In the windows and upon the porch were evidences of a woman's hand. Through the open door Duane caught a glimpse of bright Mexican blankets and rugs.
Euchre knocked upon the side of the door.
”Is that you, Euchre?” asked a girl's voice, low, hesitatingly. The tone of it, rather deep and with a note of fear, struck Duane. He wondered what she would be like.
”Yes, it's me, Jennie. Where's Mrs. Bland?” answered Euchre.
”She went over to Deger's. There's somebody sick,” replied the girl.
Euchre turned and whispered something about luck. The snap of the outlaw's eyes was added significance to Duane.
”Jennie, come out or let us come in. Here's the young man I was tellin'
you about,” Euchre said.
”Oh, I can't! I look so--so--”
”Never mind how you look,” interrupted the outlaw, in a whisper. ”It ain't no time to care fer thet. Here's young Duane. Jennie, he's no rustler, no thief. He's different. Come out, Jennie, an' mebbe he'll--”
Euchre did not complete his sentence. He had spoken low, with his glance s.h.i.+fting from side to side.
But what he said was sufficient to bring the girl quickly. She appeared in the doorway with downcast eyes and a stain of red in her white cheek.
She had a pretty, sad face and bright hair.
”Don't be bashful, Jennie,” said Euchre. ”You an' Duane have a chance to talk a little. Now I'll go fetch Mrs. Bland, but I won't be hurryin'.”
With that Euchre went away through the cottonwoods.
”I'm glad to meet you, Miss--Miss Jennie,” said Duane. ”Euchre didn't mention your last name. He asked me to come over to--”
Duane's attempt at pleasantry halted short when Jennie lifted her lashes to look at him. Some kind of a shock went through Duane. Her gray eyes were beautiful, but it had not been beauty that cut short his speech. He seemed to see a tragic struggle between hope and doubt that shone in her piercing gaze. She kept looking, and Duane could not break the silence.
It was no ordinary moment.