Part 7 (2/2)

Then she went into Baston's with her meal-sack on her arm. This meal-sack was a part of her accoutrement, a regular carry-all for such small purchases as she must take home--a roll of print for Paula, some tobacco for the men, a dozen spools of the linen thread which was so much prized among the women of Lost Valley.

As she stepped in the open door her quick glance went over the big room with a comprehensiveness which catalogued its inmates accurately and instinctively. Courtrey was not there, though his great bay, Bolt, stood outside. However, Wylackie Bob was there. This man, sitting at a canvas covered table in a corner, idly fingering a pack of cards, was not one to be pa.s.sed over easily. He was notorious.

Tall, slow of action, sleepy-eyed, he was treacherous as a snake, as swift to move when necessary. He had been known to sit as he was now, idly playing, to leap up, crouch, draw and kill a man, and be down again at his place, idly playing, before the breath was done in his victim.

He was a past-master of his gun, and unlike most men of the time and place, he carried only one.

He was a quarter-blood Wylackie Indian. Near him sat the stranger who had ridden the slug-head black into Lost Valley. They both looked up as the girl entered and regarded her with smiles.

Tharon did not look at them again. She saw, however, that they were together, of one interest. There were two or three of the settlers in the store, Jameson from over under the Rockface at the south, Hill from farther up, Thomas from Rolling Cove. She spoke to these men quietly and noticed with an inward thrill the eagerness with which they responded.

There was an electric something between them which told her that her promise had, indeed, gone up and down the country, that in a subtle, unheralded manner she stood in Jim Last's place, a head, a leader.

She made her purchases without undue speech, got two letters in her father's name--and these brought a smarting under her eyelids--tied up her sack and went out without so much as a glance at the two men in the corner. Laughter followed her, however, which set the red blood of anger pulsing in her cheeks.

At the end of the store porch she came face to face with Courtrey and Steptoe Service, the sheriff of Menlo county. She swung to one side to descend the rough steps, vouchsafing them no word or look, but Service blocked her way. She raised her eyes and looked him full in the face, scanning his coa.r.s.e red features coolly.

”Well?” she said sharply.

”What's this I hear, Tharon?” asked Service, ”about you a-makin'

threats?”

”What have you heard?” she wanted to know.

”W'y, that you're a-makin' threats.”

”Yes?”

”Yes, sir.”

”Well?”

The sheriff flushed darker.

”Look here, young woman,”--he raised his voice suddenly and on the instant there was a sound of boots on the store floor and the settlers, the two men in the corner, Baston and two clerks came crowding out to hear, ”you look a-here--don't you know it's a-gin th'

law for any one t' make a threat like you done, open an' above board, in th' Golden Cloud th' other night?”

Tharon s.h.i.+fted the meal-sack higher on her left arm. Courtrey's eyes went down to her right hand and stayed there.

The girl's upper lip lifted from her teeth in a sneer that was the acme of insult. The fire was beginning to play in her blue eyes.

”Law?” she said. ”My G.o.d! Law!”

”Yes, _law_! you young hussy, an' don't you fergit that I represent it.”

The girl threw down the sack and flashed both hands on the gun-b.u.t.ts.

Courtrey, watching, was half-a-second behind her and stopped with his hands hovering.

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