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Laramie Holds The Range

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<h3> CHAPTER XXXVIII </h3> <h3> THE UNEXPECTED CALL </h3> The hush that followed the brain storm in the kitchen put Belle, quite unsuspecting, to sleep. Laramie, with a tread creditable to a cat—and a stealth natural to most carnivorous animals—closed the door without breaking her heavy breathing. The shades, always drawn at nightfall, called for no attention. In the living-room, there was preliminary tiptoeing, and there were futile efforts on Kate's part to cool her rebellious cheeks by applying her open hands to them—when she could get possession of either one to do so. The small couch which served as sofa was drawn out of range of even the protected windows, and the floodgates were opened to the first unrestrained confidences together. When they could talk of more serious things, Kate could not possibly see how she could marry him; but this, in the circumstances, seemed to cause Laramie no alarm. She admitted she had tried not to like him and confessed how she had failed. "Every time I met you," she murmured, "you seemed to understand me so well—you knew how a woman would like to be treated—that's what I kept thinking about." "You used to talk and laugh with Van Horn," he complained, jealously. "When I came around, I couldn't drag a smile out of you with a lariat." "You're getting a smile now that he isn't getting, aren't you?" "Somehow you never acted natural with me." "Jim!" It was the word he most wanted to hear, even if the reproach implied the quintessence of stupidity. "Don't you understand, I wasn't afraid of him, and I was of you!" "And I only trying to get a chance to eat out of your hand!" "How could I tell—after all I used to hear—but that you'd begin by eating out of my hand and finish by eating me?" He had to be told every word of her troubles at home, but her uneasiness turned to the dangers threatening him. These, she protested, he belittled too much. Ever since he had come in wounded she had been the prey of fears for him. "It's a mystery how you escaped." He had to tell every detail of his flight down the canyon. "By rights," he said in conclusion, "they ought to have got me. No man should have got out of that scrape as well as I did. Van Horn didn't get into action quick enough. And it seemed to me as if Stone himself was a little slow." The way he spoke the things strengthened her confidence. And his arm held her so close! "I'll tell you, Kate," he added. "You can easy enough hire a fellow to kill a man. But you can't really hire one to hate a man. And if he doesn't really hate him, he won't be as keen on your job as you'd be yourself. These hired men will booze once in awhile—or go to sleep, maybe. It's work for a clear head and takes patience to hide in the rocks day after day and wait for one certain man to ride by so you can shoot him. If you doze off, your man may pass while you snore. And the kind of man you can hire isn't as keen on getting a man as the man himself is on not getting 'got'—that's where the chance is, sometimes, to pull out better than even." Because his aim was to reassure, to relieve her anxiety, he did not tell her that all the unfavorable conditions he had named, while never before arrayed against him at one time, were now pretty much all present together. Kate herself, he knew, stood more than ever between him and Van Horn. Stone had been twice publicly disgraced by Laramie at Tenison's—he would never forgive that. He had the patience of the assassin and when hatred swayed him he did not sleep—these were still, Laramie knew in his heart, bridges to be crossed. But why spoil an hour's happiness with the thought of them now? Laramie drew his hand across his heated forehead as if to clear his eyes and look again down into the face close to his and assure himself he was not really dreaming. "What do I care about them all, Kate," he would say, "now that I've got you? No, now that you've given yourself to me—that's what I'll say—what do I care what they do?" But she would look up, sudden with apprehension: "But don't you think I care? Jim, let's leave this country soon, soon." Laramie laughed indulgently: "Somebody'll have to leave it pretty soon—that's certain." A rude knock at the door broke into his words. Kate threw her hands against his breast. She stared at him thunderstruck, and sprang from the sofa like a deer, looking still at him with wide-open eyes and then glancing apprehensively toward the door. Laramie sat laughing silently at her get-away as he called it, yet he was not undisturbed. Nothing, in the circumstances, could have been less welcome than any sort of an intrusion. But a knock at the door, almost violent, and coming three times, stirred even Laramie's temper. The door was not locked. Laramie rose, his fingers resting on the butt of his revolver, and stepping lightly into the dining-room, turned down the lamp. He stood in the shadow and beckoned Kate to him. His face indicated no alarm. "This may be something, or it may be nothing. You step into the kitchen. I'll go to the door." She clung to him, really terror-stricken, begging him not to go. As he tried to quiet her fears the heavy knock shook the flimsy door the second time. Kate, declaring she would go, would not be denied. Laramie told her exactly what to do. She reached the door on tiptoe and stood to the right of it. The key was in the lock. Kate, reaching out one hand, turned the key. With the door thus locked and standing close against the wall she called out to know who was there. Laramie had followed behind her. He stepped to where he could look from behind the window shade out on the porch. He turned to Kate just as an answer came from outside, and signed to her to open. Standing where she was, Kate turned the key swiftly back in the lock and threw the door wide open. Stooping slightly forward to bring his hat under the opening, and looking carefully about him, her father walked heavily into the room. Laramie had disappeared. Kate, dumb, stood still. Barb closed the door behind him, walked to the table, put down his hat and turned to Kate. "Well?" he began, snapping the word in his usual manner, his stupefied daughter struggling with her astonishment. "You don't act terrible glad to see me." Kate caught her breath. "I was so surprised," she stammered. "What are you staying in town so long for?" demanded Barb. His voice had lost nothing of its husky heaviness. She answered with a question: "Where else have I to stay, father? I've been waiting for money to get East with and it hasn't come yet." "What do you want to go East for?" "I've nowhere else to go." "Why don't you come home?" "Because you told me to leave." He sat slowly down on a chair near the table and with the care of a burdened man. "Well," he said, "you mustn't take things too quick from me nowadays." She made no answer. "I've had a good deal of money trouble lately," he went on, "everything going against me." He spoke moodily and his huge frame lost in the bulk of his big storm coat overran almost pathetically the slender chair in which he tried to sit. His spirit seemed broken. "I reckon," he added, taking his hat from the table and fingering it slowly, "you'd better come along back." She was sorry for him. She told him how much she wished he would give up trying to carry his big load, and she urged him to take a small ranch and keep out of debt. He laid his hat down again. He told her he didn't see how he could let it go, but they would talk it over when she got home. This was the point of his errand that she dreaded to meet and putting it as inoffensively as possible she tried to parry: "I think," she ventured, "now that I've got some clothes ready and got started, I'd better go East for awhile anyway." "No." His ponderous teeth clicked. "You'd better wait till fall. I might go along. Tonight I'll take you out home. Put on your things and we'll get started." She did not want to refuse. She knew she could not consent. She knew that Laramie in the shadow, as well as her father in the light, was waiting for her answer: "Father," she said at once, "I can't go tonight." "Why not?" was the husky demand. "Belle is sick in bed," pleaded Kate. "Is that the only reason?" She saw he was bound to wring more from her. "No," she answered, "it isn't, father." "What else?" "I'm afraid——" she hesitated, and then spoke out: "I can't come back—not just as I was, anyway." "Why not?" "It's too late, father." "What do you mean?" he asked. "When I come back from the East," she spoke slowly but collectedly, "I expect to go into a new home." "Where?" "In the Falling Wall." For a moment he did not speak, only looked at her fixedly: "What I've heard's so, then?" he said, after a pause. "What have you heard?" "The story is you're going to marry Jim Laramie." Kate, in turn, stood silently regarding her father, and as if she knew she must face it out. "Is that so?" he demanded harshly. She burst into tears, but through her tears the two men heard her answer: "Yes, father." Barb picked up his hat without wincing: "I guess that ends things 'tween you and me." He started uncertainly for the door. "Father!" Kate protested, taking a quick step after him as he passed out. "You don't do him justice. You don't know him." But slamming the door shut behind him, he cut off her words. If they reached his ears he gave them no heed. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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