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Keith of the Border

R >> Randall Parrish >> Keith of the Border




"Do you see that?" he inquired anxiously. "There, straight ahead of you?"

The negro stared, shaking with cold, and scarcely able to stand alone.

"Maybe it am de moon, Massa Jack," he muttered thickly, "or a goblin's
lantern. Lawd, I don't jest like de looks ob dat ting."

"Well, I do," and Keith laughed uneasily at the negro's fears. "All I
wanted to know was if you saw what I saw. That's a lamp shining through a
window, Neb. What in heaven's name it can be doing here I am unable to
guess, but I'm going to find out. It means shelter and food, boy, even if
we have to fight for it. Come on, the horses are safe, and we'll discover
what is behind that light yonder."




Chapter VIII

The Wilderness Cabin



The light was considerably farther away than they had at first supposed,
and as they advanced steadily toward it, the nature of the ground rapidly
changed, becoming irregular, and littered with low growing shrubs. In the
darkness they stumbled over outcroppings of rock, and after a fall or two,
were compelled to move forward with extreme caution. But the mysterious
yellow glow continually beckoned, and with new hope animating the hearts
of both men, they staggered on, nerving themselves to the effort, and
following closely along the bank of the stream.

At last they arrived where they could perceive dimly something of the
nature of this unexpected desert oasis.

The light shone forth, piercing the night, through the uncurtained window
of a log cabin, which would otherwise have been completely concealed from
view by a group of low growing cottonwoods. This was all the black,
enshrouding night revealed, and even this was merely made apparent by the
yellow illumination of the window. The cabin stood upon an island, a strip
of sand, partially covered by water, separating it from the north shore on
which they stood. There was no sign of life about the hut, other than the
burning lamp, but that alone was sufficient evidence of occupancy. In
spite of hunger, and urgent need, Keith hesitated, uncertain as to what
they might be called upon to face. Who could be living in this out-of-the-
way spot, in the heart of this inhospitable desert? It would be no cattle
outpost surely, for there was no surrounding grazing land, while surely no
professional hunter would choose such a barren spot for headquarters.
Either a hermit, anxious to escape all intercourse with humanity, or some
outlaw hiding from arrest, would be likely to select so isolated a place
in which to live. To them it would be ideal. Away from all trails, where
not even widely roving cattlemen would penetrate, in midst of a desert
avoided by Indians because of lack of game,--a man might hide here year
after year without danger of discovery. Yet such a one would not be likely
to welcome their coming, and they were without arms. But Keith was not a
man to hesitate long because of possible danger, and he stepped down into
the shallow water.

"Come on, Neb," he commanded, "and we 'll find out who lives here."

The window faced the west, and he came up the low bank to where the door
fronted the north in intense darkness. Under the shadow of the cottonwoods
he could see nothing, groping his way, with hands extended. His foot
struck a flat stone, and he plunged forward, striking the unlatched door
so heavily as to swing it open, and fell partially forward into the room.
As he struggled to his knees, Neb's black face peering past him into the
lighted interior, he seemed to perceive in one swift, comprehensive
glance, every revealed detail. A lamp burned on a rudely constructed set
of drawers near the window, and a wood fire blazed redly in a stone
fireplace opposite, the yellow and red lights blending in a peculiar glow
of color. Under this radiance were revealed the rough log walls, plastered
with yellow clay, and hung about with the skins of wild animals, a roughly
made table, bare except for a book lying upon it, and a few ordinary
appearing boxes, evidently utilized as seats, together with a barrel cut
so as to make a comfortable chair. In the back wall was a door, partially
open, apparently leading into a second room. That was all, except the
woman.

Keith must have perceived all these in that first hurried glance, for they
were ever after closely associated together in his mind, yet at the moment
he possessed no clear thought of anything except her. She stood directly
behind the table, where she must have sprung hastily at the first sound of
their approach, clutching at the rude mantel above the fireplace, and
staring toward him, her face white, her breath coming in sobs. At first he
thought the vision a dream, a delirium born from his long struggle; he
could not conceive the possibility of such a presence in this lonely
place, and staggering to his feet, gazed wildly, dumbly at the slender,
gray clad figure, the almost girlish face under the shadowing dark hair,
expecting the marvellous vision to vanish. Surely this could not be real!
A woman, and such a woman as this here, and alone, of all places! He
staggered from weakness, almost terror, and grasped the table to hold
himself erect. The rising wind came swirling in through the open door,
causing the fire to send forth spirals of smoke, and he turned, dragging
the dazed negro within, and snapping the latch behind him. When he glanced
around again he fully believed the vision confronting him would have
vanished. But no! there she yet remained, those wide-open, frightened
brown eyes, with long lashes half hiding their depths, looking directly
into his own; only now she had slightly changed her posture, leaning
toward him across the table. Like a flash he comprehended that this was
reality--flesh and blood--and, with the swift instinct of a gentleman, his
numbed, nerveless fingers jerked off his hat, and he bowed bareheaded
before her.

"Pardon me," he said, finding his voice with difficulty. "I fell over the
step, but--but I didn't expect to find a woman here."

He heard her quick breathing, marked a slight change in the expression of
the dark eyes, and caught the glitter of the firelight on a revolver in
her lowered hand.

"What did you expect to find?"

"I hardly knew," he explained lamely; "we stumbled on this hut by
accident. I didn't know there was a cabin in all this valley."

"Then you are not here for any purpose? to meet with any one?"

"No; we were lost, and had gone into camp up above, when we discovered
your light."

"Where do you come from?"

Keith hesitated just an instant, yet falsehood was never easy for him, and
he saw no occasion for any deceit now.

"Carson City."

"What brought you here?"

"We started for the 'Bar X' Ranch down below, on the Canadian; got caught
in a sand-storm, and then just drifted. I do not know within twenty miles
of where we are."

She drew a deep breath of unconcealed relief.

"Are you alone?"

"The negro and I--yes; and you haven't the slightest reason to be afraid
of us--we're square."

She looked at him searchingly, and something in Keith's clean-cut face
seemed to bring reassurance, confidence in the man.

"I am not afraid," she answered, coming toward him around the short table.
"Only it is so lonely here, and you startled me, bursting in without
warning. But you look all right, and I am going to believe your story.
What is your name?"

"Keith--Jack Keith."

"A cowman?"

"A little of everything, I reckon," a touch of returning bitterness in the
tone. "A plainsman, who has punched cattle, but my last job was government
scout."

"You look as though you might be more than that," she said slowly.

The man flushed, his lips pressing tightly together. "Well, I--I may have
been," he confessed unwillingly. "I started out all right, but somehow I
reckon I just went adrift. It's a habit in this country."

Apparently those first words of comment had left her lips unthinkingly,
for she made no attempt to reply; merely stood there directly facing him,
her clear eyes gazing frankly into his own. He seemed to actually see her
now for the first time, fairly--a supple, slender figure, simply dressed,
with wonderfully excessive brown eyes, a perfect wealth of dark hair, a
clear complexion with slight olive tinge to it, a strong, intelligent
face, not strictly beautiful, yet strangely attractive, the forehead low
and broad, the nose straight, the lips full and inclined to smile.
Suddenly a vague remembrance brought recognition.

"Why, I know you now."

"Indeed!" the single word a note of undisguised surprise.

"Yes; I thought you looked oddly familiar all the time, but couldn't for
the life of me connect up. You're Christie Maclaire."

"Am I?" her eyes filled with curiosity.

"Of course you are. You needn't be afraid of me if you want it kept
secret, but I know you just the same. Saw you at the 'Gaiety' in
Independence, maybe two months ago. I went three times, mostly on your
account. You've got a great act, and you can sing too."

She stood in silence, still looking fixedly at him, her bosom rising and
falling, her lips parted as if to speak. Apparently she did not know what
to do, how to act, and was thinking swiftly.

"Mr. Keith," she said, at last in decision, "I am going to ask you to blot
that all out--to forget that you even suspect me of being Christie
Maclaire, of the Gaiety."

"Why, certainly; but would you explain?"

"There is little enough to explain. It is sufficient that I am here alone
with you. Whether I wish to or not, I am compelled to trust myself to your
protection. You may call me Christie Maclaire, or anything else you
please; you may even think me unworthy respect, but you possess the face
of a gentleman, and as such I am going to trust you--I must trust you.
Will you accept my confidence on these terms?"

Keith did not smile, nor move. Weak from hunger and fatigue, he leaned
wearily against the wall. Nevertheless that simple, womanly appeal awoke
all that was strong and sacrificing within him, although her words were so
unexpected that, for the moment, he failed to realize their full purport.
Finally he straightened up.

"I--I accept any terms you desire," he gasped weakly, "if--if you will
only give one return."

"One return?--what?"

"Food; we have eaten nothing for sixty hours." Her face, which had been so
white, flushed to the hair, her dark eyes softening.

"Why, of course; sit down. I ought to have known from your face. There is
plenty here--such as it is--only you must wait a moment."




Chapter IX

The Girl of the Cabin



He saw Neb drop down before the blazing fireplace, and curl up like a
tired dog, and observed her take the lamp, open the door into the other
room a trifle, and slip silently out of sight. He remembered staring
vaguely about the little room, still illumined by the flames, only half
comprehending, and then the reaction from his desperate struggle with the
elements overcame all resolution, and he dropped his head forward on the
table, and lost consciousness. Her hand upon his shoulder aroused him,
startled into wakefulness, yet he scarcely realized the situation.

"I have placed food for the negro beside him," she said quietly, and for
the first time Keith detected the soft blur in her speech.

"You are from the South!" he exclaimed, as though it was a discovery.

"Yes--and you?"

"My boyhood began in Virginia--the negro was an old-time slave in our
family."

She glanced across at the black, now sitting up and eating voraciously.

"I thought he had once been a slave; one can easily tell that. I did not
ask him to sit here because, if you do not object, we will eat here
together. I have also been almost as long without food. It was so lonely
here, and--and I hardly understood my situation--and I simply could not
force myself to eat."

He distinguished her words clearly enough, although she spoke low, as if
she preferred what was said between them should not reach the ears of the
negro, yet somehow, for the moment, they made no adequate impression on
him. Like a famished wolf he began on the coarse fare, and for ten minutes
hardly lifted his head. Then his eyes chanced to meet hers across the
narrow table, and instantly the gentleman within him reawoke to life.

"I have been a perfect brute," he acknowledged frankly, "with no thought
except for myself. Hunger was my master, and I ask your forgiveness, Miss
Maclaire."

Her eyes smiled.

"I am so very glad to have any one here--any one--in whom I feel even a
little confidence--that nothing else greatly matters. Can you both eat,
and listen?"

Keith nodded, his eyes full of interest, searching her face.

"Whoever I may be, Mr. Keith, and really that seems only of small
importance, I came to Fort Larned seeking some trace of my only brother,
whom we last heard from there, where he had fallen into evil
companionship. On the stage trip I was fortunate enough to form an
acquaintance with a man who told me he knew where I could meet Fred, but
that the boy was hiding because of some trouble he had lately gotten into,
and that I should have to proceed very carefully so as not to lead the
officers to discover his whereabouts. This gentleman was engaged in some
business at Carson City, but he employed a man to bring me to this place,
and promised to get Fred, and meet me here the following day. There must
have been some failure in the plans, for I have been here entirely alone
now for three days. It has been very lonesome, and--and I've been a little
frightened. Perhaps I ought not to have come, and I am not certain what
kind of a place this is. I was so afraid when you came, but I am not
afraid now."

"You have no need to be," he said soberly, impressed by the innocent
candor of the girl, and feeling thankful that he was present to aid her.
"I could not wrong one of the South."

"My father always told me I could trust a Southern gentleman under any
circumstance. Mr. Hawley was from my own State, and knew many of our old
friends. That was why I felt such unusual confidence in him, although he
was but a travelling acquaintance."

"Mr. Hawley?"

"The gentleman whom I met on the stage."

"Oh, yes; you said he was in business in Carson City, but I don't seem to
remember any one of that name."

"He was not there permanently; only to complete some business deal."

"And your brother? I may possibly have known him."

She hesitated an instant, her eyes dropping, until completely shaded by
the long lashes.

"He--he was rather a wild boy, and ran away from home to enlist in the
army. But he got into a bad set, and--and deserted. That was part of the
trouble which caused him to hide. He enlisted under the name of Fred
Willoughby. Mr. Hawley told me this much, but I am afraid he did not tell
me all."

"And he said you would meet him here?"

Keith gazed about on the bare surroundings wonderingly. What was this
place, hidden away in the midst of the desert, isolated in a spot where
not even Indians roamed. Could it be a secret rendezvous of crime, the
headquarters of desperadoes, of cattle-rustlers, of highwaymen of the
Santa Fé Trail--a point to which they could ride when hard pressed,
certain of hiding here in safety? He began to suspect this, but, if so,
who then was this Hawley, and with what object had he sent this girl here?
Every way he turned was to confront mystery, to face a new puzzle.
Whatever she might be--even the music hall singer he believed--she had
been inveigled here innocently enough. Even now she possessed only the
most vague suspicion that she had been deceived. The centre of the whole
plot, if there was a plot, must be Hawley.

"Yes," she replied, "he said that this was one of the stations of a big
ranch on which Fred was employed, and that he would certainly be here
within a day or two."

"You met Hawley on the stage coach? How did you become acquainted?"

"We were alone for nearly fifty miles," her voice faltering slightly,
"and--and he called me what you did."

"Christie Maclaire?"

"Yes; he--he seemed to think he knew me, and I needed help so much that I
let him believe so. I thought it could do no harm, and then, when I found
he actually knew Fred, I didn't think of anything else, only how fortunate
I was to thus meet him. Surely something serious must have happened, or he
would have been here before this. Do you--do you suppose there is anything
wrong?"

Keith did not smile nor change posture. The more he delved into the
matter, the more serious he felt the situation to be. He knew all those
ranches lying south on the Canadian, and was aware that this was no out-
station. No cattle ever came across that sandy desert unless driven by
rustlers, and no honest purpose could account for this isolated hut. There
had been frequent robberies along the trail, and he had overheard tales of
mysterious disappearances in both Larned and Carson City. Could it be that
he had now, accidentally, stumbled upon the rendezvous of the gang? He was
not a man easily startled, but this thought sent his heart beating. He
knew enough to realize what such a gang would naturally consist of--
deserters, outlaws, rustlers; both Indians and whites, no doubt, combined
under some desperate leadership. Gazing into the girl's questioning eyes
he could scarcely refrain from blurting out all he suspected. Yet why
should he? What good could it do? He could not hope to bear her south to
the "Bar X" Ranch, for the ponies were already too thoroughly exhausted
for such a journey; he dared not turn north with her, for that would mean
his own arrest, leaving her in worse condition than ever. If he only knew
who this man Hawley was, his purpose, and plans! Yet what protection could
he and Neb prove, alone here, and without arms? All this flashed through
his mind in an instant, leaving him confused and uncertain.

"I hope not," he managed to say in answer to her query. "But it is rather
a strange mix-up all around, and I confess I fail to comprehend its full
meaning. It is hardly likely your friends will show up to-night, and by
morning perhaps we can decide what is best to do. Let me look around
outside a moment."

Her eyes followed him as he stepped through the door into the darkness;
then her head dropped into the support of her hands. There was silence
except for the crackling of the fire, until Neb moved uneasily. At the
sound the girl looked up, seeing clearly the good-natured face of the
negro.

"Yo' don't nebber need cry, Missus," he said soberly, "so long as Massa
Jack done 'greed to look after yo'."

"Have--have you known him long?"

"Has I knowed him long, honey? Ebber sence befo' de wah. Why I done knowed
Massa Jack when he wan't more'n dat high. Lawd, he sho' was a lively
youngster, but mighty good hearted to us niggers."

She hesitated to question a servant, and yet felt she must uncover the
truth.

"Who is he? Is he all he claims to be--a Virginia gentleman?"

All the loyalty and pride of slavery days was in Neb. "He sho' am, Missus;
dar ain't nuthin' higher in ol' Virginia dan de Keiths. Dey ain't got much
money sence the Yankees come down dar, but dey's quality folks jest de
same. I was done born on de ol' Co'nel's plantation, and I reck'n dar
wan't no finer man ebber libed. He was done killed in de wah. An' Massa
Jack he was a captain; he rode on hossback, an' Lawdy, but he did look
scrumptuous when he first got his uniform. He done fought all through de
wah, an' dey say Ginral Lee done shook hands wid him, an' said how proud
he was ter know him. You kin sutt'nly tie to Massa Jack, Missus."

The negro's voice had scarcely ceased when Keith came in again, closing
the door securely behind him.

"All quiet outside," he announced, speaking with new confidence. "I wanted
to get an understanding of the surroundings in case of emergency," he
explained, as if in answer to the questioning of the brown eyes gravely
uplifted to his face. "I see there is quite a corral at the lower end of
this island, safely hidden behind the fringe of cottonwoods. And a log
stable back of the house. Is the creek fordable both ways?"

"I think so; the man who brought me here rode away south."

"And are you going to trust yourself to my care?"

She came around the table with hands extended. He took them into his
grasp, looking down into her eyes.

"Yes," she said softly, "I am going to trust you, Captain Keith."

He laughed.

"Captain, hey? You must have been talking with that black rascal there."

The swift color flooded her face, but her hands remained imprisoned.

"I just done tol' her who de Keiths was down in ol' Virginia, sah," burst
in Neb indignantly. "I sho' don't want nobody to think I go trapsin'
'round wid any low white trash."

The gray eyes and the brown, gazing into one another, smiled with
understanding.

"Oh, well," Keith acknowledged, genially, "I cannot say I am sorry you
know something of my past glories; if one can't have a future, it is some
source of pride to have a past to remember. But now about the present.
We're not much protection to any one, the way we're fixed, as we are
unarmed."

"There is a big revolver hanging in a holster in the other room," she
answered, "and a short, sawed-off gun of some kind, but I don't know about
ammunition."

"May we investigate?"

"Most certainly," and she threw open the intervening door. As the two
stepped into the other apartment she held the lamp in aid of their search.
"There is the revolver on the wall, and the gun is in the opposite corner.
Isn't it strange you should be out in this country without arms?"

Keith glanced up, the revolver in his hands. The radiance of the light was
full upon her face, revealing the clearness of her skin, the dark shadows
of her lashes. There was the faintest tinge of suspicion to the question,
but he answered easily.

"We left Carson in something of a hurry. I'll tell you the story
to-morrow."




Chapter X

Mr. Hawley Reveals Himself



A fragment of candle, stuck tightly into the neck of an empty bottle,
appeared on a low shelf, and Keith lighted it, the girl returning the lamp
to its former position on the front room table. Investigation revealed a
dozen cartridges fitting the revolver, but no ammunition was discovered
adapted to the sawed-off gun, which Neb had already appropriated, and was
dragging about with him, peering into each black corner in anxious search.
The two were still busily employed at this, when to their ears, through
the stillness of the night, there came the unexpected noise of splashing
in the water without, and then the sound of a horse stumbling as he struck
the bank. Quick as a flash Keith closed the intervening door, extinguished
the dim flame of the candle, and grasping the startled negro's arm, hushed
him into silence.

Crouching close behind the door, through a crack of which the light
streamed, yielding slight view of the interior, the plainsman anxiously
awaited developments. These arrivals must certainly be some of those
connected with the house; there could be little doubt as to that.
Nevertheless, they might prove the posse following them, who had chanced
to stumble accidentally on their retreat. In either case they could merely
wait, and learn. Some one swore without, and was sharply rebuked by
another voice, which added an order gruffly. Then the outer latch clicked,
and a single man stepped within, immediately closing the door. Keith could
not see the girl through the small aperture, but he heard her quick
exclamation, startled, yet full of relief.

"Oh, is it you? I am so glad!"

The man laughed lightly.

"It is nice to be welcomed, although, perhaps, after your time of
loneliness any arrival would prove a relief. Did you think I was never
coming, Christie?"

"I could not understand," she replied, evidently with much less
enthusiasm, and to Keith's thinking, a shade resentful of the familiarity,
"but naturally supposed you must be unexpectedly delayed."

"Well, I was," and he apparently flung both coat and hat on a bench, with
the intention of remaining, "The marshal arrested a fellow for a murder
committed out on the Santa Fé Trail, and required me as a witness. But the
man got away before we had any chance to try him, and I have been on his
trail ever since."

"A murder! Did you imagine he came this way?"

"Not very likely; fact of it is, the sand storm yesterday destroyed all
traces, and, as a result, we've lost him. So I headed a few of the boys
over in this direction, as I wanted to relieve you of anxiety."

She was silent an instant, and the man crossed to the fireplace, where
Keith could gain a glimpse of him. Already suspicious from the familiar
sound of his voice, he was not surprised to recognize "Black Bart." The
plainsman's fingers gripped the negro's arm, his eyes burning. So this
gambler and blackleg was the gentlemanly Mr. Hawley, was he; well, what
could be his little game? Why had he inveigled the girl into this lonely
spot? And what did he now propose doing with her? As he crouched there,
peering through that convenient crack in the door, Keith completely forgot
his own peril, intent only upon this new discovery. She came slowly around
the end of the table, and stood leaning against it, her face clearly
revealed in the light of the lamp. For the first time Keith really
perceived its beauty, its fresh charm. Could such as she be singer and
dancer in a frontier concert hall? And if so, what strange conditions ever
drove her into that sort of life?

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