A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

Keith of the Border

R >> Randall Parrish >> Keith of the Border




Keith turned in the saddle, looking back past Neb--who swayed in his seat,
with head lolling on his breast as though asleep, his horse plodding after
the others--along the slight trail they had made across the desert. So far
as eye could reach nothing moved, nothing apparently existed. Fronting
again to the north he looked upon the same grim barrenness, only that far
off, against the lighter background of distant sky, there was visible a
faint blur, a bluish haze, which he believed to be the distant sand dunes
bordering the Arkansas. The intense dreariness of it all left a feeling of
depression. His eyes turned and regarded the girl riding silently beside
him. The same look of depression was visible upon her face, and she was
gazing off into the dull distance with lack-lustre eyes, her slender form
leaning forward, her hands clasped across the pommel. The long weariness
of the night had left traces on her young face, robbing it of some of its
freshness, yet Keith found it more attractive in the growing daylight than
amid the lamp shadows of the evening before. He had not previously
realized the peculiar clearness of her complexion, the rose tint showing
through the olive skin, or the soft and silky fineness of her hair, which,
disarranged, was strangely becoming under the broad brim of the hat she
wore, drawn low until it shadowed her eyes. It was not a face to be easily
associated with frontier concert halls, or any surrender to evil; the chin
round and firm, the lips full, yet sufficiently compressed; the whole
expression that of pure and dignified womanhood. She puzzled him, and he
scarcely knew what to believe, or exactly how to act toward her.

"Our friends back yonder should be turning out from the corral by now," he
said finally, anxious to break the silence, for she had not spoken since
he ended his tale. "It will not be long until they discover Hawley's
predicament, and perhaps the welkin already rings with profanity. That may
even account for the blue haze out yonder."

She turned her eyes toward him, and the slightest trace of a smile
appeared from out the depths of their weariness.

"If they would only remain satisfied with that. Will they follow us, do
you think? And are we far enough away by this time to be safe?"

"It is hardly likely they will let us escape without a chase," he answered
slowly. "We possess too much information now that we have their rendezvous
located, and 'Black Bart' will have a private grudge to revenge. I wonder
if he suspects who attacked him! But don't worry, Miss Hope; we have miles
the start, and the wind has been strong enough to cover our trail. Do you
see that dark irregularity ahead?"

"Yes; is it a cloud?"

"No; the Arkansas sand dunes. I am going to try to keep the horses moving
until we arrive there. Then we will halt and eat whatever Neb has packed
behind him, and rest for an hour or two. You look very tired, but I hope
you can keep up for that distance. We shall be safely out of sight then."

"Indeed, I am tired; the strain of waiting alone in that cabin, and all
that happened last night, have tried me severely. But--but I can go
through."

Her voice proved her weakness, although it was determined enough, and
Keith, yielding to sudden impulse, put out his hand, and permitted it to
rest upon hers, clasped across the pommel. Her eyes drooped, but there was
no change of posture.

"Your nerve is all right," he said, admiringly, "you have shown yourself a
brave girl."

"I could not be a coward, and be my father's daughter," she replied, with
an odd accent of pride in her choking voice, "but I have been afraid, and
--and I am still."

"Of what? Surely, not that those fellows will ever catch up with us?"

"No, I hardly know what, only there is a dread I cannot seem to shake off,
as if some evil impended, the coming of which I can feel, but not see.
Have you ever experienced any such premonition?"

He laughed, withdrawing his hand.

"I think not. I am far too prosaic a mortal to allow dreams to worry me.
So far I have discovered sufficient trouble in real life to keep my brain
active. Even now I cannot forget how hungry I am."

She did not answer, comprehending how useless it would be to explain, and
a little ashamed of her own ill-defined fears, and thus they rode on in
silence. He did not notice that she glanced aside at him shyly, marking
the outline of his clear-cut features, silhouetted against the far-off
sky. It was a manly face, strong, alive, full of character, the well-
shaped head firmly poised, the broad shoulders squared in spite of the
long night of weary exertion. The depths of her eyes brightened with
appreciation.

"I believe your story, Mr. Keith," she said at last softly.

"My story?" questioningly, and turning instantly toward her.

"Yes; all that you have told me about what happened."

"Oh; I had almost forgotten having told it, but I never felt any doubt but
what you would believe. I don't think I could lie to you."

It was no compliment, but spoken with such evident honesty that her eyes
met his with frankness.

"There could be no necessity; only I wanted you to know that I trust you,
and am grateful."

She extended her hand this time, and he took it within his own, holding it
firmly, yet without knowing what to answer. There was strong impulse
within him to question her, to learn then and there her own life story.
Yet, somehow, the reticence of the girl restrained him; he could not
deliberately probe beneath the veil she kept lowered between them. Until
she chose to lift it herself voluntarily, he possessed no right to
intrude. The gentlemanly instincts of younger years held him silent,
realizing clearly that whatever secret might dominate her life, it was
hers to conceal just so long as she pleased. Out of this swift struggle of
repression he managed to say:

"I appreciate your confidence, and mean to prove worthy. Perhaps some day
I can bring you the proofs."

"I need none other than your own word."

"Oh, but possibly you are too easily convinced; you believed in Hawley."

She looked at him searchingly, her eyes glowing, her cheeks flushed.

"Yes," she said slowly, convincingly. "I know I did; I--I was so anxious
to be helped, but--but this is different."

It was noon, the sun pitiless and hot above them, before they straggled
within the partial shelter of the sand dunes, and sank wearily down to
their meagre lunch. Their supply of water was limited, and the exhausted
ponies must wait until they reached the river to quench their thirst. Yet
this was not very far off now, and Keith had seen enough of their
surroundings to locate the position of the ford. Slow as they must
proceed, three hours more would surely bring them to the bank of the
stream. They discussed their plans briefly as the three sat together on
the warm sand, revived both by the food and the brief rest. There was not
a great deal to be determined, only where the girl should be left, and how
the two men had better proceed to escape observation.

Fort Larned was the nearest and safest place for their charge, none of the
party expressing any desire to adventure themselves within the immediate
neighborhood of Carson City. What her future plans might be were not
revealed, and Keith forebore any direct questioning. His duty plainly
ended with placing her in a safe environment, and he felt convinced that
Mrs. Murphy, of the Occidental Hotel, would furnish room, and, if
necessary, companionship. The sole problem remaining--after she had rather
listlessly agreed to such an arrangement--was to so plan the details as to
permit the negro and himself to slip through the small town clustered
about the post without attracting undue attention. No doubt, the story of
their escape had already reached there, embellished by telling, and
serious trouble might result from discovery. Keith was surprised at the
slight interest she exhibited in these arrangements, merely signifying her
acquiescence by a word, but he charged it to physical weariness, and the
reaction from her night of peril; yet he took pains to explain fully his
plan, and to gain her consent.

This finally settled, they mounted again and rode on through the lanes
traversing the sand dunes, keeping headed as straight as possible toward
the river. The ford sought was some miles down stream, but with the
horses' thirst mitigated, they made excellent progress, and arrived at the
spot early in the evening. Not in all the day had they encountered a
living object, or seen a moving thing amid the surrounding desolation.
Now, looking across to the north, a few gleaming lights told of Fort
Larned perched upon the opposite bluffs.




Chapter XIV

The Landlady of the Occidentals



Keith had crossed at this point so frequently with cattle that, once
having his bearings, the blackness of the night made very little
difference. Nevertheless, in fear lest her pony might stumble over some
irregularity, he gave his own rein to Neb, and went forward on foot,
grasping firmly the tired animal's bit. It was a long stretch of sand and
water extending from bank to bank, but the latter was shallow, the only
danger being that of straying off from the more solid bottom into
quicksand. With a towering cottonwood as guide, oddly misshapen and
standing out gauntly against the slightly lighter sky, the plainsman led
on unhesitatingly, until they began to climb the rather sharp uplift of
the north bank. Here there was a plain trail, pounded into smoothness by
the hoofs of cavalry horses ridden down to water, and at the summit they
emerged within fifty yards of the stables.

The few lights visible, some stationary, with others dancing about like
will-o'-the-wisps, revealed imperfectly the contour of various buildings,
but Keith turned sharply to the right, anxious to slip past without being
challenged by a sentry. Beyond the brow of the bluff other lights now
became visible, flickering here and there, marking where a straggling town
had sprung up under the protection of the post--a town garish enough in
the daylight, composed mostly of shacks and tents, but now with its
deficiencies mercifully concealed by the enveloping darkness. The trail,
easily followed, led directly along its single street, but Keith circled
the outskirts through a wilderness of tin-cans and heaps of other debris,
until he halted his charges beside the black shadow of the only two-story
edifice in the place. This was the Occidental, the hospitality of which he
had frequently tested.

A light streamed from out the front windows, but, uncertain who might be
harbored within, Keith tapped gently at the back door. It was not opened
immediately, and when it was finally shoved aside the merest crack, no
glow of light revealed the darkened interior. The voice which spoke,
however, was amply sufficient to identify its owner.

"Is that ye agin, Murphy, a playin' av yer dirthy thricks?"

"No, Mrs. Murphy," he hastened to explain, "this is Keith--Jack Keith, of
the 'Bar X.'"

"The Lord deliver us!" was the instant exclamation, the door opening wide.
"They do be afther tellin' me to-night av the throuble ye was in over at
Carson, an' Oi t'ought maybe ye moight turn up this way. It was a nate
thrick ye played on the loikes av 'em, Jack, but this is a dom poor place
fer ye ter hide in. Bedad, there's a half-dozen in the parly now talkin'
about it, wid a couple av officers from the fort. Is the nager wid ye?"

"Yes, but we have no intention of hiding here. I'd rather take my chance
in the open. The fact is, Kate, we started off for the 'Bar X.'"

"Av course, ye did; Oi was shure av it."

"But down on the Salt Fork we ran across a young girl whom Black Bart had
inveigled down that way on a lie. We had a bit of a fight, and got her
away from him. This is what brought us back here--to put the girl where
she will be safe out of his clutches."

The door was wide open now, and Mrs. Murphy outside, her interest at fever
heat.

"Ye had a foight wid Black Bart! Oh, ye divil! An' ye licked the dirthy
spalpane, an' got away wid his gyurl! Glory be! And would Oi take her?
Well, Oi would. Niver doubt that, me bye. She may be the quane av Shaba,
an' she may be a Digger Injun Squaw, but the loikes av him had betther
kape away from Kate Murphy. It's glad Oi am ter do it! Bring her in. Oi
don't want ter hear no more."

"Just a word, Kate; I don't know whether she has any money or not, but I
'll pay her bill, as soon as it is safe for me to come back."

"Oh, the divil take her bill. She'll have the best in the house, annyhow,
an' Oi'm only hopin' that fellow will turn up huntin' her. Oi'd loike ter
take one slap at the spalpane."

Fully convinced as to Mrs. Murphy's good-will, Keith slipped back into the
darkness, and returned with the girl. Introductions were superfluous, as
the mistress of the Occidental cared little regarding ceremony.

"An' is this you, my dear?" she burst out, endeavoring to curb her voice
to secretive softness. "Shure, Jack Keith has told me all about it, an'
it's safe it is yer goin' ter be here. Come on in; Oi'll give ye number
forty-two, thet's next behint me own room, an' we'll go up the back
sthairs. Hilp the young loidy, Jack, fer shure ye know the way."

She disappeared, evidently with some hospitable purpose in view, and
Keith, clasping the girl's hand, undertook the delicate task of safely
escorting her through the dark kitchen, and up the dimly remembered
stairs. Only a word or two passed between them, but as they neared the
second story a light suddenly streamed out through the opened door of a
room at their left. Mrs. Murphy greeted them at the landing, and for the
first time saw the girl's weary white face, her eyes filled with appeal,
and the warm Irish heart responded instantly.

"Ye poor little lamb; it's the bid ye want, an' a dhrap o' whiskey. Jack
Keith, why didn't ye till me she was done up wid the hard ride? Here,
honey, sit down in the rocker till Oi get ye a wee dhrink. It'll bring the
roses back to the cheeks av ye." She was gone, bustling down the dark
stairs, and the two were alone in the room, the girl looking up into his
face, her head resting against the cushioned back of the chair. He thought
he saw a glimmer of tears in the depths of her lash-shaded eyes, and her
round white throat seemed to choke.

"You will be perfectly secure here," he said, soothingly, "and can remain
as long as you please. Mrs. Murphy will guard you as though you were her
own daughter. She is a bit rough, maybe, but a big-hearted woman, and
despises Hawley. She nursed me once through a touch of typhoid--yes, by
Jove," glancing about in sudden recognition, "and in this very room, too."

The girl's glance wandered over the plain, neat furnishings, and the
rather pathetic attempts at decoration, yet with apparently no thought for
them.

"You--you have not told me where you were going."

He laughed, a little uneasily, as though he preferred to make light of the
whole matter.

"Really, I have hardly decided, the world is so wide, and I had no reason
to suppose you interested."

"But I am interested," resenting his tone of assumed indifference. "I
would not want to feel that our acquaintance was to wholly end now."

"Do you really mean that?"

"Why should I not? You have been a real friend to me; I shall remember you
always with a gratitude beyond words. I want you to know this, and that--
that I shall ever wish to retain that friendship."

Keith struggled with himself, doubtful of what he had best say, swayed by
unfamiliar emotions.

"You may be sure I shall never forget," he blurted forth, desperately,
"and, if you really wish it, I'll certainly see you again."

"I do," earnestly.

"Then, I'll surely find a way. I don't know now which direction we will
ride, but I'm not going very far until I clear up that murder out yonder
on the trail; that is my particular job just now."

Before she could answer, Mrs. Murphy reëntered, and forced her to drink
the concoction prepared, the girl accepting with smiling protest. The
landlady, empty glass in hand, swept her eyes about the room.

"Bedad, but the place looks betther than iver Oi'd belaved, wid the gyurl
Oi've got tindin' to it. She's that lazy she goes ter slape swapin' the
flure. Jack, would ye moind hilpin' me move the bid; shure, it's rale
mahogany, an' so heavy it breaks me back intoirely to push it 'round."

He took hold willingly enough, and the two together ran the heavy
contrivance across the room to the position selected. Once a leg caught in
the rag carpet, and Keith lifted it out, bending low to get a firmer grip.
Then he held out his hand to the girl.

"It is not going to be good-bye then, Miss Hope; I'll find you."

She smiled up into his eyes, much of the weariness gone from her face.

"I am going to believe that," she answered, gladly, "because I want to."

Mrs. Murphy lingered until his steps sounded on the stairs, as he slowly
felt his way down through the darkness.

"He do be a moighty foine bye, Jack Keith," she said, apparently
addressing the side wall. "Oi wish Oi'd a knowed him whin Oi was a gyurl;
shure, it's not Murphy me noime'd be now, Oi'm t'inkin'."

Left alone, the girl bowed her head on her hands, a hot tear stealing down
through her fingers. As she glanced up again, something that glittered on
the floor beside the bed caught her eyes. She stopped and picked it up,
holding the trinket to the light, staring at it as though fascinated. It
was the locket Keith had taken from the neck of the dead man at Cimmaron
Crossing. Her nerveless fingers pressed the spring, and the painted face
within looked up into her own, and still clasping it within her hand, she
sank upon her knees, burying her face on the bed.

"Where did he get that?" her lips kept repeating. "Where did he ever get
that?"



Chapter XV

Again Christie Maclaire



Keith possessed sufficient means for several months of idleness, and even
if he had not, his reputation as a plains scout would insure him
employment at any of the more important scattered army posts. Reliable men
for such service were in demand. The restlessness of the various Indian
tribes, made specially manifest by raids on the more advanced settlements,
and extending over a constantly widening territory, required continuous
interchange of communication between commanders of detachments. Bold and
reckless spirits had flocked to the frontier in those days following the
Civil War, yet all were not of the type to encourage confidence in
military authorities. Keith had already frequently served in this
capacity, and abundantly proved his worth under rigorous demands of both
endurance and intelligence, and he could feel assured of permanent
employment whenever desired. Not a few of the more prominent officers he
had met personally during the late war--including Sheridan, to whom he had
once borne a flag of truce,--yet the spirit of the Confederacy still
lingered in his heart: not in any feeling of either hatred or revenge, but
in an unwillingness to serve the blue uniform, and a memory of antagonism
which would not entirely disappear. He had surrendered at Appomattox,
conquered, yet he could not quite adjust himself to becoming companion-in-
arms with those against whom he had fought valiantly for four years. Some
of the wounds of that conflict still smarted. A natural soldier, anxious
to help the harassed settlers, eager enough to be actively employed, he
still held aloof from army connections except as a volunteer in case of
emergency.

Just now other considerations caused him to desire freedom. He had been
accused of murder, imprisoned for it, and in order to escape, had been
compelled to steal horses, the most heinous crime of the frontier. Not
only for his own protection and safety must the truth of that occurrence
at the Cimmaron Crossing be made clear, but he also had now a personal
affair with "Black Bart" Hawley to be permanently settled. They had
already clashed twice, and Keith intended they should meet again.

Memory of the girl was still in his mind as he and Neb rode silently forth
on the black prairie, leading the extra horse behind them. He endeavored
to drive the recollection from his mind, so he might concentrate it upon
plans for the future, but somehow she mysteriously wove her own
personality into those plans, and he was ever seeing the pleading in her
eyes, and listening to the soft Southern accent of her voice. Of late
years he had been unaccustomed to association with women of high type, and
there was that touch of the gentlewoman about this girl which had awakened
deep interest. Of course he knew that in her case it was merely an
inheritance of her past, and could not truly represent the present
Christie Maclaire of the music halls. However fascinating she might be,
she could not be worthy any serious consideration. In spite of his rough
life the social spirit of the old South was implanted in his blood, and no
woman of that class could hold him captive. Yet, some way, she refused to
be banished or left behind. Even Neb must have been obsessed by a similar
spirit, for he suddenly observed:

"Dat am sutt'nly a mighty fine gal, Massa Jack. I ain't seen nothin' to
compare wid her since I quit ol' Virginia--'deed I ain't."

Keith glanced back at his black satellite, barely able to distinguish the
fellow's dim outlines.

"You think her a lady, then?" he questioned, giving thoughtless utterance
to his own imagination.

"'Deed I does!" the thick voice somewhat indignant. "I reck'n I knows de
real quality when I sees it. I'se 'sociated wid quality white folks
befo'."

"But, Neb, she's a singer in dance halls."

"I don't believe it, Massa Jack."

"Well, I wouldn't if I could help it. She don't seem like that kind, but I
recognized her as soon as I got her face in the light. She was at the
Gaiety in Independence, the last time I was there. Hawley knew her too,
and called her by name."

Neb rubbed his eyes, and slapped his pony's flank, unable to answer, yet
still unconvinced.

"I reck'n both ob yer might be mistook," he insisted doggedly.

"Not likely," and Keith's brief laugh was not altogether devoid of
bitterness. "We both called her Christie Maclaire, and she didn't even
deny the name; she was evidently not proud of it, but there was no denial
that she was the girl."

"Dat wasn't like no name dat you called her when we was ridin'."

"No; she didn't approve of the other, and told me to call her Hope, but I
reckon she's Christie Maclaire all right."

They rode on through the black, silent night as rapidly as their tired
horses would consent to travel. Keith led directly across the open
prairie, guiding his course by the stars, and purposely avoiding the
trails, where some suspicious eye might mark their passage. His first
object was to get safely away from the scattered settlements lying east of
Carson City. Beyond their radius he could safely dispose of the horses
they rode, disappear from view, and find time to develop future plans. As
to the girl--well, he would keep his word with her, of course, and see her
again sometime. There would be no difficulty about that, but otherwise she
should retain no influence over him. She belonged rather to Hawley's class
than his.

It was a lonely, tiresome ride, during which Neb made various efforts to
talk, but finding his white companion uncommunicative, at last relapsed
into rather sullen silence. The horses plodded on steadily, and when
daylight finally dawned, the two men found themselves in a depression
leading down to the Smoky River. Here they came to a water hole, where
they could safely hide themselves and their stock. With both Indians and
white men to be guarded against, they took all the necessary precautions,
picketing the horses closely under the rock shadows, and not venturing
upon building any fire. Neb threw himself on the turf and was instantly
asleep, but Keith climbed the steep side of the gully, and made searching
survey of the horizon. The wide arc to south, east, and west revealed
nothing to his searching eyes, except the dull brown of the slightly
rolling plains, with no life apparent save some distant grazing antelope,
but to the north extended more broken country with a faint glimmer of
water between the hills. Satisfied they were unobserved, he slid back
again into the depression. As he turned to lie down he took hold of the
saddle belonging to Hawley's horse. In the unbuckled holster his eye
observed the glimmer of a bit of white paper. He drew it forth, and gazed
at it unthinkingly. It was an envelope, robbed of its contents, evidently
not sent through the mails as it had not been stamped, but across its face
was plainly written, "Miss Christie Maclaire." He stared at it, his lips
firm set, his gray eyes darkening. If he possessed any doubts before as to
her identity, they were all thoroughly dissipated now.

* * * * *

As he lay there, with head pillowed on the saddle, his body aching from
fatigue yet totally unable to sleep, staring open-eyed into the blue of
the sky, the girl they had left behind awoke from uneasy slumber, aroused
by the entrance of Mrs. Murphy. For an instant she failed to comprehend
her position, but the strong brogue of the energetic landlady broke in
sharply:

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