Nevada (1995) (28 page)

"None of your damn business," returned Jim, with abrupt change o
f
tone and manner. "But if you hang around I reckon somebody'll tel
l
you."

"Hyar, you come right along with--"

"LOOKOUT, MACK!" interrupted some one behind Jim. A glass wen
t
crash on the floor, and the rasp of heavy boots followed. Then
a
man strode in front of the sheriff, facing Jim. "Excuse me
,
stranger, but I believe I know you. If I'm wrong, say so."

"Howdy, Cash!" returned Jim, extending his hand.

Cash Burridge looked a full ten years older than when Jim had las
t
seen him. Drink and hard life and evil passion had broken the man.

His lined dark visage lost its set expression of uncertainty
,
almost alarm, and worked convulsively into a broad smile.

"Jumpin' steers!" he ejaculated, grasping Jim's hand in both hi
s
and wagging it vigorously. His smile kept on expanding. His eye
s
lighted. "If it ain't you!"

"Shore is, Cash. Just got in, an' am lookin' for trouble."

"No! WHO?" queried Burridge, with a sudden check to his almos
t
boisterous welcome. He had bent forward and lowered his voice.

"Wal, nobody in particular, Cash. I just feel mean."

"I'm a son-of-a-gun! It's you--changed a lot. Most in disposition--
i
f it's true. You're LOOKIN' for trouble."

Here the sheriff interposed by placing an ungentle hand o
n
Burridge's shoulder and turning him somewhat.

"Friend of yours, hey? Thet's no guarantee to keep him out o
f
jail."

"Hell!" exploded Burridge. "I'm tryin' to keep YOU out of th
e
boneyard. My Gawd! if I told you who this man is you'd swea
t
blood."

Macklin's jaw dropped and he swayed back against the bar, dominate
d
by Burridge's fierce sincerity. Then Burridge drew Jim aside fro
m
the gaping, grinning bystanders at the bar and the gamesters at th
e
tables.

"It's you--really YOU, Jim?" he whispered, huskily.

"Shore, Cash. Cain't you see?"

"But we heard you were dead."

"That was terrible exaggerated, Cash."

"Dropped from the sky! Jim Lacy, just down from heaven, huh?

Well, I'm damned! . . . An' I never was so glad to see a man in m
y
life. Honest, Jim."

"Wal, I'm glad to see you, Cash, though we was never very thick."

"Where you been, Jim, since you left Lineville? Lord! I neve
r
forgot that night you shot Link Cawthorne's eye out."

"Wal, Cash, never mind where I've been."

"Sure, that doesn't matter, only I always had my idea, an' I wa
s
curious. I had a hunch you went to New Mexico an' got mixed up i
n
that Lincoln County war. SOME of those hombres got out of tha
t
fight alive. I know one of them did. Close pard of Billy th
e
Kid."

"Who?" queried Jim.

"I'm not givin' any man away, Jim. Sure wouldn't have said as muc
h
as that to anyone else. When'd you drift in?"

"To-day."

"You'll be recognized here."

"Shore. I expect to be an' I'm not carin'."

"Lord! Jim, have you grown reckless with the years? You loo
k
older, but fine, healthy, an' prosperous."

"Who's goin' to recognize me, Cash?"

"You remember Ace Black? He's the gambler we knowed at the Gol
d
Mine back in Lineville."

"Shore I remember Black."

"He's upstairs playing faro. Reckon Black will know you, but he'
d
never give you away. Hardy Rue, though. He will. He neve
r
cottoned to you. Always had a hunch you'd killed Less Setter. Ru
e
has dogged me all these years. An' I'm layin' it to him that I'
m
down on my luck now."

"Wal, what come of your ranchin' deal heah, Cash?"

"Jim, you had me figured. I couldn't stand prosperity," returne
d
Burridge, heavily. "But I swear I went straight till I got in nee
d
of money. I'd made poor deals. I could steal cattle an' mak
e
money, but not by tradin' or ranchin'. I began to borrow. Then I
h
ad a chance to sell out to Ben Ide, a Californian. I did hi
m
dirt, an' I've lived to be sorry. There's a man, Jim. . . . Well
,
when I was flush again I began to drink an' buck the tiger."

"An' now you're aboot broke. Who got all that money, Cash?"

"Aw, everybody. Brennan some, but then I don't begrudge it to him.

Hardy Rue beat me out of most of it. I fell in love with a Spanis
h
girl here. She an' Rue double-crossed me. Got my pile!"

"Wal, why didn't you kill him?"

"I couldn't try an even break with Rue. An' I never had a chanc
e
to shoot him in the back."

"Is Rue heah now?" asked Jim.

"Reckon he's with that black-eyed hussy. It's a little early fo
r
him to drop in. Lord! it'll tickle me to have him see you with me.

Rue was afraid of you, Jim, an' you need to watch him."

"Where do you hang out, Cash?"

"I've been most here in town," replied Burridge. "I've a cabi
n
down in the brakes."

"Are you acquainted down there?"

"Sure am, Jim. Know everybody except the newcomers. An' I'
m
givin' you a hunch there's some hard customers driftin' in. It's
a
hell of a rough country an' big as all outdoors. I sure learned t
o
love Arizona."

"Wal, Cash, when you was rich an' high-handed I didn't have muc
h
use for you," said Jim, with a smile. "But now you're broke an'
d
own on your luck, I reckon I'll chip in with you."

"Jim Lacy! You always was a queer one," returned Burridge
,
feelingly. "Reckon, I know you've got somethin' up your sleeve
,
an' whatever it is, I'm sure with you."

"All right, Cash. Suppose you tote me round to look 'em over."

Chapter
thirteen.

Hettie Ide had attended the dance at Winthrop as a guest of Alic
e
Franklidge, a girl of nineteen, daughter of the judge's secon
d
wife. She was a frank, breezy, Western girl to whom Hettie took
a
liking, and they were on the way to become real friends.

They left the dance before midnight, to be driven out to th
e
Franklidge house by Alice's escort. The night was cold and clear
,
with myriads of blinking stars overhead. Hettie removed her hat t
o
let the cool wind blow her hair.

"Did you enjoy your first dance in Arizona?" asked the youn
g
rancher.

"Yes indeed I did, Mr. Van Horn--in spite of a--a rather unpleasan
t
incident," replied Hettie.

"Sure, we're awful glad. Sorry, too, somethin' annoyed you. Bu
t
honest, the dances now are Sunday-school affairs to what they onc
e
was. Isn't that so, Alice?"

"It is. I used to be afraid to go," replied the girl. "Fight
s
were common. One for each dance! They're really nice now. Da
d
and some of the town men have seen to that. . . . Hettie, i
t
mortifies me that you were annoyed by--by Clan Dillon. I know i
t
was he. You danced with him--then came back to us all flushed an
d
nervous."

"Yes, it was Mr. Dillon. He--he insulted me."

Van Horn cracked his whip over the horses in rather abrupt an
d
forceful action.

"I'm not surprised," returned Alice, thoughtfully. "Dillon is
a
handsome, fascinating man. Very agreeable, winning. But I alway
s
thought him a little common and bold."

"Who was the pretty girl Marvie paid so much attention to?" aske
d
Hettie.

"I didn't notice her. But I saw he was having a grand time."

"He had her with him just before we left," went on Hettie. "Sh
e
wore a white muslin dress, cotton stockings, cheap slippers to
o
large for her feet. She hung back as Marvie came up to me. I
t
hink she was afraid to meet us. I thought her very pretty. Bi
g
staring dark eyes. Red lips. Curly brown hair."

"That was Rose Hatt," replied Van Horn.

"Rose Hatt? She couldn't belong to that notorious Hatt family w
e
hear about?" asked Alice.

"There's only one family of Hatts, Alice, an' Rose is the onl
y
girl," explained the young rancher. "I'd seen her before. Charle
y
Moss danced with her. Pretty kid. An' she seemed modest an'
q
uiet. Young Blaine sure acted smitten with her."

"Indeed he did," corroborated Hettie, seriously. "Marvie is such
a
fine boy. But he's going a little wild. I've remonstrated wit
h
Ben, who lets Marvie run around too freely."

"Hettie, love affairs in Arizona go like fire in the dry deser
t
grass," said Alice, with a little laugh. "YOU want to watch out
,
doesn't she, Frank?"

"Sure won't do her any good to watch out," returned Van Horn
,
gayly. "One of our Arizona lads is goin' to get her."

"Mr. Van Horn, that's the second time to-night I've heard suc
h
prediction," replied Hettie, pleasantly. "I'm sure I fee
l
flattered."

Soon they arrived at the Franklidge home, which stood on a bench o
f
high ground, among stately pine trees. The girls went in to fin
d
Judge Franklidge smoking beside an open fireplace. He greete
d
Hettie warmly.

"Did you meet your brother?" he asked, as he placed a chair fo
r
her.

"No. Did he come in, after all?"

"Yes. He was here for an hour," replied the judge. "Came in t
o
talk over a cattle deal. I advised him not to buy more stock jus
t
now."

"Was Ina with Ben?" asked Hettie.

"Sure was, and she looked powerful handsome. I wanted them to sta
y
here overnight. But Ben said he'd rather go to the hotel, so h
e
could be in town early. Left word if he didn't see you at th
e
dance that you were to meet him tomorrow at noon sharp. A
t
Brydon's."

"Goodness! I'm glad we got away from the dance before Be
n
arrived," exclaimed Hettie, with a rather unmirthful laugh.

"Well now, you don't say?" queried the judge, lowering his head t
o
gaze at her over his glasses.

"I'm afraid it's going to be embarrassing for me when I see Ben.

I'll have to tell him I--I discharged Dillon."

"Dillon! Clan Dillon? Did you fire HIM?" asked the judge, sittin
g
up abruptly.

"I sure did," rejoined Hettie.

"I'll be darned. What for, lass?"

"I had reason enough, though I'm afraid Ben may not see it tha
t
way. He swears by Dillon. In fact he trusts Dillon implicitly an
d
entertains a very high opinion of him. Well, Mr. Dillon has mad
e
it rather hard for me out at the ranch. He waylays me whenever I
g
o outdoors. At first he didn't do me the honor to offer marriage.