The Long Chance Read online

  CHAPTER V

  As has been intimated elsewhere in this story, San Pasqual has thereputation of being a "tough" town. This is due in a large measure tothe fact that it is a division terminal, and at all division terminalstrain crews must reckon with that element in our leisure class whichdeclines to pay railroad fare and elects to travel on brake-beams ratherthan in Pullman sleepers. Having been unceremoniously plucked from hisprecarious perch, the dispossessed hobo, finding himself stranded in adesert town where the streets are not electrically lighted, follows thedumb dictates of his stomach and the trend of his abnormal ambition, andpromptly "turns a trick." Occasionally there is an objection on the partof the "trickee" and somebody gets killed. Naturally enough, it followsthat the sound of pistol shots is frequently heard in the land, andsince it happens nine times out of ten that the argument is betweentransients, the permanent resident is not nearly so interested in theoutcome as one might imagine--particularly when the shooting takes placeat night and beyond the town limits.

  Harley P. Hennage had crossed from the eating-house, and had justreached the porch of the Silver Dollar saloon, when above the whistlingof the "zephyr" he heard the muffled reports of three pistol shots.One "Borax" O'Rourke, a "mule-skinner" from up Keeler way, who had justarrived in San Pasqual to spend his pay-day after the fashion of thecountry, heard them also.

  "Down the tracks," O'Rourke elucidated. "Tramps fightin' with a railroadpoliceman, I guess. Let's go down."

  "What's the use?" objected Mr. Hennage. "A yegg never does any damageunless he's right on top of his man. They all carry little short bulldogguns, an' I never did see one o' them little bar pistols that wouldscore a hit at twenty yards after sundown. They carry high."

  At that instant the sound of another shot was heard, but faintly.

  "That's the hobo" announced Mr. Hennage with conviction. "Them firstthree shots came from a life-size gun."

  Half a minute passed; then came the report of six shots, following soquickly upon each other that they sounded almost like a volley.

  "Nine shots" commented "Borax" O'Rourke. "That's an automatic."

  "That's what it is!" Mr. Hennage walked to the end of the porch. He wasjust a little excited. "It's all off with the hobo" he continued. "Iknow the man that's using that automatic, and he can shoot your eyeout at a hundred yards. I saw him ridin' in just as I left the eatin'house."

  "He must have been movin' to get down there in such a hurry. What's aman on horseback doin' chasin' hobos across a web of railroad tracks,an' if he was headed south, seems to me he'd have laid over forsupper--"

  But Harley P. had a flash of inspiration now. "Come on, O'Rourke" heshouted, and made a flying leap off the saloon porch. Borax followed,and the two raced down the street at top speed--which, in the case ofMr. Hennage, owing to his weight and his bow-legs, was not remarkable.Borax easily outdistanced him.

  Meanwhile, a rather spectacular panorama had been unfolding itself backof the string of box-cars. Guided by Donna's screams, Bob McGraw senthis horse away at a tearing gallop, lifting him in great leaps acrossthe maze of railroad tracks, and in a shower of flying cinders broughthim up, almost sitting, in the little foot-path between two lines oftrack. Almost under Friar Tuck's front feet, Donna was struggling inthe grasp of three ruffians, one of whom was endeavoring to tie ahandkerchief across her mouth. The velocipede had been derailed by meansof a car-stake placed across the track.

  Bob McGraw's long gun rose and fell three times, and at each deadly dropa streak of flame punctured the moon-light. The three assailants wentdown, shot through their respective legs--which remarkable coincidencewas not a coincidence at all, but merely a touch of kindly considerationon the part of Bob McGraw, who didn't believe in killing his man whenwounding him would serve the same purpose.

  As the three brutes dropped away from her the man from Owens rivervalley lowered his weapon, and Donna, pale, terrorized and disheveled,reeled toward him. He swung his horse a little, leaned outward anddownward, and with a sweep of his strong left arm he lifted her off theground and set her in front of him on Friar Tuck's neck, just as one ofthe wounded thugs straightened up, cut loose with his bulldog gun andshot Bob McGraw through the right breast.

  Donna heard a half-suppressed "Oh!" from her deliverer, and felt himsway forward a little. Then, seeming to summon every atom of grit andstrength he possessed, he whirled his horse, scuttled away around therear of the box-car, out of danger, and set Donna on the ground.

  "Wait here" he commanded, through teeth clenched to keep back the bloodthat welled from within him. "I was too kind--to those hounds."

  He rode back and finished his night's work. War-mad, he sat his horse,reeling in the saddle, and emptied his gun into the squirming wretchesas they sought to crawl under the car for protection.

  Donna was terribly frightened, but she was the last woman in the worldto go into hysterics. She realized that she was saved, and accordinglycommenced to cry, while waiting for the horseman to reappear. A minutepassed and still he did not come, and suddenly, without quite realizingwhat she was doing or why she did it, the girl went back to the sceneof the battle to look for him. She was not so badly frightened now, butrather awed by the silence, Donna was desert-bred, and in all her lifeshe had never fainted. For a girl she was remarkably free from "nerves,"and she had lived too long in San Pasqual to faint now at sight of thethree still figures huddled between the ties, even had she seen them;which, she had not. All that Donna saw was a roan range pony, standingquietly with drooping head, while his master sprawled in the saddle withhis arms around his horse's neck. Donna went quickly to him, and whenthe moon came out from behind a hurrying cloud she was enabled, with theaid of the ghastly green glare from a switch lantern which shone on hisface, to observe that he was quite conscious and looking at her withuntroubled boyish eyes.

  His hat was lying on the ground, securely anchored by the pony's leftfore foot. With rather unnatural calmness and following, subconsciouslyperhaps, her acquired instinct for salving hats for the men of herlittle world, Donna stooped, slapped the pony's leg to make him releasethe hat and picked it up. She stood for a few seconds, with the hat inher hand, looking at him pityingly. The man's brown eyes blazed withadmiration.

  "What a woman!" he wheezed. "You're brave--like a man. You came back.I'd like--to live--to serve you further--"

  He gurgled, a red stain appeared at the corners of his mouth, and heclosed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again his soul wasshining through and he smiled a little. He did not again attempt tospeak, yet, for all that, Donna heard the man-call to the woman thatbelonged to him, the mate for whom he had been destined when the worldwas first created. There are in this world personalities so finelyattuned to each other that mere words are unnecessary to express thefeelings of each for the other when first they meet. Between certainrare souls the gulf of convention may be bridged by a glance; the divinemiracle of a pure and holy love, leaping to life in an instant, cansuffer no defilement by a spontaneous and human impulse to grasp theprecious gift ere life departs.

  Some women love at first sight, but the vast majority, lacking theimagination to perceive, at a glance, the attributes that go toward themaking of a Man, only think they love and delay a conventional periodbefore yielding. But Donna Corblay had lived so long in sordid,unimaginative, unromantic San Pasqual that, from much inhibition andintrospection, she was different from most women. She had grown to relyon herself, to trust her own judgment and to bank on first impressions.As she faced Bob McGraw now, her first impression was that he wastelling her with his eyes that he loved her, that he had ridden inbehind this string of box-cars to purchase her honor at the price of hislife, because he loved her. And inasmuch as there appeared to be nothingunusual or unconventional in his telling her this--with his eyes, Donnawas sensible of but one feeling and one desire; a feeling of gratitudeto him for the priceless gift of his love and her honor, a desire to--

  She dropped his hat, wiped the blood from his lips and k
issed him.

  Bob McGraw smiled wistfully.

  "It's worth it," he whispered, "and few women are--worth--dying for."

  "You must not die," the girl cried passionately. "You're my Dream Manand I've waited so long for you and dreamed of your coming! I'll prayfor you, I'll ask God to give you to me--"

  An almost fanatical joy beamed in her wonderful eyes, the color hadreturned to her cheeks; and to Bob McGraw, faltering there on the edgeof eternity, her radiant regal presence brought a wondrous peace. For amoment he saw the moonlight reflecting the light in her eyes; astrand of her hair blew across his face--he smelled its perfume; theintoxication of her glorious personality caused him to marvel and doubthis own waning sense of the reality of things. He leaned toward herhungrily and lapsed into unconsciousness, while his big limp bodycommenced to slide slowly out of the slippery saddle. She caught him inher strong arms, eased him to the ground and knelt there with his redhead in her lap, showering his face with her kisses and her tears. Itwas thus that "Borax" O'Rourke, badly blown after his three-hundred-yarddash, found them.

  "Great snakes, young lady, what's happened?" gasped Mr. O'Rourke.

  "Three brutes and a man have been killed" she replied.

  "What the--who--who's that feller? Are you--"

  "Don't ask questions, Borax. I am not hurt, but I have no time to answerquestions. Please remove that car-stake and replace the velocipede onthe tracks."

  Her cool demeanor, despite her tears, her terse commands, indicatinga plan for prompt action of some kind, flabbergasted Borax to such anextent that he commenced to swear very fluently, without for a momentrealizing that there was a lady present. And just at this junctureHarley P. Hennage arrived.

  As might be expected, Harley P. wasted no time catering to the call ofcuriosity.

  "Let me have him, Miss Donna," he ordered. "We'll put him on thevelocipede and rush him up to the hotel. I'll--"

  "No, Mr. Hennage. He belongs to me. Place him on the velocipede and helpme take him home."

  "To the Hat Ranch?"

  "Yes, of course, I can care for him there, if he lives."

  "Why, Miss Donna--"

  "Do it, please" she commanded. "I know best. Set him on the littleplatform and tie his legs to the reach. Then stand behind him to workthe lever, and let him rest against your knees. I'll follow with thehorse."

  "Remarkable! Very remarkable!" soliloquized the big gambler. Withoutfurther ado he proceeded to carry out Donna's orders.

  "Borax," Donna continued, "you run up to the drug store and tell DocTaylor what's happened. I'll send Sam Singer back with the velocipedefor him."

  She gathered the reins in her left hand and swung aboard FriarTuck. Harley P., having disposed of his gory burden on the limitedaccommodations of the track velocipede, seized the levers and trundledaway, followed by Donna on Friar Tuck, cautiously picking his waybetween the ties.

  Borax O'Rourke stood for a moment, gazing after them.

  "She acts like a mother cat with a kitten" he muttered. "Damned if shewasn't kissin' the feller--an' him a stranger in town!"

  He walked rapidly back to San Pasqual, and such was his perturbationthat he sought to have "Doc" Taylor unravel the puzzle for him.

  "Hysterics" was the doctor's explanation.

  "Rats" retorted O'Rourke.

  "All right, then. It's rats." The doctor grabbed his emergency grip anddeparted on the run for the Hat Ranch. Sam Singer met him half-way withthe velocipede.

  O'Rourke returned to the Silver Dollar saloon where, since he was avulgarian and a numbskull, he retailed his story to the loungers thereassembled.

  "I'll never git over the sight o' that girl a-kissing that young feller"he concluded. "Why, I'd down a hobo every mornin' before breakfast if Iknowed for certain she'd treat _me_ that-a-way for doin' it."

  The situation was canvassed at considerable length, and only theentrance of the constable with a request, for volunteers to help himremove the "remainders" that were littering up the right of way belowtown, served to turn the conversation into other channels.

  Upon their arrival at the Hat Ranch a shout from Harley P. Hennagebrought Sam Singer and Soft Wind to the front gate. Donna dismounted,tying Friar Tuck to the "zephyr" by the simple process of dropping thereins over his head, and hurried into the house to prepare her mother'sold room for the reception of the wounded man. Bob McGraw was verylimp and white as Harley P. and the Indian carried him in. The gamblerundressed him while Sam Singer sprang aboard the velocipede and spedback toward town to meet the doctor.

  When the doctor arrived, he and Harley P. Hennage went into the bedroom,closing the door after them. Donna remained in the kitchen. She hadalready ordered Soft Wind to light a fire in the range and heat somewater, and when presently the gambler came out to the kitchen he noddedhis appreciation of her forethought ere he disappeared again with thehot water and a basin.

  In about an hour Doctor Taylor emerged, grip in hand.

  "I've done all I can for him, Miss Corblay" he told her. "I'm going uptown to close the drug store and get a few things I may need, but I'llbe back within an hour and spend the balance of the night with him."

  "Will he live?"

  Donna's voice was calm, her tones hinting of nothing more than afriendly interest and sympathy; yet Harley P., watching her over thedoctor's shoulder, guessed the stress of emotion under which she strove,for he, too, had seen her kiss Bob McGraw as he lay unconscious in herarms.

  "I fear he will not. The bullet ranged upward, perforating the top ofhis right lung, and went on clean through. I've seen men recover fromwounds in more vital parts, but a .45-caliber bullet did the trick toour young friend, and a .45 tears quite a hole. He's big and strong andhas a fighting chance, but I'm afraid--very much afraid--of internalhemorrhage, and traumatic pneumonia is bound to set in."

  "He will not die!" said Donna.

  The doctor looked at her curiously. "I hope not" he said. "But he'llneed a trained nurse and the best of care to pull through. It's longodds."

  "That young feller's middle name is Long Odds." Mr. Hennage had arrivedat the conclusion that Donna needed a great deal of comforting at thatmoment. "He's lived on long odds ever since he came into this country."

  "How do you know, Hennage?" the doctor demanded. "I tell--"

  "Long odds an' long guns, like birds o' feather always flock together"the gambler answered him drily, "This young feller wouldn't feel that hewas gettin' any joy out o' life if he didn't tackle the nub end o'the deal. I'm layin' even money he comes up to the young lady'sexpectations."

  Donna thanked him with her eyes, and Harley P. crossed to the door andlooked down the long patio to where a small white wooden cross gleamedthrough the festoons of climbing roses.

  "He ought to have a nurse" the doctor advised Donna.

  "Very well, doctor. You will telephone to Bakersfield, or Los Angeles,will you not, and engage one?"

  "I don't think our patient can afford the expense. Hennage frisked himand all the money--"

  "Thank you, I will attend to the financial side of this case, DoctorTaylor."

  Mr. Hennage turned from his survey of the patio.

  "Doc," he complained, "it's time for you to move out o' San Pasqual.You've stayed too long already. You're gettin' the San Pasqual sperrit,Doc. You ain't got no sympathy for a stranger."

  "Well, you don't expect me to put up twenty-five a week and railroadfare--"

  "Never mind worryin' about what you've got to put up with, Doc. If youknow all the things I put up with--thanks, Doc. Hurry back, and don'tforget to 'phone for that nurse."

  "Ain't it marvelous how a small camp always narrers the point o' view?"the gambler observed when the doctor had gone. "Always thinkin' o'themselves an' money, A man in my business, Miss Donna, soon learns thatmighty few men--an' women, too--will stand the acid. That young fellerinside (he jerked a fat thumb over his shoulder) will stand it. I know.I've applied the acid. An' you'll stand the acid, too," he added--"whenMrs. Pennycook
hears you kissed Bob McGraw. Ouch! That woman's tonguedrips corrosive sublimate."

  Donna blushed furiously.

  "You--you--won't tell, will you, Mr. Hennage?"

  "Of course not. But that chuckleheaded roughneck O'Rourke will. Why didyou kiss him? I ain't one o' the presumin' kind, but I'd like to know,Miss Donna."

  "I kissed him"--Donna commenced to cry and hid her burning face in herhands. "I kissed him because--because--I thought he was dying--and hewas the first man--that looked at--me so different. And he was so brave,Mr. Hennage--"

  "That you thought he was a man an' worth the kiss, eh, Miss Donna?"

  "I guess that's the explanation" she confessed, the while she marveledinwardly that she should feel such relief at unburdening her secret tothe worst man in San Pasqual.

  "If some good woman had only done that for me" the gambler murmured alittle wistfully. "If she only had! But of course this young Bob, he'sdifferent from--what I was at his age--"

  "I couldn't help it" Donna sobbed; "he's one of the presuming kind."

  Harley P. sat down and laughed until his three gold teeth almostthreatened to fall out.

  "God bless your sweet soul, Miss Donna," he gasped, "go in and kisshim again! He needs you worse than he does a nurse. Go in an' kiss thepresumin' cuss."

  "You're making fun of me" Donna charged.

  "I'm not. Can't a low-down, no-account man like me even laugh wherethere's happiness? Why, if that young feller goes to work an' spoils itall by kickin' the bucket, I'd die o' grief."

  "You know him, do you not?"

  "I should say so."

  "Is he--"

  "Yes, he's the nicest kind of a boy."

  "How old is he!"

  "Twenty-eight."

  Donna was thoughtful.

  "Nice disparity in ages, don't you think, Miss Donna?"

  Donna blushed again. "What is his business!" she asked.

  "Well, that's a right hard question to answer, Miss Donna. He was alawyer once for about a month, after he got out o' college, an' then heworked on a newspaper. After that, just to prove he was a human bein',he got the notion that there was money in the chicken business. Well,he got out o' the chicken business with a couple o' hundred dollars,an' then he come breezin' into a minin' camp one day an' tried bustin'a faro bank. Failed agin. I'm responsible for that failure, though. Thenext I see of him is a year later, in McKittrick, where he's runnin' areal estate office an' dealin' in oil lands. But somehow there never wasno oil on none o' the land that Bob tied up, so he got plumb disgustedan' quit. He was thinkin' o' tourin' the country districts sellin'little pieces o' bluestone to put in the bowls of kerosene lamps to keep'em from explodin', when I see him next. He borrowed fifty dollars fromme--which he ain't paid back yet, come to think on't--an' went toNevada minin' an' just at present he's about settled into his regularlegitimate business. He was headed that way from birth. I could read thesigns."

  "What is his present profession?"

  "He's an Inspector o' Landscapes."

  "You're wrong. He's not a Desert Rat."

  "He is. I can prove it."

  "He's too young. They don't begin to 'rat' until they're close to forty.I could name you a dozen, and the youngest is thirty-eight."

  "Oh, you're thinkin' o' the ordinary, garden variety. But I tell youthis McGraw man's a Desert Rat. The desert's got him. Generally it don'tget 'em so young, but once in a while it does, An' of all the DesertRats that ever sucked a niggerhead cactus, the feller that goes huntin'lost mines is the worst. They never get over it."

  Donna permitted herself a very small smile.

  "Sometimes they do" she reminded him.

  "I wouldn't be surprised. But not until they've found what they'relookin' for. However, we'll wait an' see if Bob McGraw--like that name,Miss Donna?"

  "I love it."

  "We'll wait an' see if he pulls through this, an' then we'll find out ifhe can be cured o' desert-rattin'. In the meantime I'll wait here untilDoc gets back. I ain't one of the presumin' kind, but I think I'd betterstay. An' you--I think you'd better go in an' have another good lookat this Desert Rat o' yours. He's breathin' like the north wind sighin'through a knot-hole."

  He watched her disappear.

  "For the sight o' a good woman, O Lord, we thank Thee," he murmured,"an' for the sight o' a good woman with grit, we thank Thee some more.Great grief, why wasn't I born good an' good-lookin' 'stead o' fat an'no account?"

  At ten o'clock Doc Taylor returned to the Hat Ranch and found thecondition of his patient unchanged. He was still unconscious and hisloud, stertorous breathing, coupled with the ghastly exhaust of airthrough the hole on his breast, testified to the seriousness of hiscondition. Throughout the night Donna sat by the bedside watching him,while the doctor remained in the kitchen with Mr. Hennage.

  Toward morning Bob McGraw opened his eyes and looked at Donna verywonderingly. Then his glance wandered around the room and back to thegirl. He was plainly puzzled.

  "Where's my horse," he whispered, "and my spurs and my gun and hat?"

  Donna bent over him and placed two cool fingers on his lips.

  "The hemorrhage has stopped," she warned him, "and you mustn't speak ormove, or you may bring it on again."

  "I remember--now. I fired--low--and he--got me. Where's Friar Tuck?"

  "Your horse? He's in the corral at San Pasqual, and your gun is in thekitchen with your spurs, and your hat--why, I guess I forgot to bringyour hat with me. But don't worry about it. I'm Donna Corblay of the HatRanch, and I'll give you your choice of a hundred hats if you'll onlyget well."

  "Are you--the--girl--that kissed me?"

  Donna's voice was very low, her face was very close to his as sheanswered him. His lean brown hand stole confidingly into hers--for along time he was silent, content to lie there and know that she was nearhim.

  Presently he looked up at her again, with the same dominating, wistfulentreaty in his brown eyes. She lowered her head until her cheek restedagainst his, and his arm went upward and around her neck.

  "God--made you--for me" he whispered. "I love you, and my name is BobMcGraw. I guess--I'll--get well."

  "Beloved," she breathed, "of course you'll get well. I want you to." Shesmoothed the wavy auburn hair back from his forehead. "Go to sleep" shecommanded. "You can't talk to me any more. I'm going to go to sleep,too."

  She drew a bright Mexican serape over her shoulders, sat down in arocking-chair by the side of the bed and closed her eyes. For whatseemed to her a lapse of hours, although in reality it was less thanfive minutes, she tried to induce a clever counterfeit of sleep, butunable longer to deprive herself of another look at her prize she openedher eyes and gazed at Bob McGraw. To her almost childish delight he waswatching her; and then she noticed his little, cheerful, half-mockingsmile.

  She flushed hotly. For the first time she permitted the searchlight ofreason to play on the events of the night, and it occurred to hernow that she had been guilty of a monstrous breach of convention, anunprecedented, unmaidenly action. She felt like crying now, with thethought that she had held herself so cheap. Bob McGraw saw the flushand the pallor that followed it. He read the unspoken thought behind thechanging rush of color.

  "Don't feel--that way--about it" he whispered haltingly. "It'sunusual--but then--you and I are unusual, too. There seems tobe--perfect--understanding, and between a--man and a woman thatmeans--perfect peace. It had to--be. It was preordained--our meeting.What is--your name?"

  Donna again told him.

  "Nice--name. Like it."

  He closed his eyes and dropped off to sleep like a tired boy.