If Valentine had sought to create a diversion and start new interests by bringing his bandit home, he had indubitably succeeded. The advent of the stranger had the effect of a bomb which is about to explode. No one could really have said why Dreer was exciting, but before he had been in the room for ten minutes, each member of Valentine's family had felt the same influence of excitement which had affected Morgan Valentine and induced him to bring the stranger to his home. Perhaps it was that in spite of the grave decorum of Dreer's manner one felt about him a native wildness. In a way, it might be said that he carried a gust of fresh air into the room. And he was constantly alert and active after the manner of wild things. His hands were rarely still, and though he seldom turned his head, his eyes went everywhere.
When he smiled at a remark of Elizabeth's, Mary felt that he was laughing at her, and Charlie felt that he was being mocked. Not that the stranger pointedly ignored the rest of the room, but it seemed that he had happened to sit down by Elizabeth, and he found her sufficiently entertaining. But the great point of wonder was that Elizabeth was actually talking. At first haltingly, confused because the eyes of the others in the room were occasionally turning upon her with wonder, but by degrees warming into complete forgetfulness of the rest. She lowered her voice. She was talking to the tall man alone. About what? The others caught fragments of phrases about her horses, about her last hunting trip, about the lobo she shot last spring. She had begun by asking timidly polite questions. She ended by chattering gaily about herself.
It was a pretty thing to see her grow excited. What Mary Valentine could not decide was whether her cousin was excited by Jess Dreer the man, or Jess Dreer the audience.
She was similarly puzzled by Dreer. In another she would have thought his attitude one of polite indifference. But she could not be sure of him and his mental status.
She had known many a boy and many a boy's mind. They always showed their entire hand at once. One read the cards, was fascinated for a moment perhaps, and the next moment became bored because the antagonist was a known quantity. But Jess Dreer was not known. He lurked behind a screen. He revealed not half, not a tithe of his strength—or of his weakness, for that matter. As far as Mary could make out, this fellow had brought Lizbeth out of her shell as another woman might have done. It was odd. Mary would have given a great deal to know why he winced when a door was opened behind him, why his eyes were apt to flash suddenly up, glitter, and droop. She felt that he would be more content if his chair were back against the wall.
It was at this point in her train of thought that the doorbell rang, and Mary sprang up to answer it. She was glad to get away from the room. She wanted to have the chill air of the night against her face—to breathe of it in the hope that it would clear a mist from her mind and enable her to think logically and brush away her rising excitement. For the question was beating into her consciousness always: What is Jess Dreer? Her uncle had put her off. Why? Or did he know? And was Jess Dreer there because he had some claim and power over Morgan Valentine?
She threw open the front door after she had gone thoughtfully down the hall, and she saw—dim figures in the moonlight, and with the reek of a long horseback ride about them—Sheriff Clancy of Salt Springs, and another man. Now Sheriff Clancy's boy had been one of Mary's victims in the near past, and that was the reason that she threw a conciliatory warmth into her greeting:
“Why, Sheriff Clancy! Come in. Dad will be happy to see you.”
The sheriff smiled at her, and in smiling the ends of his drooping mustaches bristled out to the sides like tusks.
“Mostly folks feel another way when I come along to say how d'you do. But wait a minute, Mary. I ain't here on a pleasure call.”
She thought of Charlie's affair with Joe Norman.
“That miserable Norman family—have they sent you after Charlie?”
The sheriff smiled, disagreeably.
“I dunno anything about Charlie and the Norman boy,” he said. “I don't go prying after trouble. Mostly, enough of it comes my way without hunting. All I want to do is to ask you a few questions, Mary.”
“Nope. Is there a man in your house called Jess Dreer?”
The floodgates opened, the water burst through the dam, and Mary Valentine was picked up in a torrent of sudden knowledge. Jess Dreer! The question flashed a lantern light on the man.
“That's the name. Is he inside?”
She fought for time. As a matter of fact she was balancing between two impulses. The first was to hand this fellow over to the law at once. The second impulse was—she did not know what—but certainly it was to keep him safe.
“About as tall as my friend here. Mr. John Caswell—Miss Mary Valentine. About as tall as Caswell, maybe a mite smaller. Big shoulders, I understand, and the sort of a face that's easy to remember. Quiet. Soft-spoken. Active with his hands.”
She still paused. How fast her mind was working! And therefore her speech was slow.
“Oh, yes, I remember now. Yes, there was a man like that here, and, now that I remember, I think he said that his name was Jess Dreer.”
“No. He rode away—quite a while ago.”
“I told you so,” said the big man who had been called Caswell. “That gent is a fox. He's got these people on his side.”
But Sheriff Clancy hushed the other with a raised hand.
“I think maybe you're mistaken, miss. We've got an idea that Dreer is in the house right now. Maybe he's hiding, and you don't know it. But we got his hoss and his saddle. In fact, we've found his hoss in the corral and saddled her, and now we got that hoss waiting for Mr. Dreer!”
“Of course you have his horse.” Mary Valentine nodded. “He left the mare and took one of Dad's horses. I think he paid Dad something into the bargain for the exchange.”
“How long ago?” Sheriff Claney asked.
“An hour; but, Sheriff, come on inside and search the house if you want.”
“Not if he's gone. Which way?”
“He took that road. You ought to catch him in the mountains.”
“Well, then, come in, Sheriff.”
For she knew perfectly that this bulldog would not leave the trail. She leaned against the side of the door and laughed at him.
“I think that for a moment you suspected that we were sheltering him. But what's he done?”
“What's he done?” Caswell said explosively. “What ain't he done? He's done enough to bring me a thousand miles on the trail. What's he done? Why, that's Jess Dreer; they scare their kids with that name down south!”
One might have thought that Mary Valentine would shrink in horror at this news. She did not. No, a fire came in her eyes.
“Is he as bad as all that? Oh, I hope you get him, Mr. Caswell!”
“Right down that road!” She ran to the front of the veranda. “Hurry! I'll go back and tell Dad about it. He'll be after you in five minutes with fresh horses. He'll take along a couple of fresh mounts for you.”
But Caswell, with his foot on the verge of taking the first step down, paused.
“What I don't figure,” he said, “is why Dreer left his own saddle behind? It's hard enough to figure why he left the hoss.”
“Because he knew you were on his heels, Caswell,” cried Claney. “Hurry up, man. He's gaining miles on us.”
“How'd he know I was on his heels? Nobody else has give him a run—not for five years. He's always give the others too hot a reception at the end of the trail—them that ever come up with him.”
And he rubbed his chin and stared hard at Mary Valentine.
“Don't you see that he's getting away?” she cried in an apparent frenzy.
“Seems to me, ma'am, that you're in a considerable trouble to have him caught. Most of the womenfolk I know most generally hopes he gets away.”
“Caswell, I'm going on without you.”
“Wait a minute. Claney, it won't do.”
The latter turned and hurried back up the steps.
“I'll tell you why,” explained the man from the south. “That hoss has been with Dreer for eight years. Ten times he could of changed her for a fresh hoss when he was being trailed, but he never wouldn't do it. And why does he do it now? Even if he knowed I was after him, that mare could of kept on going and run down a fresh hoss. She ain't common hossflesh. She's all leather inside and out. I know her.”
“I'm aiming to search this house, and I don't think I'll have far to go.”
“You're a little insulting,” said Mary, drawing herself up. And then, seeing that he would persist in his purpose, she slipped before him and opened the door.
But when he made a step forward, she slammed the door in his face, and the astonished sheriffs heard the heavy bolt click home.
