Silence lay over the house of Morgan Valentine. No one had asked Charlie for his ultimate decision, but Louis stole down to the family that afternoon and reported that Charlie was in his room upstairs working busily over two revolvers, oiling them, cleaning them, testing their balance with nervous care.
That report was more forcible than the most violent affirmation, on the part of young Valentine, of his determination to face Jud Boone and fight him man to man. Even the hand of Morgan Valentine was unsteady as he lighted his pipe. His wife had dropped her head upon her hands with a moan; and Elizabeth cried out.
One would have thought that a death had been announced.
But as for Mary, she still turned in her mind the gambling chance which she had determined to take. It was no less than a purpose of leaving the house and going to Salt Springs to speak with Dan Carrol and through him send to the outlaw, Jess Dreer, an appeal for help.
Yet it was not easy to do this. If she stated that she wished to go to town, some one of the family would accompany her; and if she wished to see Dan Carrol, questions would certainly be asked. For the repute of Carrol was a sooty thing and contaminated all who touched him. Even if she slipped away during the day and reached Salt Springs unknown to the family, it would be impossible to see Carrol without letting half of Salt Springs know to whom she made her visit. Not that she really cared what public opinion murmured about her, but if her visit were a public matter, there was very little chance that Carrol would tell her where she could find Jess Dreer.
It was a trip that must be completed between dark and dawn, and for this she laid her plans.
One thing favored her. The family did not sit up late in the living room, for it was a gloomy matter to stare from face to face and read in each eye the same foreboding which filled one's own mind. Mrs. Valentine, close to tears, was the first to leave. Then Charlie, who had remained white-faced, sullenly defiant, apparently decided that he dare not risk the complete breakdown of his nerves. He rose, muttered his good night huskily, and hurried from the room.
The others trooped away one by one, leaving Morgan Valentine alone beside the fire. The report of Louis had made him show one touch of emotion, but neither before nor since had he appeared to be in the slightest degree concerned.
As soon as she was in her room, Mary hurried into her riding clothes before she put out the light and crept into bed. For she feared that visitors might come. And they did. First, Elizabeth. And then Mrs. Valentine came in and leaned over her. But when she heard the regular breathing, she apparently decided that the girl was asleep. She leaned and touched Mary's forehead with her lips and then stole from the room.
Mary was deeply moved, for it had been years since her aunt had showed any true affection. And when, a little after this, the house was quiet, she got up, pressed her hat on her head, and slipped out by the rear of the house. Five minutes later she was speeding down the road on her sturdy little Morgan mare, docile as a pet dog and durable as leather.
Midnight brought her to Salt Springs, with the dust of the street squirting up around the hoofs of the mare. She rode on between the rows of black, silent houses until she was close to Carrol's place. Then she swung her horse between two dwellings and came out directly in the rear of the big saloon.
The midnight of Salt Springs was the noon of Dan Carrol. His saloon burst with light and voices, and through the open windows, across the shafts of light, clouds of tobacco smoke rose, cut briefly away by the darkness.
But how could she come to Dan Carrol?
A man came to the screen door at the rear of the building and opened it. She saw the faint arc of light as he tossed his cigarette butt away.
“Halloo!” called Mary, roughening her voice. “Send Danny out to me, will you?”
“Can't you walk?” cried the man, who apparently did not recognize the voice of a woman. “Go get him yourself, son.”
She waited. A skulking figure slipped out of the darkness and hurried across the open toward the gaming house. She reined her mare across and touched his shoulder with her quirt. At that, the man leaped sidewise, very agile. He was a small fellow.
“Pardner,” said Mary, “I've got a word to say to Dan Carrol. Will you take it in to him?”
“Me?” said a harsh, shrill voice, the voice of a Chinaman. “Dan Carrol?”
“Never mind,” and she reined her horse back, for she had recognized the accent of Kong Li, her father's cook.
This was the explanation, then, of Kong's periods of sudden affluence and sudden poverty. But now the little man followed her.
“Never mind,” she repeated. “I don't need you!”
“Miss Mary,” said the Chinaman, whining his astonishment. “Miss Mary!”
She writhed in the saddle. To be recognized in full daylight would have been bad enough; but to be recognized at the door of Carrol's gaming house and saloon in the middle of night was infinitely worse.
“Listen to me, Kong Li,” she said fiercely. “I have to see Dan Carrol. I want you to see that he's brought out here, but I don't want you to tell him my name before any other man. Understand?”
“And if you ever tell anyone that I've been here—I—I'll tie you by your queue to the limb of a tree till you starve to death, Kong Li. Understand?”
“I savvy,” said Kong, and he shuddered. It was not the first time in her life that Mary had threatened him, and he considered her quite capable of anything she named.
“But,” he murmured, “Dan Carrol very bad man, Miss Mary.”
“Don't I know that? I'll take care of myself. You hurry along.”
He hesitated a moment longer, but dread of Miss Mary's tongue at length made him whirl and shuffle away toward the gaming house. At the door he paused and looked back again, but he went on, the screen door banging loudly behind him.
There followed a long pause. Her mind filled up the vacancy of Kong Li approaching the table of the gambler, touching his arm, and being cursed for a no-good chink. But eventually there was a sound of scuffling, the screen door burst violently open, and Kong Li leaped from the lighted interior into the darkness, sprawling, his arms and legs stretched out before him, and the pigtail whipped straight out behind.
Dan Carrol sprang into the doorway and poured a hurricane of abuse and profanity after his victim while Kong Li darted by, crying to Mary as he passed: “Bad man! Very bad man, Miss Mary!”
“Mr. Carrol!” called the girl, guarding her voice.
Carrol fell silent; at the very sound of the voice he had touched the hat which was never off his head. Now he stepped cautiously outside. There were a hundred men who would have welcomed a chance to shoot Carrol securely, by night.
“I suppose you know me; but my name really doesn't matter. I've come on important business, Mr. Carrol.”
Slowly he took off his hat and spun it in his hands; she could feel his astonishment even though darkness quite covered his face.
“Hush! I'm Mary Valentine. I want you to tell me where to find Jess Dreer. Can you?”
The gambler started, drew back, and then stepped close to the horse.
“How should I know Jess Dreer?” he muttered very softly. “You mean the outlaw?”
Carrol drew in his breath with a hissing sound.
“Well—he lied. That's straight talk, and it's true. What would I be doing with Dreer, eh?”
“He's a man whom I am proud to know,” said the girl. “Does that make it any easier for you to talk?”
“Listen,” said Carrol. “The gent that knows where Jess Dreer is can take down several thousand for telling the sheriff. They's a price on him that would stock a ranch.”
“That,” said she, “is the reason why he can't trust any except men who are above money, Mr. Carrol. Will you tell me where he is?”
“Did he say I was above money?” asked the gambler curiously, after a pause.
“He didn't. But he said you could send me to him. And I infer the rest of it.”
“You infer too much. I can't do it.”
“I thought that perhaps you couldn't. So I've written out what I have to say to him. I have it here in this envelope. If I give it to you, do you think that you could get it to Jess Dreer?”
“I don't know nothing about him.”
“Of course you don't.” She extended the letter. “But maybe you'd keep it for him on the chance that he might call in someday?”
“I don't know anything about him,” repeated the gambler, “but if you ask me to keep this for you—why, I'll hang onto it.”
“Thank you, and—good night. One thing, Mr. Carrol. I haven't seen you tonight.”
“Lady, the gent that was to say that you'd seen me tonight would have to chew up his talk and swaller it ag'in. Good night, and good luck!”
And he remained standing with his hat in his hand until she was gone into the darkness with a quick patter of hoofs.
