"Impossible," remarks Erma in angry scorn.

"So I thought at first, but the man showed me the telegraph pole and said that was where Lawrence had murdered his pard."

"And you believe this gambler's likely story," sneers Miss Travenion.

"Of course I do. I am prepared for anything out here. I have been making inquiries since I got the information, and they tell me around here that Captain Lawrence was at the head of the Vigilantes out here four years ago, and used to hang up gamblers in rows, at the rate of about half-a-dozen a night," a.s.serts Mr. Ferdie confidently. "What do you say to that?"

"What do I say to it?" cries Miss Travenion with indignant eyes. "I say that I will never believe such a thing until I have proof of it."

"And have not I proved it?" says Ferdie. "How can you prove it any better?"

"By asking Captain Lawrence," cries Erma. Then, not heeding Mr.

Chauncey's expostulations that he does not think any less of the captain, and that every one around says the Vigilantes were a necessity, Miss Travenion goes hurriedly into her car and shuts herself in her stateroom, for she is very much shocked at this revelation, as any girl, brought up far away from the scenes of blood and combat and swift justice of the frontier, would be.

A few moments after this, the train, drawn by two giant locomotives, gets under way, and leaving Cheyenne, begins to ascend the Black Hills towards Sherman.

As it does so, Miss Erma's privacy is invaded by Mrs. Livingston and Ollie.

"You have heard Ferdie's awful tale?" gasps the widow.

"About the murderer you picked up on the train," interjects Mr.

Livingston, waving his white cuffs, as if throwing off all responsibility in the matter.

"Picked up on the train?" cries Erma, very sternly, rising from her seat, her figure growing more erect, and her eyes becoming burnished steel. "What do you mean to insinuate?"

"Oh, nothing, of course, as regards you," replies Ollie, who is somewhat quick of speech and also hasty of retraction. "Of course you did not know who he was any more than I did when that duffer, Southmead, brought him into our supper party at Delmonico's."

"Ah, you are referring to Captain Lawrence, Mr. Livingston," says the girl, haughtily.

"Certainly. Mr. Kruger, that friend of your father, who seems very affable and pleasant, though not a highly cultured man, confirms Ferdinand's information," answers Mrs. Livingston, taking this interview out of her son's hands, as he does not seem to be succeeding very well.

"This Mr. Kruger, who is acquainted with the West, has informed us that this Captain Lawrence is a very blood-thirsty individual; that he is, in fact, amenable to the laws of this country for the crime of murder."

"Yes, cold-blooded, deliberate a.s.sa.s.sination," interjects Ollie, anxious to impress the girl. "Captain Lawrence headed the Vigilance Committee, and hung up a number of unoffending citizens."

To this Miss Travenion says shortly, "I don't believe you."

"Not even your father's friend?" cries Mrs. Livingston.

"No, neither he nor any man else who would say such awful things of Captain Lawrence. Oh, I cannot believe it!" Then she mutters, "The tones of his voice are as gentle as a child's," and turns away.

"So were Johnny Slade's," inserts Ferdie, who has just now joined the party and conversation. "Besides, Buck Powers says the Cap was a terror to gamblers and desperadoes out here,--though I like him all the better for it."

But here Miss Travenion astonishes them all. She says calmly, though there is a tremor in her voice:

"I refuse to give any opinion of Captain Lawrence's conduct until I have spoken to him."

"What! You are going to--to speak to that awful man again?" gasps the widow, turning pale. Then she suddenly whispers, "Don't tell him what I said about him. He might murder us." And seemingly frightened at the thought of the blood-thirsty captain's vengeance, she takes her departure hurriedly for her own stateroom, and locks herself in.

She is very shortly followed by Ferdie and her son, to whom his half-way sweetheart says as he departs: "Permit me to satisfy myself upon this affair in my own way!"

Then, they having gone from her, she sinks down and shudders, though all the time she does justice to the man of her thoughts, and defends him, and says, "I don't believe it. He is too gentle," and finally, having persuaded herself that it is all a tissue of falsehoods, unlocks her door and steps out into the main car, to find herself face to face with this so-called desperado, who is calmly reading one of _Harper's Monthlies_, his "deeds of blood" not seeming to hang very heavily on his conscience.

A moment after, Miss Travenion remarks suddenly: "Captain Lawrence, will you pardon me if I ask you a question?" and her eyes grow bright, but her cheeks are pale, and her lips tremble as she speaks.

"Certainly," says Harry.

As he turns to her, the girl hesitates and falters, for it has suddenly come to her, if this man is innocent, he will not forgive; but forcing herself to the ordeal, she falters out: "People tell me what I will not believe, that--that--you, while occupied here in the arts of peace, have hung up men by the dozens to telegraph poles? Is it true, Captain Lawrence?"

And he, some strange fear in his eyes, rises to her question, and though he stands apparently calm, the strong fingers of his hand tremble a little as they grasp the arm of the seat, and his face grows also pale, and there is a slight twitch on one corner of his moustache as he murmurs sadly: "And they say that of me?"

"Yes!--Is it true?"

Then, after a moment's pause, the young man answers firmly and perhaps proudly: "In the troublous times of 1867 and '68, surrounded by gamblers, desperadoes and cut-throats, who daily sacrificed the lives of innocent men and made a mockery of both law and justice, I did what I considered my duty as a good citizen. Do you blame me for it?"

"You--you hung men without trial by law?"

"Yes--do you blame me?"

But her only answer is a frightened, "Oh! how could you?" and Erma has swept past him into her stateroom, the door of which closes suddenly after her.

He makes one step after her, as if to say words of vindication or defence; then bows his head and moves slowly out of the car, steadying himself with his hand. So, standing upon the front platform, Harry Lawrence looks down on the Laramie Plains, to which the train is descending, and there are tears in his eyes. For the strong man is thinking of the last words of Curley Jack just before they strung him up for the murder of an unfortunate creature of whom he was jealous. "Some day, Cap, some woman will make you crazy with misery as I was when I shot Kansas Kate," and he wonders if the prophecy of the dying desperado is coming home to him.

His meditation must be potent, for two hours afterwards, when the train stops at Laramie for supper, and his old-time railroad friends gather around him, they wonder what has happened, and the station agent remarks, "The Cap looks as busted up as if he had lost on four aces,"

for he goes about in a broken kind of a way, and once or twice, seeing some neighboring telegraph poles, turns from them with a shudder.

As for Miss Travenion, she has perhaps a harder two hours of it than Harry Lawrence, for some indefinite emotion is in her mind that makes her wildly nervous and extraordinarily excitable. Three or four times she says to herself, "Why should I care if this man has all the crimes of the Decalogue on his soul? A week ago I did not know him. Twenty-four hours back I had seen his face but once. He shall pa.s.s out of my life as quickly as he entered it." Next she remarks, "He said he did his duty as a citizen." Then she laughs: "Pshaw, I am growing nervous! I am defending this man!" and grows very angry at, and perchance unjust to, Lawrence on account of this idea.

Anxious to get away from the subject, she comes out and joins the Livingston party, and laughs and jokes with them, apparently in high spirits, though there is a feverish flush upon her cheeks; and once to the widow's remark, "Did he admit his crimes?" and Ferdie's laughing inquiry, "How many did the Cap acknowledge to swinging up?" she replies shortly:

"Enough for me to drop his acquaintance as rapidly as I made it. From this time on I shall CUT HIM!" emphasizing the last with a wave of her hand and an excited laugh, in so vigorous a manner that Ollie is quite delighted and happy, thinking that Erma will have no further thoughts of the man whom he has grown to imagine his rival--a conclusion he would not so hastily have come to had he studied Miss Travenion in particular, or the s.e.x in general.

So the party stroll out to supper, but Erma, apparently gay, has no appet.i.te further than a cup of tea, and hardly tastes her supper.

Declining attendance, she walks back to her car, and, seated by an open window, looks out upon the beautiful scene, gazing toward the north, where the Black Hills fade away in the distance, and wonders, as the setting sun shines upon her face, how this land, which seems to her so peaceful and which might be so happy, is the home of men who regard human life so lightly.

But even as she does so, as luck will have it, additional evidence on the subject that is racking her brain and making her head ache, though she will not admit it, comes to her.

Two men beside the track are in conversation. The breeze wafts their words into the car.

One remarks: "Cap Lawrence came in from the East to-night, and I reckon every gambler in town is hunting his hole."

"Why, are they afraid of him yet?"

"You bet! He put his mark on 'em so heavy they don't forget him. Why, I remember one morning, three years ago, seeing Little Jimmie, the bartender, hanging up as graceful as life to that telegraph pole, with his natty white handkerchief tucked in his hip-pocket, and his white sleeves, with rubber bands on 'em which held them up while he was mixing drinks. He looked so all-fired natural that I called out: 'Give me a whiskey c.o.c.ktail, Jim.' You see, they took James from behind his bar so quick he had no time to let down his sleeves and prepare himself for the future."

But the girl hears no more; she has hurried to the other end of the empty car.

Had she remained to listen, she would have also heard that Little Jimmie, the barkeeper, was as bad a man as had lived or died in the West, and the night before his sudden demise he had murdered and robbed two railroad men who had just been paid off.