"_You--you_!" he burst out helplessly in the grip of deadly hate and agony. He hated her then--hated her beauty--and the betrayal of her fear for him. What was life to him now? Oh, the insupportable bitterness!

"Go back to my mother," he ordered harshly, and averted his face.

Then he seemed to forget her. He saw Blinky close to him, deeply shaken, yet composed and grim. He heard the movement of many feet, the stamping of hoofs.

"All aboard for Salt Lake," called the stage driver. Smith the agent pa.s.sed Pan with more mailbags. The strain all about him had broken.

"Pard," Pan said, laying a hand on Blinky. "Go with her--take her to my mother.... And leave me alone."

"No, by Gawd!" replied Blinky sullenly. "You forget this heah is my deal too. There's Louise.... An' Lucy took her bag an' hurried away.

There, she's runnin' past the Yellow Mine."

"Blink, did she hear what I said to Hardman about Louise?" asked Pan bitterly.

"Reckon not. She'd keeled over aboot then. I sh.o.r.e kept my eye on her. An' I tell you, pard--"

"Never mind," interrupted Pan. "What's the difference? h.e.l.lsfire!

Whisky! Let's get a drink. It's whisky I want."

"Sh.o.r.e. I told you thet a while back. Come on, pard. It's red-eye fer us!"

They crossed to the corner saloon, a low dive kept by a Chinaman and frequented by Mexicans and Indians. These poured out pellmell as the cowboys jangled up to the bar. Jard Hardman's outfit coming to town had prepared the way for this.

"Howdy," was Blinky's greeting to the black bottle that was thumped upon the counter. "You look mighty natural ... heah's to Panhandle Smith!"

Pan drank. The fiery liquor burned down to meet and coalesce round that gnawing knot in his internals. It augmented while it soothed. It burned as it cooled. It inflamed, but did not intoxicate.

"Pard, heah's to the old Cimarron," said Blinky, as they drank again.

Pan had no response. Memory of the Cimarron only guided his flying mind over the ranges to Las Animas. They drank and drank. Blinky's tongue grew looser.

"Hold your tongue, d.a.m.n you," said Pan.

"Imposshiblity. Lesh have another."

"One more then. You're drunk, cowboy."

"Me drunk? No shir, pard. I'm just tongue-tied.... Now, by Gawd, heah's to Louise Melliss!"

"I drink to that," flashed Pan, as he drained his gla.s.s.

The afternoon had waned. Matthews lay dead in the street. He lay in front of the Yellow Mine, from which he had been driven by men who would no longer stand the strain.

The street was deserted except for that black figure, lying face down with a gun in his right hand. His black sombrero lay flat. The wind had blown a high hat down the street until it had stopped near the sombrero. Those who peeped out from behind doors or from windows espied these sinister objects.

Pan had patrolled the street. He had made a house-to-house canva.s.s, searching for Jim Blake. He had entered every place except the Yellow Mine. That he reserved for the last. But he did not find Blake. He encountered, however, a slight pale man in clerical garb.

"Are you the parson Matthews brought to Marco?" demanded Pan harshly.

"Yes, Sir," came the reply.

"Did you marry young Hardman to--to--" Pan could not end the query.

The minister likewise found speech difficult, but his affirmative was not necessary.

"Man, you may be innocent of evil intent. But you've ruined my--girl ... and me! You've sent me to h.e.l.l. I ought to kill you."

"Pard, sh.o.r.e we mushn't kill thish heah parson just yet," drawled Blinky, thickly. "He'll come in handy."

"Ahuh! Right you are, Blinky," returned Pan, with a ghastly pretense of gaiety. "Parson, stay right here till we come for you.--Maybe you make up a little for the wrong you did one girl."

The Yellow Mine stood with gla.s.s uplifted and card unplayed.

Pan had entered from the dance hall entrance. Blinky, unsteady on his feet, came in from the street. After a tense moment the poker players went on with their game, and the drinkers emptied their gla.s.ses. But voices were low, glances were furtive.

Pan had seen every man there before he had been seen himself. Only one interested him--that was Jim Blake. What to do to this man or with him Pan found it hard to decide. Blake had indeed fallen low. But Pan gave him the benefit of one doubt--that he had been wholly dominated by Hardman. Yet there was the matter of accepting money for his part in forcing Lucy to marry d.i.c.k.

The nearer end of the bar had almost imperceptibly been vacated by drinkers sliding down toward the other rear end. Pan took the foremost end of the vacated position. He called for drink. As fast as he had drunk, the fiery effects had as swiftly pa.s.sed away. Yet each drink for the moment kept up that unnatural stimulus.

Pan beckoned for Blinky. That worthy caused a stir, then a silence, by going round about the tables, so as not to come between Pan and any men there.

"Blink, do you know where Louise's room is?" queried Pan.

"Sh.o.r.e. Down thish hall--third door on left," replied Blinky.

"Well, you go over there to Blake and tell him I want to talk to him.

Then you go to Louise's room. I'll follow directly."

Blake received the message, but he did not act promptly. Pan caught his suspicious eye, baleful, gleaming. Possibly the man was worse than weak. Presently he left the poker game which he had been watching and shuffled up to Pan. He appeared to be enough under the influence of liquor to be leeringly bold.

"Howdy," he said.

"Blake, today I got from Hardman the truth about the deal you gave me and Lucy," returned Pan, and then in cold deliberate tones he called the man every infamous name known to the ranges. Under this onslaught, Blake sank into something akin to abas.e.m.e.nt.

"Reckon you think," concluded Pan, "that because you're Lucy's father I can't take a shot at you. Don't fool yourself. You've killed her soul--and mine. So why shouldn't I kill you? ... Well, there isn't any reason except that away from Hardman's influence you might brace up. I'll take the chance. You're done in Marco. Jard Hardman is dead and d.i.c.k's chances of seeing the sun rise are d.a.m.n thin.... Now you rustle out that door and out of Marco. When you make a man of yourself come to Siccane, Arizona."

Blake lurched himself erect, and met Pan's glance with astonished bewildered eyes; then he wheeled to march out of the saloon.

Pan turned into the hallway leading into the hotel part of the building, and soon encountered Blinky leaning against the wall.

"Blink, isn't she in?" asked Pan, low voiced and eager.

"Sh.o.r.e, but she won't open the door," replied Blinky dejectedly.

Pan knocked and called low: "Louise, let us in."

There was a long wait, then came a low voice: "No."