The Arrow-Point Estate/Chapter 12
CHAPTER XII.
That night Reid spent in Fallen Rock. There was much to do on the morrow, and he could save time by staying overnight. He did not want to meet Lorrie and tell the story he had to tell, without showing her that part, at least, of the stolen cattle had been recovered.
Bulking large in his consciousness, obtruding itself even upon the most critical moments of the past twenty-four hours, was the thought of what he must tell Lorrie; the thought of Burns lying dead beside that little creek in Idaho, and of the dastardly shot fired from behind. It would be hard to tell her that.
Then there was her distrust of him, born by Belladonna’s letter, and helped, perhaps, by his sudden departure for Blue River. He remembered now that it was too late, that Lorrie had commissioned him to buy a certain shade of brown ribbon that day he had received Burns’ letter. He had been rather flattered by the confidence she had placed in him—and then had forgotten all about the ribbon, in the reading of the letter.
Sitting in the hotel that evening he felt in his vest pocket and after some groping found the inch of brown silk he had promised solemnly to match. Two yards, was it, or three? He had had little experience with women, but it came to him dimly that the oversight, small as it was, may have influenced somewhat her feelings toward him. Girls are queer. He looked down at the scrap of silk and frowned. How was she to know that it was for her he had left like that, without warning? He felt that, on the whole, he did not blame her so much, for there was a lot about him that she didn’t know. And since she did not care for him, what mattered it if‘ her opinion of him was not of the best?
In the morning, after breakfast, he did something he had not the faintest idea of doing when he got up. He went straight to the largest store in Fallen Rock and matched that scrap of brown ribbon. And, feeling at the last a nervous doubt of his memory, he, manlike, bought the whole roll to make sure, and he blushed a good deal while the clerk stood by the counter waiting for the package and change to come sliding down to them, and tried futilely to look as if buying ribbon was quite an everyday affair with him.
With that stowed away in his pocket he went to the court-house to see that the transfer of Dipper stuff was made without delay, for he was not the sort of young man who dallies when there is something to be done; and he wanted very much to get back to the Arrow-Point Ranch so that he could tell Lorrie what must be told, and get that disagreeable duty off his mind.
At the court-house door he met the lawyer whom he had, the evening before, consulted regarding certain details of his new position. He put out a staying hand.
“If you’re not in a rush,” he said, “I wish you’d come back to the judge’s office with me. I’ve got some business there that I don’t want any flaws in afterward. I’m no lawyer myself.”
The two were nearly to the door of the office when some one fired a shot within. Reid, half-guessing its meaning, flung open the door and entered, the lawyer at his heels; entered in time to see Howard Burkell go down before McGraw’s smoking gun.
The judge, however, kept his wits, and faced the two with some degree of assurance in his manner.
“You see he was armed,” he called their attention, pointing. “I was obliged to do it in self-defense. Call a doctor, will you, Melville?—and telephone the sheriff if you like.” He darted a quick, questioning glance at Reid, as if measuring to what extent he might trust his silence.
Reid eyed him squarely. “I thought maybe you’d do that,” he remarked quietly. “If he’d got you at the same time I wouldn’t have any kick coming. As it is” He turned away without finishing.
The lawyer was down on his knees beside Burkell.
“I guess he’s got his finish,” he observed in a businesslike way. “What was the trouble, judge?” He looked at Reid as if he would like to question him instead.
The judge also looked at Reid, opened his flabby lips to answer speciously, thought better—or worse—of it, and turned his back. Something in the eyes of Reid had not been reassuring.
Melville, hearing steps coming down the corridor, bethought him that it would be well to keep out the curious until the arrival of the doctor—who would also be the coroner—and offered to station himself outside the door. To this Reid assented, for he, too, was curious. When the door closed behind the lawyer he turned to McGraw.
“How about it?” he demanded. “Nothing but the truth will do you any good, though I don’t see where my promise need hold after this.”
McGraw came closer to him, and Reid, putting out his hand took the gun from his shaky fingers. He surrendered it without protest.
“I was out for the coin and I don’t deny it,” he explained hurriedly, in a tone not calculated to reach beyond the door. “But, so help me, Holleman, this was self-defense. I’d expect any jury to acquit a man in the fix I was. Burkell came here and accused me of giving the deal away. He couldn’t see how else you got next to the Dipper Ranch. I thought—and still think—he made some damned foolish move that gave you a clue. We had words and he pulled his gun. I got in the first shot. That’s the God’s truth, Holleman! Help me out if you can.”
“It’s a pity he didn’t get action, too,” Reid answered. “I felt justified, under the circumstances, in letting a thief run loose, till he walked into the noose himself; but damned if I’ll shield a murderer! It’s all going to come out now, as far as I’m concerned. I haven’t forgotten how I left Frank Burns; and you, McGraw, are partly responsible for that.”
Melville came in then with the others. Reid nodded to them and went out. For McGraw he had no feeling of pity or the reverse. He merely left him in the hands of justice.