The Full of the Moon/Chapter 12
CHAPTER XII
Mrs. Gallagher's Secret
Since the episode at the L.X. ranch, which was still a nightmare to Nan, she had seen nothing of Spiser, though she had heard much. New tales of his arrogance, of his brutality to horses, his political methods, and his dishonest transactions, were coming constantly to her ears.
She had grown to think of him in much the same way in which the little Blakelys regarded him—as an ogre who "ate 'em alive," and with each fresh story of his lack of honor, her gratitude toward Mrs. Gallagher and Fritz Poth increased.
Of all the people who mentioned his name, it seemed to Nan that Mrs. Gallagher was the only one who had no secret fear of him. Even Ben seemed to shrink unaccountably from incurring his displeasure.
With a man of Spiser's temperament and prodigious vanity, she wondered sometimes that he had let her escape so easily—that he had not made her pay for the mortification of being thwarted—that with all his resources for wrecking vengeance upon those who offended him he had not made her feel, in some small way at least, the weight of his wrath. Or was he merely biding his time?
For the first time in days she was thinking of him as she sat in the shade of the dobe waiting for Bob to return from his ride with Ben. She had a new feeling of security in the knowledge that Bob was there. She would not admit it to herself, but Ben did not inspire in her any such sense of safety.
She had not forgotten, though she wished to, their first meeting when he had refused his direct aid because of Spiser.
Mrs. Gallagher had gone to the ranch of Ignacio Bojarques, who did not permit his personal animosities to inter ef ere with business and, though he persistently refused to see Nan in the street, he was "mos' happy" to sell her eggs.
It was coincidence, perhaps, that Nan should have Spiser so strongly in her mind and, hearing a footstep, glanced around the comer to see him coming toward her with his rolling walk, looking almost like a gentleman in white duck clothes and a Panama hat.
"How d'do?" he said with curt affability and sat down on the bench beside her.
His assurance angered Nan immeasurably.
Señor Spiser craned his neck and inquired humorously:
"The old catamount is away?"
Nan looked at him in cold silence.
"Haven't you anything to say to me after a sixty-mile drive and half killin' my horses to get here?" He looked at her with desire in his eyes. Nan arose.
"Haven't I made it quite clear to you that I have nothing to say to you, now or at any time?"
"Look here"—he ignored the rebuff and reached for her hand instead.
"What did you jump the traces for? You're an obstinate little devil, but, by George! you suit me down to the ground."
Nan was nearly choked with rage as she wrenched herself free.
"Isn't it possible to make you understand that you have misjudged me? Can't you see that your familiarity is insulting, that you, yourself, are odious to me?"
"Odious?"
The word stung his vanity. He, too, arose.
Nan repeated it. "Exactly—odious!"
For a moment he was at a loss for a reply; then he neered:
"I am not so handsome as my foreman, to be sure." He noted her heightened color with satisfaction. The rumors were true, then? She was interested in Ben Evans. The attraction was not wholly on his side, as he had fancied. This he was glad to know.
"I presume," Nan's eyes narrowed as she said slowly and distinctly, "there never yet was a woman who tolerated a bounder that did not pay dearly for it. I have paid well for my brief acquaintance with you."
"Look here, little girl" Spiser's tone was conciliating; he was not ready to admit failure.
Nan half turned.
"Will you go or must I?"
Spiser studied her face a moment. Undoubtedly she was sincere. There was no woman's coquetry in her contemptuous eyes. He turned all bully and, with his hands thrust deep in his trousers-pockets, his feet planted wide apart, stared at her in indescribable insolence.
"When I'm ready—my dear."
He swaggered closer and again quickly caught her wrist when she would have gone.
"Señor Spiser forgets sometimes that he is a married man."
Spiser dropped Nan's arm as though it burned him, and whirled.
Mrs. Gallagher, her apron filled with eggs, stood like a statue regarding him with eyes which did, indeed, look like the eyes of the catamount he had called her and her moccasined feet had allowed her to approach with something of its stealth.
It seemed to Nan that Spiser quailed before the woman's gaze.
"Look out, be careful!" His tone was a threat, but Nan detected the bravado in it and she was sure that in some way her strange protector held the whip-hand. And he was married—this was the secret, or a part of it, which explained Mrs. Gallagher's power. She knew his past, his wife—poor soul! Nan looked at him with curling lips.
"You talk too much for the good of your health, mujer," Spiser stooped for his hat, which he had placed under the bench.
The woman's eyes gleamed mockery at the warning, but she did not reply. Instead, she shrugged her gaunt shoulders under the blanket and stalked away.
Spiser was no longer swayed by passion when he left Nan's dobe, but itched with an intense desire to humiliate her. She had wounded his vanity deeply, and he was vindictive to the finger-tips.
Spiser was an active enemy; he could not wait passively for circumstances to shape themselves, but he must needs shape them himself to suit his ends. And the thought now uppermost in his mind was how he could quickest and most effectively revenge himself upon. Nan.
"I'll see that she's dealt more misery than she ever dreamed of," he snarled as he untied his horses. "I'll make her glad to get back to the place she came from, but first I'll give her a real taste of the wild West."
"Once more I have to thank you," said Nan gratefully.
The glitter had not yet faded from Mrs. Gallagher's eyes.
"He will not come back again, chiquita."
"You seem to know him well?"
"Why not?" said Mrs. Gallagher briefly. "I'm his wife."