The Shooting of Dan McGrew, A Novel. Based on the Famous Poem of Robert Service. Marvin Dana

a fiercer love of the woman.

CHAPTER IV

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      On the porch, Dan caught up his hat, which had been lying on the chair, and hastened to the stables. He did not scruple now to make use, for the journey to the village, of the horse which he had been accustomed to ride. As he trotted down the driveway, he encountered Nell, mounted on her pony. The girl's gypsy-like face was flushed from a brisk canter under the hot sun, and her black eyes shadowed by the long, curling lashes, were sparkling with the joy of life. She called out cheerily in inquiry whether her father was at the house. Dan called a curt, "Yes," in answer, without checking his pace. But, as the two came abreast, the girl's glance took in the haggard fury on the man's face, and the fearfulness of it fell like a blight on her gladness. She was terror-stricken, without in the least understanding why. For his part, Dan McGrew rode on his way with an added curse for this innocent child.

      Dan McGrew registered at the hotel in the village, with a careless announcement to the clerk that the loneliness of the ranch had outworn his patience, and that his luggage would be along presently. Then, after he had been fortified with a solitary drink at the bar, he betook himself to his cell-like room, which was the best the hotel afforded, and there gave himself over to evil plotting. As a result, when night had fallen he sent a message by the hotel porter to Fingie Whalen, who at this hour would doubtless be found somewhere about Murphy's. Under the circumstances, naturally enough, he deemed it a measure of prudence not to visit Murphy's, where he would be at the mercy of the men from whom Jim had saved him. He was sure, however, that Fingie would not permit any false delicacy to stand in the way of possible gain. He had decided that he could make use of the gambler, and of the gambler's painted woman, Jess, and he meant to bribe the pair to his purpose.

      Fingie came promptly. Within fifteen minutes from the dispatching of the porter, there came a heavy knock at Dan's door, and in response to a summons to enter, the squat form and lowering face of the gambler appeared. He grinned evilly at Dan, and swaggered forward truculently.

      "What in hell are you up to?" he demanded, as he came to a standstill, facing his host, who remained sprawling in a chair, seemingly quite at ease. Dan had determined precisely on how to conduct himself in the interview. So, now, he waved his hand hospitably toward a bottle of whiskey which, with a jug of water and glasses, stood on the table.

      "Help yourself," he exclaimed genially, "and sit down. I want to have a talk with you."

      "You'll have to do some mighty tall talkin' to get rid of them extra four kyards I seen with my own eyes," Fingie retorted. He approached the table, however, without any reluctance, where he helped himself liberally before seating himself.

      Dan made his explanations glibly.

      "I got on to the fact that I was getting the bad end of a crooked deal in that card game. … Now, hold your horses!" he commanded, as Fingie scowled and would have spoken. "I don't mean anything for you to get mad about. Only, the four of you were doing me up. I had too much of Murphy's dope, and tried a silly trick. It failed, as it ought to have failed, and I was in bad. I'm sorry, and I want you to let bygones be bygones. You bruised me up good and plenty, if that's any satisfaction to you, and, besides, you got my money. Not quite all of it, however!" he added suggestively. He noted with satisfaction the increasing amiability of Fingie's expression, and the avaricious glint in the ferret eyes of the man at the concluding words.

      "What's the game?" Fingie demanded bluntly.

      Dan forthwith revealed in detail the work he required to be done. He felt himself safe in being candid with this accomplice, who was wholly free from any moral restraints, and who, as he now made known with many oaths, was still suffering from a swollen jaw, the result of one of Jim's blows. In fine, the gambler entered into the conspiracy with such evident zest that Dan was able to make a better bargain than he had expected for his services and those of his mistress. For an hour, the two discussed the vicious plot, and then, at Dan's bidding, Fingie went in quest of the woman, Jess. Presently, he returned with her, and she, too, was stirred to pleasurable anticipations of the evils to be wrought through her aid. For, on one occasion, she had cast languishing and provocative glances on Jim Maxwell, which he had returned with a look in which pity could not conceal repugnance.

      There was a round of drinks for the three, and then Dan made his payment to the gambler. This done, Jess was seated at the table with writing materials, and took from Dan's dictation a note, which she wrote in her natural hand, without any effort toward disguise, and signed with her own name. When, at last, the worthy pair took their leave, that note remained in the possession of their host.

      Dangerous Dan's activities for the day were not yet completed. Within an hour, he was astride a horse from the hotel livery, riding rapidly toward the Maxwell ranch. When he was within a quarter of a mile from the house, he dismounted, and hid his horse behind some bushes by the roadside. He went forward on foot cautiously, for it was moonlight, and objects were clearly discernible. Yet, he had little apprehension of being observed, for he knew the customs of the place: that, though it still lacked an hour to midnight, the household would doubtless be fast asleep. There were dogs, it was true, which ran at large; but with these Dan had made friends, and they would raise no outcry against him, though he came with malignant purpose.

      Dan, after he reached the lawns that spread before the house, picked his way so as to keep within the shadows of the trees and shrubberies. He avoided the gravel of the drive and the walks, going noiselessly over the turf. The dogs charged upon him, welcoming, but gave no alarm. Burglary was a thing almost unknown in this region, and the ranch-house, as Dan knew, was left quite unprotected from thievery—or worse. The prowler, when he had come to the porch, took off his shoes, and then crept silently up the steps, and on to a window of the living-room. As he had anticipated, it was open, though there was a wire screen. Under Dan's hand, the screen was raised. It slid easily along its grooves, and in another moment Dan stepped into the room. Enough moonlight fell through the side windows for him to see his way distinctly. He crossed to a corner in which was a writing-desk, commonly used by the master of the house for the keeping of papers not sufficiently important for the safe. Conspicuous upon it was lying a letter-case of Russia leather. Dan could distinguish the darker shadow of its outline upon the surface of oak. With a deft certainty of movement, he took from his pocket the note he had that night dictated to the gambler's woman, and, opening the case, thrust it within one of the compartments. Immediately, he retraced his steps across the room, and climbed out through the window, where he paused to lower the screen. When he had descended the porch steps, he sat down on the grass, and put on his shoes again. In due time, he reached his horse, and rode back to the town, filled with unholy joy over the success of his expedition.

      Dan, like many another conscienceless scoundrel, slept soundly after his evil work. Yet, he was early astir, for time pressed, and there was still much to be done toward the accomplishment of his design. He found the morning clear, to his vast relief, since, had rain come, Jim would in all likelihood have remained at the ranch-house, thus shutting off the possibility of Dan's seeing Lou alone, which was his immediate purpose. At once, then, after he had breakfasted, he mounted and rode to the ranch-house boldly. He had no lack of courage, and freely ran the risk of meeting the man whose hospitality he had so abused. That risk, he knew, must be encountered for the sake of his plan. But he knew, also, that the chances of an encounter were small with the harvest requiring the rancher's presence in the fields.

      As a matter of fact, when he rode up to the house, he neither saw nor heard anything of its master. But, even before he dropped from the saddle, he saw Lou, sitting on the porch with idly folded hands, and with an expression of deep melancholy casting its shadows over the delicate loveliness of her face. Dan's heart leaped exultantly. He wondered if, by any chance, the reflex of her mood from yesterday might contain some measure of sadness on his account. The slightest feeling of womanly compassion for the culprit might prove invaluable to him in his campaign of treachery. He was annoyed for a moment over the presence of Nell on the porch, playing with a doll. But a second thought caused him to decide that the child's company at the outset of the interview