The Best Western Novels of William MacLeod Raine. William MacLeod Raine

she waited on him. He caught both her hands in his, and opened them wide so that she was drawn toward him by the swing of the motion. There for an instant he stood, looking down into her eyes by the faint light that sifted through the window upon her.

      "What—what do you want?" she demanded tremulously, emotion flooding her in waves.

      "Why are you saving me, girl?"

      "I—don't know. I've told you why."

      "I'm a villain, by your way of it, yet you save my life even while you think me a skunk. I can't thank you. What's the use of trying?"

      He looked down into her eyes, and that gaze did more than thank her. It told her he would never forget and never let her forget. How it happened she could not afterward remember, but she found herself in his arms, his kiss tingling through her blood like wine.

      She thrust him from her—and he was gone.

      She sank into a chair beside the kitchen table, her pulses athrob with excitement. Scorn herself she might and would in good time, but just now her whole capacity for emotion was keyed to an agony of apprehension for this prince of scamps. By the beating of her galloping heart she timed his steps. He must have reached the horse now. Already he would have it untied, would be in the saddle. Surely by this time he had eluded the sentries and was slipping out of the danger zone. Before him lay the open road, the hills, and safety.

      A cry rang out in the stillness—and another. A shot, the beat of running feet, a panted oath, more shots! The silent night had suddenly become vocal with action and the fierce passions of men. She covered her face with her hands to shut out the vision of what her imagination conjured—a horse flying with empty saddle into the darkness, while a huddled figure sank together lifeless by the roadside.

      Chapter VI

       A Good Friend

       Table of Contents

      How long she remained there Phyllis did not know. Fear drummed at her heart. She was sick with apprehension. At last her very terror drove her out to learn the worst. She walked round to the front of the house and saw a light in the store. Swiftly she ran across and up the steps to the porch. Three men were inside examining the empty chair by the light of a lantern one held in his hand.

      "Did—did he get away?" the girl faltered.

      The men turned. One of them was Slim. He held in his hand pieces of the slashed rope and the open pocket-knife that had freed the prisoner.

      "Looks like it," Slim answered. "With some help from a friend. Now, I wonder who that useful friend was and how in time he got in here?"

      Her eyes betrayed her. Just for an instant they swept to the cellar door, to make sure it was still shut. But that one glance was enough. Slim, about to speak, changed his mind, and stared at her with parted lips. She saw suspicion grow in his face and resolve itself to certainty, helped to decision by the telltale color dyeing her cheeks.

      "Does the cellar stairway from the store connect with the kitchen cellar, Phyllie?" he asked.

      "Ye-es."

      He nodded, then laughed without mirth. "I reckon I can tell you, boys, who Mr. Keller's friend in need is."

      "Who? I'd like right well to know." Brill Healy, in a pallid fury, had just come in and was listening.

      Phyllis turned and faced him. "I was that friend, Brill."

      "You!" He stared at her in astonishment. "You! Why, it was you sent me out to run him down."

      "I didn't tell you that I wanted you to murder him, did I?"

      "I guess there's a lot between him and you that you didn't tell me," he jeered.

      Slim grinned, not at all maliciously. "I reckon that's right. I don't need to ask you now, Phyllie, who it was I found with you in the kitchen."

      "He was just going," she protested.

      "Sure, and I busted into the good-bys right inconsiderate."

      "Go ahead, Slim. I'm only a girl. You and Brill say what you like," she flashed at him, the nails of her fingers biting into the palms of her hands.

      "Only don't say it out loud," cautioned a new voice. Jim Yeager was at the door, and he was looking very pointedly at Healy.

      "I say what I think, Jim," Brill retorted promptly.

      "And you think?"

      Healy slammed his fist down hard on the counter. "I think things ain't right when a Malpais girl helps a hawss thief and a rustler to escape twice."

      "Take care, Brill," advised Phyllis.

      "Not right how?" asked Yeager quietly, but in an ominous tone.

      "Don't you two go to twisting my meaning. All Malpais knows that no better girl than Phyl Sanderson ever breathed."

      The young woman's lip curled. "I'm grateful for this indorsement, sir," she murmured with mock humility.

      "Do I understand that Keller has made his getaway?" Jim Yeager asked.

      "He sure has—clean as a whistle."

      "Then you idiots want to be plumb grateful to Phyllie. He ain't any more a rustler than I am. If you had hanged him you would have hanged an innocent man."

      "Prove it," cried Healy.

      Jim looked at him quietly. "I cayn't prove it just now. You'll have to take my word for it."

      "Yore word goes with me, Jim, even if I am an idiot by yore say-so," his father announced promptly.

      Jim smiled and let an arm fall across the shoulders of James Yeager, Senior. "I ain't countin' you in on that class, dad. You got to trailing with bad company. I'll have to bring you up stricter."

      "I hate to be a knocker, Jim, but I've got to trust my own eyes before your indorsement," Healy sneered.

      "That's your privilege, Brill."

      "I reckon Jim knows what he's talking about," said Yeager, Senior, with intent to conciliate.

      "Of course I know you're right friendly with him, Jim. There's nobody more competent to pass an opinion on him. Like enough you know all about his affairs," conceded Healy with polite malice.

      The two young men were looking at each other steadily. They never had been friends, and lately they had been a good deal less than that. Rival leaders of the range for years, another cause had lately fanned their rivalry to a flame. Now a challenge had been flung down and accepted.

      "I expect I know more about them than you do, Brill."

      "Sure you do. Ain't he just got through being your guest? Didn't he come visiting you in a hurry? Didn't you tie up his wound? And when Phil and I came asking questions didn't you antedate his arrival about six hours? I'm not denying you know all about him. What I'm wondering is why you didn't tell all you knew. Of course, I understand they are your reasons, though, not mine."

      "You've said it. They're my reasons."

      "I ain't saying they are not good reasons. Whyfor should a man round on his friend?"

      The innuendo was plain, and Yeager put it into words. "I'd be right proud to have him for a friend. But we all know what you mean, Brill. Go right ahead. Try and persuade the boys I'm a rustler, too. They haven't known me on an average much over twenty years. But that doesn't matter. They're so durned teachable to-day maybe you can get them to swallow that with the rest."

      With which parting shot he followed Phyllis out of the store. She turned on him at the top of the porch steps leading to the house.

      "Did he tell you that Phil was the rustler?"

      "You mean did Keller tell me?" he said, surprised.

      "Yes. 'Rastus was in the live