CHAPTER XVI

Allston, from where he stood outside the shack, had Childers within range, and as he saw the big fellow standing before the shrinking figure of Roxie, he was tempted to shoot. He was restrained by his unwillingness at this point to kill and by fear of the consequences, if he attempted merely to cripple the man, that might follow to the girl before he could reach her side. He must be patient a few moments longer and if possible get inside the house. Only then could he secure the drop on Bud.

Allston knew nothing of the floor plan of the shack, but he saw a door leading from the main room to the left of the fireplace and so supposed there must be another entrance in the rear. If not he might find an unfastened window. In this reconnoitering, the tempest which had until now opposed him changed its colors and assisted. He could move freely without danger of being overheard. Circling to the left he went around the spring-house. But now he no longer had the help of the lamp within. He had to feel his way, following the house as a blind man does. He came to a darkened window--the kitchen window--passed it and so reached the frame of a door. His fingers felt their way across this to a latch which rattled as he touched it. He could thank the wind once more for disarming suspicion at such unusual noises. All the evening long it, too, had been fumbling at this latch.

But Allston knew that once he opened this door the wind would follow him in and rushing ahead announce a visitor. This would give Bud the time he needed to seize his gun. And that in turn meant shooting to the death without either explanation or argument. This Allston wished to avoid, if possible. Bully and brute the man might be, but he was entitled to a hearing; bully and brute the man might be, but Allston preferred that some one other than himself should administer that kind of grim justice. He himself had no desire to kill. His concern was with Roxie rather than Bud. He was perfectly willing to give the man a mauling if opportunity offered, but his chief business was to rescue the girl.

Allston had noted that to the right of this outside door and just inside there was another room. With that in mind a plan of action suggested itself which would make that eager wind at his back serve instead of foil him. If he swung the outer door wide and stepped in quickly, he could shove open this inner door and hide himself in that room. The wind hurrying ahead would summon Bud, who, the chances were, would think the storm had beaten open the door. Allston then might have his chance at the man as he passed. If not, he would still have the advantage of being inside the house. He would retain that advantage even if Bud started a search. For Bud to find him must hold a light.

Allston acted promptly--the one gamble he was taking being that the door was locked. Gently he pressed the latch and shoved. The door opened and the storm swept down the narrow hall to the lighted living-room beyond. Allston stepped noiselessly into the right-hand room, keeping as near the sill as was safe. He heard an oath from Bud and then silence.

Childers was waiting to see what, if anything, followed the opening of that door. Nothing followed but wind-laden rain that made the lamp flicker. The hall was only feebly lighted, but when Bud cautiously ventured to look the length of it he saw enough to be assured that it was empty. And so, quite off his guard, he strode down to close the door. This time he shoved the bolt that locked it.

It was while he was at this task, both hands occupied, that Allston sprang. He brought the butt of his automatic down hard just over the man’s temple. Bud staggered and Allston threw his full weight upon him bearing him to the floor. At the same time he found the fellow’s throat. For a moment Allston held on, but Bud was quite still. In falling he had struck his head hard enough to knock him out.

From the next room Allston heard the moaning cries of the girl. He called her.

“Roxie!”

The crying ceased instantly, but he received no reply.

“Roxie, come here.”

She came on a run then. She saw Allston still full length upon the man.

“Find me a rope,” he ordered.

“Mister Allston!”

“Quick!”

She vanished to reappear a few seconds later with a piece of stout cord. Allston turned the fellow over and bound together his two wrists with the army hitch designed for just this purpose. Roxie watched, dazed and breathless with both fear and blind joy.

“Now bring the lamp,” he commanded.

As long as Allston issued orders to her she could act. If only he would continue--indefinitely. That was all she asked for, just the privilege of obeying.

When she returned, Allston stooped and examined the man’s wounds. There were two ugly gashes, one over the temple and one in the blue-black hair. Allston sent for water and when she brought it sopped his handkerchief in it and washed away the blood which had trickled over Childers’s face. Both wounds he discovered to be superficial. He cleaned them as best he could and felt Bud’s pulse. It was steady. In fact, before he was through with his examination and first-aid treatment the man had begun to revive. His eyes flickered open and he tried to make his feet. That was not easy with tied hands and became further complicated as Allston promptly sat on his legs.

“Steady there,” he warned. “You’re going to stay put for a while.”

Bud experienced difficulty at first in understanding the situation. This was like some evil dream. He twisted and writhed for a moment and then settled back to the inevitable. His lips twitched, but he did not speak.

“Now, Roxie,” said Allston, “we must find more rope. Look around, will you?”

“You--you gotter watch him,” she panted.

“I’ll watch him, but I can’t spend the rest of the evening on his legs. It’s late and--we’ve a long way to go.”

She brought an old leather halter-strap. This served well enough, though Allston could not fasten it as tight as he wished. However, it made it safe to leave the man and he was beginning to feel the cold. First, however, he took the precaution to remove Bud’s gun--a villainous-looking Colt big enough to bore a hole the size of a walnut.

“Better stay quiet,” warned Allston. “If I hear you moving I’ll find more rope. Get that?”

Bud’s level eyes, hard as dagger blades, met those of steel blue before him. He deigned no reply. His face was as immobile as though cut from granite.

Allston picked up the lamp and led the way into the next room. He tossed a log on the open fire and removed his wet coat, Roxie watching him in silence and awe. He warmed his numb hands over the blaze, surveying the room in detail as he did so. It was cleaner than he had expected and more attractive. With the cold wind rattling the windows, hopelessly, and the rougher features of the surroundings subdued by shadows, with the warmth of the wood flames tingling pleasantly on his skin, he reacted quickly from the ugly incidents of the last few minutes. What, a short time ago, had seemed so grave a problem was now no problem at all. The moment he felt Roxie to be safe and sound, as obviously she was with Bud eliminated, he was rather inclined to accept the whole situation with easy good humor. He turned to Roxie with a smile. She was standing back against the wall--as far back as she could get. She was wearing no hat and her hair had become loosened, a detached strand hanging over one temple and another over her forehead. With a quick movement and in some embarrassment as she saw him looking at her, she swept these back into place.

To Allston she was just a child again. He sank into a chair with his wet, muddy boots thrust towards the flames.

“Roxie,” he said, “you certainly arranged a real hike for me to-night.”

She was silent a moment and then she broke out:

“What fer--did you come?”

“To take you home,” he answered easily.

“Who asked ye?” she demanded.

“_You_ did.”

“You lie!”

She spoke without thinking. The phrase sounded harsher than she intended. She meant only to deny.

Allston turned in his chair to face her.

“Come over here by the fire.”

“I don’ wanter.”

He rose.

“Then I’ll have to come to you, but I wanted to dry my feet.”

At that she ran to his side.

“Please,” she begged, “yer boots is all muddy an’ wet.”

As he sat down again willingly enough, for his legs really were heavy and his feet bruised, she knelt by his chair, and before he realized what she was doing began to unlace his shoes. As she did so her voice fell into a low crooning.

“Po’ feet,” she murmured. “They’s all wet an’ hurt--they’s all wet an’ hurt. Oh, I didn’ know you’d come. I didn’ know. It’s all my fault.”

Her fingers were fumbling at the strings--her bent head by his knee. He placed his hand upon her silky flaxen hair.

“Roxie,” he protested, “don’t do that.”

“Yer’ll ketch yo’ death o’ cold. An’ it’ll be all my fault.”

“Get up, child.”

“They’re mos’ done now.”

It was true enough. She had them off before he could object further and had placed them on the hearth.

“You’d spoil any man, Roxie,” he smiled.

“I never done thet fer no man afore,” she answered.

“And you shouldn’t again.”

“I’d do it fer you ag’in.”

“I shan’t ever let you.”

“Then what fer did ye come?” she cried.

“To fetch you home.”

“Back to Miss Wilmer’s?”

“Certainly.”

He was a bit puzzled by her questioning. He did not know where it was leading, but he had an uncomfortable feeling that it was leading somewhere it should not.

“I ain’t a-goin’ back to Miss Wilmer’s,” she answered with tightened lips.

“Of course you are,” he insisted with a trace of irritation.

“Who’s a-goin’ to make me?” she challenged.

“Make you? No one. You’re going because it’s the place for you to go; because you want to go.”

“I don’t.”

“Look here, Roxie--”

“I don’t,” she repeated, with a sharp stamp of her foot. “An’ ef you wanter go an’ hold her hand some more you kin go.”

The last part of her speech was a wild, unconstrained outburst. A moment ago she would have choked herself before she would have allowed it to escape her lips. Even now she stood back aghast, though still aggressive.

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Allston, his eyes held to her by the intensity of her passion.

As he started to rise she sank down in a heap, her legs weak beneath her. Leaning forward she buried her face in her hands. Allston retained his seat. He did not dare move; did not dare touch her. He was confused and uncertain.

“Who’s been talking to you, Roxie?” he frowned.

“Bud--he seen,” she choked.

“Saw what?”

“Seen you a-holdin’ of Miss Wilmer’s hand down to the cove.”

Suddenly she lifted her wet face to his.

“Unless he lied,” she trembled. “Mebbe he lied. I tol’ him he lied.”

Allston caught his breath. Bud must have been in the bushes. With a chance like that, why hadn’t the fellow shot?

“Mebbe he lied,” she said again, her face eager with new hope.

“But if he didn’t?”

“I won’t never go down ter Miss Wilmer’s ag’in,” she choked.