CHAPTER XXXI

THE REWARD

“I've heard about you,” said Luella, when on the next evening I made my bow to her. “But I want to hear all about it from yourself. Tell me, please.”

“Where shall I begin?” I asked, looking into the most charming of faces, which shone before me.

“How stupid to ask! At the beginning, of course.”

“I was born of poor but honest parents”--I began.

Luella interrupted me with a laugh.

“How absurd you are! Anyhow, you can tell me about that later. Just begin with the San Francisco beginning. Tell me why you came and all about it.”

“Very good,” I said; “though really this part is much longer than the other.”

Then I told her the story of my coming, of the murder of Henry Wilton, of the struggles with death and difficulty that had given the spice of variety to my life since I had come across the continent.

It was an inspiration to have such a listener. Under the encouragement of her sympathy I found an unwonted flow of words and ideas. Laughter and tears shone in her eyes as the ludicrous and sorrowful parts of my experience touched her by turns. And at the end I found--I really don't know how it happened--I found that I was clasping her hand and looking up into her eyes in a trance of intoxication from the subtle magnetism of her lovely presence.

For a minute we were silent.

“Oh,” she cried softly, withdrawing her hand, and looking dreamily away, “I knew it was right--that it must be right. You have justified my faith, and more!”

“I am repaid for all by those words,” I said. I am afraid I stared very hard at her, but it was pleasant, indeed, to look into Luella's eyes without any reservations or conscientious qualms in thinking of my duty to hang her father.

“You deserve a much greater reward than that,” said Luella.

“I want a much greater reward than that,” said I boldly.

I did not think the courage was in me. But under the magnetic influence of the woman before me I forgot what a poor devil I was. Luella looked at me, and I saw in her eyes that she understood what I would say.

I do not know what I did say. I have no doubt it was very badly put, but she listened seriously. Then she said:

“That's very nice of you to want me, but I am going to marry the president of the Omega Company.”

I turned sick with despair at these words so gently said, and a pang of fierce jealousy, tinged with wonder, shot through me. “Surely she can't be in love with that red-faced brute we fought with in the Omega office,” I thought. That was impossible. Besides, we had turned him out. Doddridge Knapp would be president as soon as the new board of directors elected its officers. She couldn't, of course, think of marrying her own father. I could not understand what she meant, but I knew I was furiously uncomfortable and wished I was rich enough to buy up the company. Luella saw my distress as I tried to rise and fly from the place.

“Don't go,” she said gently. “What are you going to do with your men?”

“The free companions are to be disbanded,” I said, recovering myself with a gulp.

“Are any of them killed?” she asked in solicitous tones.

“No. Porter is pretty badly hurt. We got him down from Livermore to-day. He was in the jail there, with Abrams and Brown. We gave bail for them, and all the men are back at the Montgomery Street place. Barkhouse is getting on all right, and there are a few bruises and cuts scattered around in my flock. But they'll all be in trim for another fight in two or three weeks.”

“I suppose you'll be sorry to part with them.”

“They are a faithful set, but I've had enough excitement for a while.”

“And Mrs. Borton?”

“Is to be buried to-morrow.”

“And you, Mr. Dudley?”

This question struck me a little blank. I had really not thought of what I was going to do.

“It's another case of an occupation gone,” I said rather ruefully. “With the break-up of the plots and the close of the Omega deal, I am at the end of my employments.”

With this view of the question before me, I fell into a panic of regrets, and began to blush furiously at my folly in imagining for an instant that Luella could think of me for a husband.

“No,” said Luella thoughtfully. “You are just at the beginning.”

The tone, even more than the words, braced my nerves, and once more there glowed within me a generous courage of the future.

“You are right. I thank you,” I said feelingly. “I have faith in the opportunities.”

“And I have faith--” said Luella. Then she stopped.

“In the man, I hope,” I ventured.

Luella did not answer, but she gave me a look that meant more than words. I was a trifle bewildered, wondering where I stood in the eyes of this capricious young woman, but my speculations were cut short by the coming of Mrs. Knapp.

There was no reservation in her greeting. Whatever lingering doubts of