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Page 23
"I want you, when you go back to the house, to say that you have
learned that Miss Page likes horseback riding; then send a horse for
her to the hotel stable, so that if she likes she can have it in the
early morning. And say nothing about my having sent the boy."
Engle did not answer immediately. He and Virginia stood trying to see
the sheriff's features through the darkness. He had spoken quietly
enough and yet there was an odd new note in his voice; it was easy to
imagine how the muscles about his lean jaw had tensed, how his eyes
were again the hard eyes of a man who saw his fight before him.
"I can trust you, John," continued Norton quickly. "I can trust
Ignacio Chavez; I can trust Julius Struve. And, if you want it in
words of one syllable, I cannot trust Caleb Patten!"
"Hm," said Engle. "I think you're mistaken there, my boy."
"Maybe," returned Norton. "But I can't afford right now to take any
unnecessary chances. Further," and in the gloom they saw his shoulders
lifted in a shrug, "I am trusting Miss Page because I've got to! Which
may not sound pretty, but which is the truth."
"Of course I'll do what you ask," Engle said. "Is there anything else?"
"No. Just go on with Miss Page to see Ignacio. He will pretend to be
doubled up with pain and will tell his story of the tinned meat he ate
for supper. Then you can see her to the hotel and go back home,
sending the horse over right away. Then she will ride with me to see a
man who is hurt . . . or she will not, and I'll have to take a chance
on Patten."
"Who is it?" demanded Engle sharply.
"It's Brocky Lane," returned Norton, and again his voice told of rigid
muscles and hard eyes. "He's hurt bad, John. And, if we're to do him
any good we'd better be about it."
Engle said nothing. But the slow, deep breath he drew into his lungs
could not have been more eloquent of his emotion had it been expelled
in a curse.
"I'll slip around the back way to the hotel," said Norton. "I'll be
ready when Miss Page comes in. Good night, John."
Silently, without awaiting promise or protest from the girl, he was
gone into the deeper shadows of the cottonwoods.
CHAPTER VI
A RIDE THROUGH THE NIGHT
Ignacio Chavez, because thus he could be of service to _el se�or_
Roderico Nortone whom he admired vastly and loved like a brother, drew
to the dregs upon his fine Latin talent, doubled up and otherwise
contorted and twisted his lithe body until the sweat stood out upon his
forehead. His groans would have done ample justice to the occasion had
he been dying.
Virginia treated him sparingly to a harmless potion she had secured at
her room on the way, put the bottle into the hands of Ignacio's
withered and anxious old mother, informed the half dozen Indian
onlookers that she had arrived in time and that the bell-ringer would
live, and then was impatient to go with Engle to Struve's hotel. Here
Engle left her to return to his home and to send the saddle-horse he
had promised Norton.
"You can ride, can't you, Virginia?" he had asked.
"Yes," she assured him.
"Then I'll send Persis around; she's the prettiest thing in horseflesh
you ever saw. And the gamest. And, Virginia . . ."
He hesitated. "Well?" she asked.
"There's not a squarer, whiter man in the world than Rod Norton," he
said emphatically. "Now good night and good luck, and be sure to drop
in on us to-morrow."
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