And then there was Rand's quick change of manner after the shooting—the sardonic expression of his eyes, and the humorous malice in his voice when he told her to ask her father for an explanation for the shooting. The actions of both men seemed to prove there was an undercurrent of hostility between them — a mystery which she must solve.
However, there seemed to be no way to go about that task, for she could get nothing illuminating from her father — and she could not go to Rand with her questions.
Her father's attitude puzzled her; for it seemed to her that he should betray resentment toward Rand — that is, of course, if he thought Rand had tried to kill him. To be sure, if Rand's bullet had been directed at the pipe intentionally, and there had been no murderous impulses in Rand's mind, that would make a difference.
And she began to believe that Rand had not meant to kill her father, for with a recollection of Rand's manner toward her — the gentle graveness of his face, and the humor that seemed always ready to flash into his eyes — it seemed to her that he could not possess the viciousness of character that would impel him to kill her father in her presence — or anywhere, for that matter.
For she could not believe that any man with eyes like Rand's could have inherited vicious traits. She found herself hoping that when the explanation did come Rand would emerge with credit.
And in the evening of the next day — after Seddon returned from a trip to where the outfit was working, it appeared to her that the explanation had come.
For at the supper table Seddon looked steadily at her, smiling slightly.
"Rand shot a man in Ocate yesterday," he said deliberately.
She did not answer, but drew a full breath and leaned her elbows on the table, watching her father intently, for she detected a change in his manner from yesterday.
And a change had come over Seddon. During the day Link Compton had ridden over to see him, and Compton had cursed him for giving Rand the bill of sale for Midnight. Compton had been in a furious rage over the failure of his plans to kill Rand; and Seddon was still resentful over the tone Compton had employed in accusing him of cowardice.
Compton had related what had happened in the Gilt Edge, when Rand had shoved the pistol into his side. Compton had told the incident for the purpose of comparing his own conduct with that of Seddon's, under conditions almost similar.
"He's yellow!" Compton had declared. "He's afraid to sling a gun in earnest!"
However, Seddon was convinced that Rand was not the coward Compton had termed him. He felt that Rand must have had reasons for not shooting Kinney or Compton. Seddon had no deep faith in the theory that Rand was afraid to kill a man, for he had seen murder in Rand's eyes on more than one occasion, and as he had told Compton before—and as he had told him that day — he had no yearning to be the first man to test the popular theory.
Seddon was convinced that Rand had been deeply in earnest when he had warned him to say nothing derogatory about him to Eleanor. Seddon was convinced that Rand would kill him if he poisoned the girl's mind against him, and he was determined to take no chances. Not now, at least. At some future time — if conditions were favorable, he would be revenged upon Rand. But not now. And therefore, looking at his daughter across the table, with the memory of Compton's treatment of him fresh in mind, and with Rand's warning to urge him, his eyes held a gleam of satisfaction.
"Yes — shot a man," Seddon went on; "a gunfighter named ' Slim' Kinney."
"Rand killed him?" questioned the girl, with bated breath.
"Shot a finger off him," Seddon informed her, and looked speculatively at her when she sighed and sank back in her chair in apparent relief.
"It was mighty odd — an' slick — they tell me," Seddon went on.
"An accident, I presume."
"Accident, nothin'!" declared Seddon. "Rand done it deliberate! First he knocks one of Kinney's guns out of his hand — slammin' the cylinder with a bullet — which Weaver, of the Circle L, says was the slickest shootin' he ever seen — seein' as how Rand's back was pretty well turned to Kinney. An' then, when Kinney reaches for his other gun, Rand busts his forefinger, so that he'll never be able to pull a trigger with it again!"
Eleanor's eyes were bright, and there was color in her cheeks that had not been there an instant before.
"Then Rand's shooting your pipe was not an accident?" she said.
"Accident, nothin'!" Seddon declared, with considerably less emphasis than he had used before when uttering the same words. "Rand shootin' that pipe out of my hand was done deliberate — just like he busted Kinney's finger. I reckon you don't figger that Rand wanted to kill me!"
"I was afraid he had tried to."
Seddon laughed harshly. He hated to say complimentary things about Rand, but certainly, in view of Rand's warning, he could not tell his daughter that Rand had designs on his life. Besides, Rand had not intended to kill him — Seddon knew the shooting of the pipe had been merely a warning.
Seddon remembered Rand's reference to his heart, after the shooting, and he grinned.
"He was testin' me, I reckon," he said. "You see, when lie was in the office—before I called you — I was tellin' him about my heart bein' weak. An' he laughed at me, an' said he didn't believe it—an' that some time— when I wasn't expectin' it—he'd shoot at me—to see how close he could come to me without hittin' me. I told him if he pulled off anything like that I'd come right back at him. An' when I seen him standin' there, talkin' to you — I kind of thought he'd be tryin' to do it. An' he did— damn him!"
"Oh!" said the girl, relief in her voice. "Was that all?"
"Wasn't that enough?" demanded Seddon, grimly pleased over the lie. "An' I reckon I've got a weak heart, all right, for I wasn't able to stir out of the house yesterday— I was that nervous an' jumpy."
"Why didn't you tell me that yesterday?" demanded the girl.
"I didn't want to worry you."
"But you are telling me, now."
"An' I'm better, now," he returned, grimly.
She laughed, looking at him with eloquent eyes.
"Why didn't you return Rand's shot — as you promised him you would?" she asked.
"A man with a weak heart ain't got any business gun-nin' for Beau Rand," he said evenly. "That shootin' of his was so close that there wasn't any fun in it."
She drew a deep breath and smiled at Seddon.
"I am glad it was only a joke, Daddy—even though it was a grim one, and dangerous. For now I shall be able to go over to the Three Bar and look after that little boy's education. I suppose you heard Rand speaking of him. His name is ' Bud.' And Rand says the men of the Three Bar have been teaching him to swear — to 'cuss,' Rand says. And I am going to break him of the habit. Don't you think I ought to?"
"I don't reckon I'd go to monkeyin' with Rand's kid," growled Seddon, his face suddenly growing very red — so that, in order to keep Eleanor from suspecting anything, he had to get up and leave the table.
The girl would have liked to ask questions about the boy; but when Seddon left the table it was to go out into the yard, where he stood for a long time in the darkness. And had Bud been there to listen to him he might have added some picturesque and expressive oaths to his vocabulary.
Chapter XIV. A Matter of Nerve
RAND did not pull Midnight