So he banged loudly at the door.
Eventually a light showed in an upper window and a voice cried: “Who’s there?”
“Anthony Bard.”
“Who the devil is Anthony Bard?”
“Lost in the hills. Can you give me a place to sleep for the rest of the night? I’m about done up.”
“Wait a minute.”
Voices stirred in the upper part of the house; the lantern disappeared; steps sounded, descending the stairs, and then the door was unbarred and held a cautious inch ajar. The ray of light jumped out at Bard like an accusing arm.
Evidently a brief survey convinced Jerry Wood that the stranger was no more than what he pretended. He opened the door wide and stepped back.
“Come in.”
Bard moved inside, taking off his hat.
“How’d you happen to be lost in the hills?”
“I’m a bit of a stranger around here, you see.”
The other surveyed him with a growing grin.
“I guess maybe you are. Sure, we’ll put you up for the night. Where’s your hoss?”
He went out and raised the lantern above his head to look. The light shone back from the lustrous wide eyes of the grey.
Wood turned to Bard.
“Seems to me I’ve seen that hoss.”
“Yes. I bought it from Duffy out at Drew’s place.”
“Oh! Friend of Mr. Drew?”
Half a life spent on the mountain-desert had not been enough to remove from Drew that distinguishing title of respect. The range has more great men than it has “misters.”
“Not exactly a friend,” answered Bard.
“Sail right. Long’s you know him, you’re as good as gold with me. Come on along to the barn and we’ll knock down a feed for the hoss.”
He chuckled as he led the way.
“For that matter, there ain’t any I know that can say they’re friends to William Drew, though there’s plenty that would like to if they thought they could get away with it. How’s he lookin’?”
“Why, big and grey.”
“Sure. He never changes none. Time and years don’t mean nothin’ to Drew. He started bein’ a man when most of us is in short pants; he’ll keep on bein’ a man till he goes out. He ain’t got many friends—real ones—but I don’t know of any enemies, neither. All the time he’s been on the range Drew has never done a crooked piece of work. Every decent man on the range would take his word ag’in’—well, ag’in’ the Bible, for that matter.”
They reached the barn at the end of this encomium, and Bard unsaddled his horse. The other watched him critically.
“Know somethin’ about hosses, eh?”
“A little.”
“When I seen you, I put you down for a tenderfoot. Don’t mind, do you? The way you talked put me out.”
“For that matter, I suppose I am a tenderfoot.”
“Speakin’ of tenderfoots, I heard of one over to Eldara the other night that raised considerable hell. You ain’t him, are you?”
He lifted the lantern again and fixed his keen eyes on Bard.
“However,” he went on, lowering the lantern with an apologetic laugh, “I’m standin’ here askin’ questions and chatterin’ like a woman, and what you’re thinkin’ of is bed, eh? Come on with me.”
Upstairs in the house he found Bard a corner room with a pile of straw in the corner by way of a mattress. There he spread out some blankets, wished his guest a good sleep, and departed.
Left to himself, Anthony stretched out flat on his back. It had been a wild, hard day, but he felt not the slightest touch of weariness; all he wished was to relax his muscles for a few moments. Moreover, he must be away from the house with the dawn-first, because Sally Fortune might waken, guess where he had gone, and follow him; secondly because the news of what had happened at Drew’s place might reach Wood at any hour.
So he lay trying to fight the thought of Sally from his mind and concentrate on some way of getting back to Drew without riding the gauntlet of the law.
The sleep which stole upon him came by slow degrees; or, rather, he was not fully asleep, when a sound outside the house roused him to sharp consciousness compared with which his drowsiness had been a sleep.
It was a knocking at the door, not loud, but repeated. At the same time he heard Jerry Wood cursing softly in a neighbouring room, and then the telltale creak of bedsprings.
The host was rousing himself a second time that night. Or, rather, it was morning now, for when Anthony sat up he saw that the hills were stepping out of the shadows of the night, black, ugly shapes revealed by a grey background of the sky. A window went up noisily.
“Am I runnin’ a hotel?” roared Jerry Wood. “Ain’t I to have no sleep no more? Who are ye?”
A lowered, muttering voice answered.
“All right,” said Jerry, changing his tone at once. “I’ll come down.”
His steps descended the noisy stairs rapidly; the door creaked. Then voices began again outside the house, an indistinct mumble, rising to one sharp height in an exclamation.
Almost at once steps again sounded on the stairs, but softly now. Bard went quietly to the door, locked it, and stole back to the window. Below it extended the roof of a shed, joining the main body of the house only a few feet under his window and sloping to what could not have been a dangerous distance from the ground. He raised the window-sash.
Yet he waited, something as he had waited for Sally Fortune to speak earlier in the night, with a sense of danger, but a danger which thrilled and delighted him. No game of polo could match suspense like this. Besides, he would be foolish to go before he was sure.
The walls were gaping with cracks that carried the sounds, and now he heard a sibilant whisper with a perfect clearness.
“This is the room.”
There was a click as the lock was tried.
“Locked, damn it!”
“Shut up, Butch. Jerry, have you got a bar, or anything? We’ll pry it down and break in on him before he can get in action.”
“You’re a fool, McNamara. That feller don’t take a wink to get into action. Sure he didn’t hear you when you hollered out the window? That was a fool move, Wood.”
“I don’t think he heard. There wasn’t any sound from his room when I passed it goin’ downstairs. Think of the nerve of this bird comin’ here to roost after what he done.”
“He didn’t think we’d follow him so fast.”
But Anthony waited for no more. He slipped out on the roof of the shed, lowered himself hand below hand to the edge, and dropped lightly to the ground.
The grey, at his coming, flattened back its ears, as though it knew that more hard work was coming, but he saddled rapidly, led it outside, and rode a short distance into the forest. There he stopped.
His course lay due north, and then a swerve to the side and a straight course west for the ranch