"He"s coming!"
The head disappeared; the door slammed. Lawlor stretched both arms wide, shifted his belt, loosened his gun in the holster for the fiftieth time, and exhaled a long breath. Once more the door jerked open, and this time it was the head and sullen face of Nash, enlivened now by a peculiarly unpleasant smile.
"He"s here!"
As the door closed the grim realization came to Lawlor that he could not face the tenderfoot--his staring eyes and his pallor would betray him even if the jerking of his hands did not. He swung about in the comfortable chair, seized a book and whisking it open bowed his head to read. All that he saw was a dance of irregular black lines: voices sounded through the hall outside.
"Sure, he"ll see you," Calamity Ben was saying. "And if you want to put up for the night there ain"t n.o.body more hospital than the Chief. Right in here, son."
The door yawned. He could not see, for his back was resolutely toward it and he was gripping the cover of the book hard to steady his hands; but he felt a breath of colder air from the outer hall; he felt above all a new presence peering in upon him, like a winter-starved lynx that might flatten its round face against the window and peer in at the lazy warmth and comfort of the humans around the hearth inside. Some such feeling sent a chill through Lawlor"s blood.
"h.e.l.lo!" called Calamity Ben.
"Humph!" grunted Lawlor.
"Got a visitor, Mr. Drew."
"Bring him in."
And Lawlor cleared his throat.
"All right, here he is."
The door closed, and Lawlor snapped the book shut.
"Drew!" said a low voice.
The cowpuncher turned in his chair. He had intended to rise, but at the sound of that controlled menace he knew that his legs were too weak to answer that purpose. What he saw was a slender fellow, who stood with his head somewhat lowered while his eyes peered down from under contracted brows, as though the light were hurting them. His feet were braced apart and his hands dropped lightly on his hips--the very picture of a man ready to spring into action.
Under the great brush of his moustache, Lawlor set his teeth, but he was instantly at ease; for if the sight of the stranger shook him to the very centre, the other was even more obviously shocked by what he saw.
The hands dropped limp from his hips and dangled idly at his sides; his body straightened almost with a jerk, as though he had been struck violently, and now, instead of that searching look, he was blinking down at his host. Lawlor rose and extended a broad hand and an even broader smile; he was proud of the strength which had suddenly returned to his legs.
"H"ware ye, stranger? Sure glad to see you."
The other accepted the proffered hand automatically, like one moving in a dream.
"Are you Drew?"
"Sure am."
"William Drew?"
He still held the hand as if he were fearful of the vision escaping without that sensible bondage.
"William Drew is right. Sit down. Make yourself to home."
"Thanks!" breathed the other and as if that breath expelled with it all his strength he slumped into a chair and sat with a fascinated eye glued to his host.
Lawlor had time to mark now the signs of long and severe travelling which the other bore, streaks of mud that disfigured him from heel to shoulder; and his face was somewhat drawn like a man who has gone to work fasting.
"William Drew!" he repeated, more to himself than to Lawlor, and the latter formed a silent prayer of grat.i.tude that he was _not_ William Drew.
"I"m forgetting myself," went on the tenderfoot, with a ghost of a smile. "My name is Bard--Anthony Bard."
His glance narrowed again, and this time Lawlor, remembering his part, pretended to start with surprise.
"Bard?"
"Yes. Anthony Bard."
"Glad to know you. You ain"t by any chance related to a John Bard?"
"Why?"
"Had a partner once by that name. Good old John Bard!"
He shook his head, as though overcome by recollections.
"I"ve heard something about you and your partner, Mr. Drew."
"Yes?"
"In fact, it seems to be a rather unusual story."
"Well, it ain"t common. John Bard! I"ll tell the world there was a man."
"Yes, he was."
"What"s that?"
"He must have been," answered Anthony, "from all that I"ve heard of him.
I"m interested in what I sc.r.a.pe together about him. You see, he carries the same name."
"That"s nacheral. How long since you ate?"
"Last night."
"The h.e.l.l! Starved?"
"Rather."
"It"s near chow-time. Will you eat now or wait for the reg"lar spread?"
"I think I can wait, thank you."
"A little drink right now to help you along, eh?" He strode over and opened the door. "Hey! Shorty!"
For answer there came only the wail of an old pirate song.