CHAPTER V
Dan McGrew had plotted with devilish cleverness. He had seized on the fact of Jim's attendance at the bank-meeting as timely to his purpose. He had, indeed, made it the pivot about which the details of his scheming were grouped. As a result of his carefulness in planning, during the hour of his interview with Lou, Fingie Whalen was stationed in the street outside Murphy's saloon. He sat on a bench that stood against the wall of the structure, and smoked incessant cigarettes, the while his ferret eyes scanned closely the length of the main street, down which Jim Maxwell must ride on his way to the bank. Just before him, a saddled horse stood patiently, with the bridle-rein trailing. Within the saloon, Jess, also, waited—with a drink, as well as a cigarette, to comfort her in the interval. Thus, it befell that, when Jim Maxwell came riding briskly into the town, his approach was noted from afar by eyes hired for the purpose. Instantly, then, Fingie acted. He sprang up, and darted into the back room of the saloon, where he called Jess's name, and beckoned. The response of the woman was no less prompt. She stood up quickly, and hurried out of the place, while Fingie himself remained to peer anxiously from the window that gave on the street. There, for a minute, he observed events outside. Afterward, he lounged against the bar with a gratified smirk.
Jim, as he rode slowly down the main street, idly noted the woman who hastened out of Murphy's, and mounted astride the horse. He wondered a little that she did not start away. But, as he drew closer, his keen eyes perceived that the form of the woman was swaying unsteadily in the saddle. Alarmed for her safety, though with a suspicion that only excess of drink ailed her, Jim quickened his horse's pace—too late. Before he could reach her, the woman lurched, and fell heavily to the ground, where she lay motionless, evidently stunned, if not more seriously injured, while the startled horse backed away snuffing.
Jim was on the ground almost as quickly as the woman herself, and was beside her before the few others in the street who came running. He did the natural thing under the circumstances, precisely as Dan McGrew had expected that he would. Since the woman lay with closed eyes, showing no signs of consciousness, unless in the faint moaning that issued from her rouged lips, Jim lifted her in his arms, and bore her through the side door, which Fingie had thoughtfully left ajar, into the back room of Murphy's saloon.... It was at this moment that the gambler left the window to lounge unconcernedly against the bar. Jim carried his burden to one of the round tables which was empty, and placed her gently upon it, continuing to support her with his arms about the waist and shoulders.
JIM CARRIED HIS BURDEN TO ONE OF THE ROUND TABLES.
"Bring brandy!" he called out sharply to the nearest of the occupants of the room, who now came crowding forward with ejaculations of dismay. The man addressed was Fingie Whalen himself. He stared down at the woman with shocked surprise writ large on his sullen features.
"Why, it's Jess!" he mumbled, in a voice that he vainly strove to fill with distress. "Whatever has she been an' gone, an' done?"
"Get that brandy!" Jim reiterated the command curtly.
"Yes, sir," Fingie answered humbly, and hurried off to the bar. In a moment, he was back with the liquor, which he held to the woman's lips. To Jim's relief, Jess swallowed the draft easily enough—to tell the truth, rather greedily; but of that fact her rescuer was quite unaware, and from it he augured well.
Jess managed her apparent recovery from the effects of the fall with such art as she possessed, which, in truth, was not of the highest, though ample for the beguiling of a man who was honest and kindly and wholly unsuspecting. Soon, her eyes unclosed a little, and she breathed more deeply, and the moaning, which had been interrupted by the brandy, was resumed more vigorously. Through the paint on her cheeks showed the deeper red of a genuine flush, the natural result of the dram, but a sure evidence of vitality, none the less. Jim rejoiced over these signs of restoration, and even smiled on Fingie, as he bade him continue the chafing of the woman's hands.
"She's not seriously hurt," he remarked, with much satisfaction in his voice; "though the way she flopped off that horse was enough to jar her teeth loose." Being ignorant of the fact that Jess had been a member of a circus troupe before she yielded to the blandishments of the gambler, Jim wondered mightily that so severe a fall should have had no worse effect.
Jess opened her eyes wide, and stared up blankly into the face of the man who held her in his arms.
"Where am I?" she asked, with the languid air of her favorite stage heroine when swooning.
"It's all right," Jim hastened to explain soothingly, having due regard to her dazed condition. "You were dizzy for a second, I suspect, and fell from your horse. But there doesn't seem to be anything much the matter, and you'll be all right in a jiffy." He addressed Fingie.
"Bring her another nip of the brandy."
The gambler would have remonstrated against this unnecessary extravagance, but could find no plausible reason for refusal, and Jess, who was enjoying herself hugely, offered him no assistance. When the drink had been brought, she swallowed it without too much display of eagerness, and coughed as a lady should who is unaccustomed to strong waters. At once thereafter, she straightened up to a sitting posture on the table, though she still accepted the support of Jim's arms to his discomfiture, and regarded him with coquettish glances of gratitude, which were offensive to him, and to Fingie Whalen as well. He tried to withdraw his arms, but she leaned upon him too heavily, and he was forced for a few minutes longer to retain her in a passive embrace. But, as he repeated the effort tentatively, Jess bethought herself that her recovery had now advanced so far as to make such support unnecessary. Therefore, to play her part, she withdrew herself, and sat up unassisted, but with a hand to her brow to indicate that her brain had not yet wholly cleared.
"Oh, you have been so good to me, Mister!" she gushed. "I shall be thankful to you to my dying day. Why," she added in a burst of imagination, "the horse might have stepped on me, if you hadn't been right there to save me."
"Nothing like that, I'm sure," Jim declared, as amiably as he could contrive. "The horse seemed to be doing his best not to step on you without any help from me. You don't owe me any thanks, really."
Jess put out an appealing hand. It was accepted reluctantly by Jim, and, with his assistance, and that of Fingie on the other side, she got down from the table totteringly, and sank into a chair, where she sat limply, with closed eyes, following her rôle devotedly to the end.
"You'll have a drink with us, Mr. Maxwell," Fingie urged, twisting his lowering features to an expression of affability. "What's past is past an' done. You sure did give me an almighty swat on the jaw t'other day, but I ain't one to nuss no grouch, an' Jess here, an' me, we're plumb grateful for yer kindness to her this mornin'. What'll you have, Mr. Maxwell? I'll bring it."
Jim shook his head in refusal. He, too, had no wish to nourish a grudge; but he had no liking for the gambler—less for the woman, whose tawdry airs nauseated him. He was already a little disgusted, with the episode, and desirous to end it.
Jess saw the refusal in his face, and was quick to intervene; for failure now would mean the utter collapse of all their plotting. She spoke gently, and, in the genuineness of her anxiety, her voice trembled with appeal:
"Please, sir—please, Mr. Maxwell!" she besought him.
Jim, in spite of his repulsion, was touched by the woman's earnestness. His sense of chivalry impelled him to yield to a plea so natural and so ingenuous on her part. He smiled, a bit wryly, in answer to her imploring look, and nodded assent.
"I'll have a glass of beer," he said to Fingie, and, as the gambler hurried off to the bar, he seated himself at the table beside Jess.
The woman prattled nervously, made garrulous by the brandy, and by fatuous ambition to impress this aloof companion with her charms. As a matter of fact, the conspiracy came perilously near to failure in consequence of her chatting, which almost drove Jim to flight. His instinct of politeness, however, conquered inclination, and he remained in his place, listening with a forced semblance of interest to hide how desperately he was bored. Yet, throughout, he rested without a faintest suspicion that this affair was aught beyond the innocent thing it seemed. To him, the happening was merely a nuisance—nothing more, nothing in any wise sinister. It did not occur to him to wonder why Fingie should have volunteered to serve as their waiter. He did not trouble even to follow the gambler with his eyes, as the fellow went to the bar.
For that matter, it would have availed Jim nothing, had he watched never so closely. The card-sharp possessed the dexterity of his trade. Those long, slender, mobile fingers of his had been fashioned by fate for a surgeon, a conjurer, a gambler, or a pick-pocket. Not even the keen-eyed bartender, who was close to him, noticed the tiny vial in Fingie's hand, as it hovered over the frothing glass of beer on the counter, or saw the trickle of the colorless drops into the brew. So, the gambler came back to the table presently, with a tray, on which were two glasses of brandy—one for himself, of generous size; the other for Jess, so tiny that she frowned indignantly at sight of it—and the glass of beer for Jim. The three drank together.... Then, the gambler and his woman watched avidly for what should befall.
There was no delay. Jim, glad that the ordeal was at last done, would have risen to leave. But a strange lethargy held him fastbound. A black cloud descended on his brain; thought ceased. Suddenly, he slumped in his chair. His arms dropped heavily on the table. His head fell on them. Fingie and Jess chuckled aloud in gloating over the inert form of the man. They were not afraid lest he hear them, now.