CHAPTER XXIX
SUSPICIOUS ANSWERS
Beth and Van rode away from the claim just after lunch; she on a borrowed horse. The girl had not slept, but she had rested well and was far more fit for the journey back to town than either she or Van had expected.
He went with her part way only—far enough to put her safely on a trail from which she could not wander. They talked but little as they rode—perhaps because they had so much to say that could not be approached. Never for a moment did Van relax his vigilance upon himself, or treat her otherwise than as a man for whom he had conceived a natural liking.
When they came to the place of parting he pulled up his broncho and faced about in the trail.
"Well, Kent," he said, "so long. You'll have no trouble now." He held forth his hand.
Beth gave him hers—and all her heart. Nevertheless, his clasp was as brief as he would give to one of his sex.
"So long," she answered. "Good luck. I am under many obligations."
"They won't make you very round shouldered," he said. "See you again."
That was their parting. He rode back at once—and Beth continued on her way. She turned three times in her saddle to watch him as he went, but she did not catch him glancing back.
About sundown she rode into Goldite, went at once to Mrs. Dick's, and tied her horse to a post. Mrs. Dick she met in the hall.
"Snakes alive!" exclaimed that lively little person. "If you ain't back as natural as life!" The garb had not deceived her for a moment. "Where in the world have you been, in such a rig?"
Beth's answer was ready.
"I went to see my brother, and had to spend the night on the desert."
Mrs. Dick stared at her in wonder. "Talk to me about the Eastern women being mollycuddles! You don't mean his cabin was blown down by the storm?"
Beth was ill-prepared for this, but she met it.
"I wish you could have seen that roof go by!"
"Are you hungry?" the hostess demanded. "You look all wore out."
"I am," Beth admitted. "Has Mr. Bostwick been here in my absence?"
"He ain't been here in anything—nope."
Beth's relief was inexpressible. She was safe, with everything behind her! No one knew, or would ever need to know, the secret in possession of herself and Van.
"If anyone comes that you can send, will you kindly have my horse taken over to the stable?" she said. "I must go upstairs and rest."
"Here's Billy Stitts a-comin' now," replied the housewife, moving towards the door. "He's been worried to death about you bein' gone!"
Beth ran at once for the stairs, and later, from the window, saw the faithful old Billy leading her pony away. She closed her door, darkened the light, and soon clambered wearily into bed, where she dropped off to sleep like a child, lost to the world through the dinner hour and till something like three in the morning. She awaked then for a moment, long enough to think of Van, then sighed in absolute comfort and turned to sleep again.
It was nine o'clock in the morning when at last she appeared on the scene.
"Land snakes!" said Mrs. Dick, who had heard her coming down. "Ain't you the sleeper! Well, I've kept your breakfast, but I couldn't keep last night's supper. Your friend, Mr. Bostwick, was here about eight, but I told him he'd have to wait if it took you a week to come to."
"You didn't tell him I'd been away, I hope," said Beth, suddenly alarmed at the thought of Searle's presence in the town. "I'd rather no one knew but you."
"Lord! I wouldn't tell him if a rat was dead in his pocket!" Mrs. Dick expostulated. "I can't abide the man, and you might as well know it, even if it does hurt your feelings."
Beth sat down to her breakfast. "You're as good as you can be."
"Well, the breakfast ain't—'taint fresh," said Mrs. Dick. "But I'll see you git a decent lunch."
She bustled off into the kitchen. Beth had barely finished eating when Bostwick again appeared.
The man was tanned from his trip in the desert. He seemed alert, excited, keen over prospects rapidly coming to a head.
"Well, well, Beth," he said as he came inside the dining-room, "I'm back, you see, but I've certainly had a time of it! The car broke down, and Glen had left Starlight when at last I arrived, and I hunted for him all through the mountains and only found him four days ago, and we've been going ever since. I couldn't write, but I did feel cut up, I assure you, about leaving you here alone for so long a time."
He advanced as if to kiss her, but Beth avoided his caress. She was calm and possessed. She meant to ascertain just how far the man was trying to deceive her.
"Won't you sit down, and tell me all about it," she said. "You saw Glen four days ago?" She resumed her place in her chair.
"Three or four days ago—I'm mixed in my dates," he said, as he also took a seat. "He's looking fine, and sent his love, of course."
That the man was lying, in every particular, she began to feel convinced.
"You left him well? He was feeling strong and well?"
"Never better," he assured her. "You can see what this wonderful sunlight does, even to me."
"Yes, I see. And you left Starlight yesterday?"
"Yesterday afternoon. I had trouble running back. Otherwise we'd have been here in the evening."
She glanced at him quickly. "We? Glen didn't come along? He isn't here?"
"Oh, no, no, certainly not," he hastened to say. "I brought in a man who—who is interested in the purchase we have made."
That served to arouse her sense of wonderment at what he had really been doing with her money. He was attempting to deceive her concerning Glen, and perhaps his entire story was a fabrication.
"Oh," she said. "Then you have purchased the mine—you and Glen?"
"Well—a few minor details remain to be concluded," he said off-handedly. "We are not yet in actual possession of the property. There will be no further hitches, however—and the claim is certainly rich."
For the life of her she could not tell what lay at the bottom of the business. The strange conflicts and discrepancies between Glen's very own letters made the riddle utterly obscure. She felt that Searle was fashioning falsehoods in every direction. That he had not visited Glen at all was her fixed conviction. A sudden distrust, almost a loathing for this heavy-browed man, was settling down upon her, inescapably. Someway, somehow she must know about Glen for herself. Her own attempted trip to Starlight had discouraged all thought of further adventure, and no reliance whatsoever could be placed on Searle's reports. Perhaps the reputed mining property was likewise a myth—or if such a property existed, Glen might never have heard of it at all. But Glen's letter—she was always forgetting that letter—the one he had written to Searle.
She said: "Where is this mine that Glen has found?"
He colored slightly. "We have all agreed not to talk too much about it yet. It's not very far from here—I can tell you that. Precautions are necessary where a hundred men follow every prospector about, night and day, if he happens to have found a bit of valuable ore. A thousand men would be after this property if they knew the way to secure it."
Perhaps, after all, Glen, had purposely concealed this matter from herself. Bostwick sounded plausible. Her mind reverted to her brother's illness, for Glen to her was of far more importance than all the mines in Nevada.
"I am glad to hear that Glen is well," she said, determined on another tack. "He hasn't answered my letter."
Once more Bostwick colored, beneath his tan and the gun-metal tint of his jaw.
"I suppose he's been too busy," he answered. "Have you written again?"
"Not yet," she answered honestly. "I wasn't sure of his whereabouts. You are sure he's in Starlight now?"
"Yes—but you needn't write," he hastened to say. "He said he might come, perhaps to-morrow." He rose from his chair. "I've got to hurry off, little girl. These negotiations cannot wait. I'll run in when I can—this afternoon at the latest. I'm glad to see you looking so well." He approached her with lover-like intent. "My heart has been empty and forlorn, away from you, Beth. Surely you have a little—a little something for me, pet? You know how starved——"
"Oh—Mrs. Dick is coming!" she interrupted desperately. "You must have a great deal to do."
Mrs. Dick was making a large and lively noise in the kitchen.
Bostwick listened for a second, his deep-set eyes keenly fixed on the girl, like very orbs of suspicion and jealousy. He lowered his voice.
"Has that ruffian, Van Buren, been here recently?"
She raised her brows in well-feigned astonishment,
"I haven't heard of any ruffian being in town."
Bostwick studied her face for a moment in silence.
"I'll be around this afternoon," he repeated. "Good-by."
He departed hurriedly, glancing at his watch as he went.
Not a block from the house he met old Billy Stitts, who, though quite unknown to the New York man, knew Bostwick in a way of his own.
"Morning, Uncle.—Howdy?" he said, blocking Bostwick's path. "Back, I see. Welcome home. I guess you don't know me as well as I know you. My name is Stitts—Billy Stitts—and I'm gittin' on fine with your niece. I'm the one which runs her errands and gits the inside track."
Bostwick, staring at Billy ominously, and about to sweep him aside as a bit of old rubbish, too familiar and impudent for tolerance, paused abruptly in his impulse, at a hint which Billy had supplied.
"Oh," he said. "How are you? So you are the friend who runs Miss Kent's errands? You must be the one she asked me to befriend."
"Did she?" said old Billy, inordinately pleased. "What did I tell you about the inside track?"
"I'm glad if you have been of use," Bostwick told him insidiously. "You didn't say what your services have been. Just a few little errands, I suppose?"
"Never you mind," said Billy, with a profoundly impressive wink. "That's between her and me. That ain't even fer you, Uncle Bostwick," and he winked again.
"Of course, of course," agreed Bostwick, half consumed with rage at the old fellow's abominable manners and familiarity. "I'll keep you in mind and add some reward of my own on the next occasion."
He bowed and hastened on his way, boiling with curiosity to know what it was that Beth had been doing to require this old tattler's services. He meant to ascertain. His suspicions went at once to Van, at thought of whom he closed down his jaw like a vise.
Filled with a turmoil of thoughts that seethed in his brain, like a brew in a witch's cauldron—some of them dark and some golden bright, and some of them red with lust for many things—he proceeded down street to McCoppet's place, to find himself locked out of the private den, where the gambler was closeted with Lawrence.