“I saw it in his eyes, my dear.” Agatha’s smile was tender and reminiscent. “Don’t you worry. He will find a way to let you know—as he will find a way to beat Corrigan—if Corrigan is trying to defraud him! He’s that kind, my dear!”
In spite of her aunt’s assurances the girl’s heart was heavy as she began her ride to Manti. Trevison might love her,—she had read that it was possible for a man to love two women—but she could never return his love, knowing of his affair with Hester. He should have justice, however, if they were trying to defraud him of his rights!
Long before she reached Manti she saw the train from Dry Bottom, due at Manti at six o’clock, gliding over the plains toward the town, and when she arrived at the station its passengers had been swallowed by Manti’s buildings and the station agent and an assistant were dragging and bumping trunks and boxes over the station platform.
The agent bowed deferentially to her and followed her into the telegraph room, clicking her message over the wires as soon as she had written it. When he had finished he wheeled his chair and grinned at her.
“See the courthouse and the bank?”
She had—all that was left of them—black, charred ruins with two iron safes, red from their baptism of fire, standing among them. Also two other buildings, one on each side of the two that had been destroyed, scorched and warped, but otherwise undamaged.
“Come pretty near burning the whole town. It took some work to confine that fire—coal oil. Trevison did a clean job. Robbed the safe in the bank. Killed Braman—guzzled him. An awful complete job, from Trevison’s viewpoint. The town’s riled, and I wouldn’t give a plugged cent for Trevison’s chances. He’s sloped. Desperate character—I always thought he’d rip things loose—give him time. It was him blowed up Corrigan’s mine. I ain’t seen Corrigan since last night, but I heard him and twenty or thirty deputies are on Trevison’s trail. I hope they get him.” He squinted at her. “There’s trouble brewing in this town, Miss Benham. I wouldn’t advise you to stay here any longer than is absolutely necessary. There’s two factions—looks like. It’s about that land deal. Lefingwell and some more of them think they’ve been given a raw decision by the court and Corrigan. Excitement! Oh, Lord! This town is fierce. I ain’t had any sleep in—Your answer? I can’t tell. Mebbe right away. Mebbe in an hour.”
Rosalind went out upon the platform. The agent’s words had revived a horror that she had almost forgotten—that she wanted to forget—the murder of Braman.
She walked to the edge of the station platform, tortured by thoughts in which she could find no excuse for Trevison. Murderer and robber! A fugitive from justice—the very justice he had been demanding! Her thoughts made her weak and sick, and she stepped down from the platform and walked up the track, halting beside a shed and leaning against it. Across the street from her was the Castle hotel. A man in boots, corduroy trousers, and a flannel shirt and dirty white apron, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, was washing the front windows and spitting streams of tobacco juice on the board walk. She shivered. A grocer next to the hotel was adjusting a swinging shelf affixed to the store-front, preparatory to piling his wares upon it; a lean-faced man standing in a doorway in the building adjoining the grocery was inspecting a six-shooter that he had removed from the holster at his side. Rosalind shivered again. Civilization and outlawry were strangely mingled here. She would not have been surprised to see the lean-faced man begin to shoot at the others. Filled with sudden trepidation she took a step away from the shed, intending to return to the station and wait for her answer.
As she moved she heard a low moan. She started, paling, and then stood stock still, trembling with dread, but determined not to run. The sound came again, seeming to issue from the interior of the shed, and she retraced her step and leaned again against the wall of the building, listening.