“You tell Butch that I’ll be waiting up to see her.”
“Oh, all right.”
CHAPTER XXIII: THOROUGHBRED
Cultus Collins left the livery stable, after his almost fatal ride from the JK, and was crossing a side-street, when Mac Rawls drove in from the Triangle X. He tied his horse at a little-used hitchrack, instead of at the War Dance, and walked past where Cultus stood in the unlighted doorway of a store building.
Cultus was a little curious as to why Rawls had left the team on the side-street, and followed him over to the War Dance, where he looked through a window. Rawls was near the bar, talking with Butch Van Deen, and after a few moments of conversation Butch left him and went toward the entrance to the stairway. Rawls leaned on the bar and accepted a drink from the bartender.
Cultus kept watch for several minutes, after which Butch came back and joined Rawls at the bar. It was all innocent enough, it seemed, but Cultus couldn’t understand why Rawls had tied the team on a side-street.
He didn’t know that Butch had delivered Marsh’s message to Della through a closed door and had told her that Rawls was waiting to take her to the ranch. Della had already had time to do considerable worrying about what might happen to her, and this looked worse than ever. Something told her that the risk was too great; that it would be better if she got away from Painted Valley and carried on her negotiations with Kendall Marsh by mail. She still had a little money.
But she didn’t want to go down through the saloon. There would not be a train out of Medicine Tree before early morning, but she could at least hire a horse and ride to Broad Arrow. Beneath her window was the long sloping roof of a shed, which ended only about five feet off the ground.
It did not require her long to prepare her getaway. Stuffing a few things in a suitcase, she opened the window, stepped off on the shed roof and went cautiously down to the eaves.
Cultus grew tired of watching through the window and walked down past the alley, when he heard a decided thump and a smothered feminine exclamation of pain. He whirled around and went swiftly down the alley in the dark, almost falling over Della, who was clad in a black suit. Swiftly he lighted a match and looked down into her white face. She was doubled up, one elbow on the suitcase, her other hand clutching her left ankle.