Bob followed them, as noiselessly as possible. And momentarily the conviction grew in him that this was Houck. It was puzzling, but he could not escape the conclusion. There was a trick in the fellow’s stride, a peculiarity of the swinging shoulders that made for identification of the man.
If he could have heard the talk between them, Bob would have better understood the situation.
Ever since that memorable evening when Bear Cat had driven him away in disgrace, Houck had let loose the worse impulses of his nature. He had gone bad, to use the phrase of the West. Something in him had snapped that hitherto had made him value the opinions of men. In the old days he had been a rustler and worse, but no crime had ever been proved against him. He could hold his head up, and he did. But the shock to his pride and self-esteem that night had produced in him a species of disintegration. He had drunk heavily and almost constantly. It had been during the sour temper following such a bout that he had quarreled with and shot the Ute. From that hour his declension had been swift. How far he had gone was shown by the way he had taken Dillon’s great service to him. The thing rankled in his mind, filled him with surging rage whenever he thought of it. He hated the young fellow more than ever.
But as he walked with June, slender, light-swinging, warm with young, sensuous life, the sultry passion of the man mounted to his brain and overpowered caution. His vanity whispered to him. No woman saved a man from death unless she loved him. She might give other reasons, but that one only counted. It was easy for him to persuade himself that she always had been fond of him at heart. There had been moments when the quality of her opposition to him had taken on the color of adventure.
“I’ll leave you at the corner,” she said. “Go back of that house and through the barbed-wire fence. You’ll be in the sage then.”
“Come with me to the fence,” he whispered. “I got something to tell you.”
She looked at him, sharply, coldly. “You’ve got nothing to tell me that I want to hear. I’m not doing this for you, but to save the lives of my friends. Understand that.”
They were for the moment in the shadow of a great cottonwood. Houck stopped, devouring her with his hungry eyes. Bad as the man was, he had the human craving of his sex. The slim grace of her, the fundamental courage, the lift of the oval chin, touched a chord that went vibrating through him. He snatched her to him, crushing his kisses upon the disturbing mouth, upon the color spots that warmed her cheeks.
She was too smothered to cry out at first. Later, she repressed the impulse. With all her strength she fought to push him from her.
A step sounded, a cry, the sound of a smashing blow going home. Houck staggered back. He reached for a revolver.