Jean of the Lazy A | Page 7

an empty stall. He did not know
whether he ought to unsaddle it or leave it as it was; but on second
thought, he loosened the cinch in kindness to the animal, and took off
its bridle, so that it could eat without being hampered by the bit. Lite
was too thorough a horseman not to be thoughtful of an animal's
comfort.
He led his own horse out, and then he stopped abruptly. For Pard stood
in front of the kitchen door, and Jean was untying a package or two
from the saddle. He opened his mouth to call to her; he started forward;
but he was too late to prevent what happened. Before his throat had
made a sound, Jean turned with the packages in the hollow of her arm
and stepped upon the platform with that springy haste of movement
which belongs to health and youth and happiness; and before he had
taken more than the first step away from his horse, she had opened the
kitchen door.
Lite ran, then. He did not call to her. What was the use? She had seen.
She had dropped her packages, and turned and ran to meet him, and
caught him by the arm in a panic of horror. Lite patted her hand
awkwardly, not knowing what he ought to say.
"What made you go in there?" came of its own accord from his lips.
"That's no place for a girl."
"It's Johnny Croft!" she gasped just above her breath. "How--did it
happen, Lite?"
"I don't know," said Lite slowly, looking down and still patting her
hand. "Your father and I have both been gone all day. I just got back a
few minutes ago and found out about it." His tone, his manner and his

words impressed upon Jean the point he wanted her to get,--that her
father had not yet returned, and so knew nothing of the crime.
He led her back to where Pard stood, and told her to get on. Without
asking him why, Jean obeyed him, with a shudder when her wide eyes
strayed fascinated to the open door and to what lay just within. Lite
went up and pulled the door shut, and then, walking beside her with an
arm over Pard's neck, he led the way down to the stable, and mounted
Ranger.
"You can't stay here," he explained, when she looked at him inquiringly.
"Do you want to go over and stay at Carl's, or would you rather go back
to town?" He rode down toward the gate, and Jean kept beside him.
"I'm going to stay with dad," she told him shakily. "If he stays, I'll--I'll
stay."
"You'll not stay," he contradicted her bluntly. "You can't. It wouldn't be
right." And he added self-reproachfully: "I never thought of your
cutting across the bench and riding down the trail back of the house. I
meant to head you off--"
"It's shorter," said Jean briefly. "I--if I can't stay, I'd rather go to town,
Lite. I don't like to stay over at Uncle Carl's."
Therefore, when they reached the mouth of the coulee, Lite turned into
the trail that led to town. All down the coulee the trail had been dug
deep with the hoofprints of a galloping horse; and now, on the town
trail, they were as plain as a primer to one schooled in the open. But
Jean was too upset to notice them, and for that Lite was thankful. They
did not talk much, beyond the commonplace speculations which
tragedy always brings to the lips of the bystanders. Comments that
were perfectly obvious they made, it is true. Jean said it was perfectly
awful, and Lite agreed with her. Jean wondered how it could have
happened, and Lite said he didn't know. Neither of them said anything
about the effect it would have upon their future; I don't suppose that
Jean, at least, could remotely guess at the effect. It is certain that Lite
preferred not to do so.

They were no more than half way to town when they met a group of
galloping horsemen, their coming heralded for a mile by the dust they
kicked out of the trail.
In the midst rode Jean's father. Alongside him rode the coroner, and
behind him rode the sheriff. The rest of the company was made up of
men who had heard the news and were coming to look upon the tragedy.
Lite drew a long breath of relief. Aleck Douglas, then, had not been
running away.

CHAPTER II
CONCERNING LITE AND A FEW FOOTPRINTS
"Lucky you was with me all day, up to four o'clock, Lite," Jim said.
"That lets you out slick and clean, seeing the doctor claims he'd been
dead six hours when he seen him last night. Crofty--why,