Lonesome Land | Page 8

to regard her calmly. "I'm only going to stay a minute. I came to tell you that there's a scheme to raise--to 'shivaree' you two, tonight. I thought you might want to pull out, along about dark."
Manley looked up at him inquiringly with the eye which was not covered by the lace-edged handkerchief. Valeria seemed startled, just at first. Then she gave Kent a little shock of surprise.
"I have read about such things. A charivari, even out here in this uncivilized section of the country, can hardly be dangerous. I really do not think we care to run away, thank you." Her lip curled unmistakably. "Mr. Fleetwood is suffering from a sick headache. He needs rest--not a cowardly night ride."
Naturally Kent admired the spirit she showed, in spite of that eloquent lip, the scorn of which seemed aimed directly at him. But he still faced her steadily.
"Sure. But if I had a headache--like that--I'd certainly burn the earth getting outa town to-night. Shivarees"--he stuck stubbornly to his own way of saying it--"are bad for the head. They aren't what you could call silent--not out here in this uncivilized section of the country. They're plumb--" He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, and his resentment of her tone melted into a twinkle of the eyes. "They've got fifty coal-oil cans strung with irons on a rope, and there'll be about ninety-five six-shooters popping, and eight or ten horse-fiddles, and they'll all be yelling to beat four of a kind. They're going," he said quite gravely, "to play the full orchestra. And I don't believe," he added ironically, "it's going to help Mr. Fleetwood's head any."
Valeria looked at him doubtingly with steady, amber-colored eyes before she turned solicitously to readjust the lace-edged handkerchief. Kent seized the opportunity to stare fixedly at Fleetwood and jerk his head meaningly backward, but when, warned by Manley's changing expression, she glanced suspiciously over her shoulder, Kent was standing quietly by the door with his hat in his hand, gazing absently at Walt in his gilt-edged frame upon the gilt easel, and waiting, evidently, for their decision.
"I shall tell them that Mr. Fleetwood is sick--that he has a horrible headache, and mustn't be disturbed."
Kent forgot himself so far as to cough slightly behind his hand. Valeria's eyes sparkled.
"Even out here," she went on cuttingly, "there must be some men who are gentlemen!"
Kent refrained from looking at her, but the blood crept darkly into his tanned cheeks. Evidently she "had it in for him," but he could not see why. He wondered swiftly if she blamed him for Manley's condition.
Fleetwood suddenly sat up, spilling the handkerchief to the floor. When Valeria essayed to push him back he put her hand gently away. He rose and came over to Kent.
"Is this straight goods?" he demanded. "Why don't you stop it?"
"Fred De Garmo's running this show. My influence wouldn't go as far--"
Fleetwood turned to the girl, and his manner was masterful. "I'm going out with Kent--oh, Val, this is Mr. Burnett. Kent, Miss Peyson. I forgot you two aren't acquainted."
From Valeria's manner, they were in no danger of becoming friends. Her acknowledgment was barely perceptible. Kent bowed stiffly.
"I'm going to see about this, Val," continued Fleetwood. "Oh, my head's better--a lot better, really. Maybe we'd better leave town--"
"If your head is better, I don't see why we need run away from a lot of silly noise," Valeria interposed, with merciless logic. "They'll think we're awful cowards."
"Well, I'll try and find out--I won't be gone a minute, dear." After that word, spoken before another, he appeared to be in great haste, and pushed Kent rather unceremoniously through the door. In the dining room, Kent diplomatically included the landlady in the conference, by a gesture of much mystery bringing her in from the kitchen, where she had been curiously peeping out at them.
"Got to let her in," he whispered to Manley, "to keep her face closed."
They murmured together for five minutes. Kent seemed to meet with some opposition from Fleetwood--an aftermath of Valeria's objections to flight--and became brutally direct.
"Go ahead--do as you please," he said roughly. "But you know that bunch. You'll have to show up, and you'll have to set 'em up, and--aw, thunder! By morning you'll be plumb laid out. You'll be headed into one of your four-day jags, and you know it. I was thinking of the girl--but if you don't care, I guess it's none of my funeral. Go to it--but darned if I'd want to start my honeymoon out like that!"
Fleetwood weakened, but still he hesitated. "If I didn't show up--" he began hopefully. But Kent wittered him with a look.
"That bunch will be two-thirds full before they start out. If you don't show up, they'll go up and haul you outa bed--hell, Man! You'd