Читать книгу Jesse James' Desperate Game; Or, The Robbery of the Ste. Genevieve Bank - William) Ward - Страница 4

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CONSOLLAS' ACCUSATION.

Bringing his thoroughbred to a stop as quickly as he could, Jesse shook his feet clear of the stirrups, swung one leg over the saddle pommel and slid to the ground, placing the limp form of the girl tenderly on the grass.

In the belief that nothing could save her, the maiden had closed her eyes to shut out the low gate that seemed to grin at her like some hideous monster gloating over its victim. As she felt the strong arm clasp her waist, then lift her in the air, the relief was more than her overwrought nerves could bear and she had fainted.

Kneeling beside her, the great outlaw wet his kerchief with brandy from his flask, moistened her lips and bathed her forehead.

"Don't let them crowd round her," he said to his companions as, looking up, he caught sight of the excited crowd of men and women surging toward them.

In obedience, Clell and Frank faced about, shouting:

"Keep back! Keep back! The girl wants air!"

But as well might they have commanded the sun to stand still for all the effect their words had.

"Make 'em stand back!" snapped the bandit-chief.

The meaning of his tone was obvious and, whipping out their guns, the two desperadoes pointed them menacingly at the mob, crying:

"The girl must have air! Stop where you are!"

Their respect for the business-like muzzles of the four guns, backed by men whose faces were so calm and determined, was greater than their curiosity and the crowd paused in their tracks.

One man, stout of figure, well-groomed and well-fed, with every appearance of affluence, did not stop, however.

Ominously, the hammers of the pistols clicked.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I'm her father, Forman A. Rozier, of Ste. Genevieve!" he gasped.

Recognizing his right, Clell and Frank bade him approach.

Arrived at the girl's side, the father dropped to his knees, seized her in his arms and clutched her to his breast.

"Sally, my child, my darling! Are you hurt?" he asked, holding back her head and looking at her ashen cheeks.

"I think she's only swooned," replied her rescuer. "If you'll force some of this brandy down her throat, I fancy it'll revive her," and he extended his flask.

But as her parent reached out his hand to take it, the girl opened her eyes.

"Daddy! Daddy!" she murmured as she beheld her father's face, then, turning her head, asked: "Where is the gentleman who saved my life?"

Before he could reply, however, his daughter had freed herself from his embrace and, springing lightly to her feet, rushed to Jesse, taking both his hands in hers, impulsively, while she exclaimed:

"How can I ever thank you? If it hadn't been for you—ugh!" and she shuddered, turning her head away that she might not see the low lintelled gate that had come so near being her execution block.

As the bandit-chieftain had felt the touch of her hands, a thrill ran through him and looking closely at her, he discovered that her face was of unusual beauty.

Her skin was as the olive, the bloom of the rose glowed in her cheeks; deep and limpid, black bottomless wells of love-joy were her eyes; her lips seemed crimson Cupid's bows and in unruly ringlets, her wavy, raven black hair fell about her full throat and shell-like ears.

"It is I who should thank you for allowing me to save your life," returned Jesse in a low voice, his eyes uttering the admiration he would not let his tongue.

Blushing at what she read in them, the girl's embarrassment was relieved by her father, who approached, holding out his hand to the outlaw.

"Whatever reward you wish for the great service you have rendered me in snatching my child from death, you may ask. I am Forman A. Rozier, president of the Savings Association Bank of Ste. Genevieve, and I can afford to be gen—"

But the insulting sentence was never finished.

Drawing himself proudly to his full stature, the world-famous desperado's eyes shone with the look his men had learned to fear and his voice was cold and incisive as he snapped:

"Sirrah!"

While his daughter gasped, in amazement:

"Father!"

Staring from one to another, the banker, who worshipped money and felt that his offer of reward was more than magnanimous, flushed hotly, mumbling:

"No offence was intended. Come Sally, your mother will be frantic till she sees you," and turned on his heel.

"Please don't feel hurt," whispered the girl, "he thinks money is everything and he meant it to thank you."

"Don't men—" began Jesse.

But the girl interrupted:

"When we see each other again I can thank you better—I'm so upset now."

Noting that his daughter was not at his side, Mr. Rozier called, peremptorily:

"Come this instant, Sally!"

Grabbing the skirt of her riding-habit, the girl breathed an au revoir to the bandit-chieftain and ran to her father.

As he followed her lithesome figure with his eyes, Jesse beheld the pompous banker scowling at him, his expression indicating that he was angry at the very natural gratitude his daughter evinced toward her handsome rescuer.

And as he returned the stare, with interest, there flashed through Jesse's mind an idea that would give him ample revenge for the public insult.

By his arrogance, Banker Rozier had made a terrible enemy.

But though the contretemps would be food delicious for the gossip-mongers who had witnessed it, there were men and women in the crowd who were ashamed of the humiliating return for an act so brave, and, in the endeavour to wipe out the unpleasant memory, they surged about the three outlaws, expressing their admiration of their bravery and congratulating them upon their horsemanship.

Stung to the quick by the undeserved treatment, however, the bandits replied only in monosyllables, devoting their attention to staunching the flow of blood from the gashes they had inflicted on their horses.

"We'll lead them to our tent," declared the great outlaw, "we can't attend to them properly here." And quickly the heroes took their departure.

Their advances repulsed, the spectators fell to discussing the incident when suddenly they remembered that they had not learned the strangers' names.

Quickly were husbands, brothers and sons commissioned to learn them and eagerly they set out to the errand.

Arriving at the bandits' tents, they assisted in caring for the thoroughbreds, adroitly interspersing their aid with questions to which Jesse replied, goodnaturedly, endowing Clell with the alias of Hal Prentiss, Frank with Sam Sloan and himself with Tom Howard, volunteering that they were miners who had struck it rich in Colorado and were on their way to New York to raise more capital to purchase some valuable ore lands.

Like wild-fire the news was spread through the Springs and before evening the three desperadoes were surrounded with the glamour of fabulous wealth, in addition to their bravery.

One there was, however, among those who heard the imaginative rumors who gnashed his teeth—the coarse, sensual-faced boy who had been hailed by the crowd as Consollas when he had made his futile attempt to overtake the runaway horse.

Only son of one of the shopkeepers at the Springs, the youth had taken advantage of a business acquaintance between his father and Banker Rozier to secure an introduction to the exquisite Sally—and with him to see had been to love.

Morning, noon and night he pressed his suit, impervious to hints and snubs alike.

In his turgid brain he had conceived the notion that he would marry the beauty and when he suggested the plan to his father, the elder Consollas, keenly alive to the benefits that would accrue from such an alliance with a family both wealthy and of established social position, bade him godspeed, offering to help him in any way that lay in his power.

Sally loathed the man's repulsive appearance, only forcing herself to treat the fellow, whom she dubbed "the toad," civilly because her father had ordered her to do so to protect his business relations.

As her train of admirers increased day by day, Consollas became sulky and morose, his churlishness casting a damper on the mirth of the young people. But the lad continued to haunt the dainty creature, seldom uttering a word, content to devour her with his eyes.

Finding it impossible to drive the boor away, the coterie of young folks finally accepted his presence as a necessary evil and ignored him altogether—a course that was much more to the liking of the dull-witted youth than the thrusts and jests he had been too slow to parry or return.

When the alarm had been raised, young Consollas' pony was tied to the rail in front of his father's store.

Immediately upon learning its cause, the latter had whispered eagerly to his son:

"Lively, Fred, onto your horse and stop the runaway! You'll never have another such opportunity! You'll save her life, boy, and she'll be grateful."

Slow of comprehension usually, in this instance the fellow was quick to see the point and vaulted into the saddle—with what result the reader already knows.

As he beheld the girl snatched from a terrible death by the hands of another, a great rage burned in his heart. In his ears, the words of his father, "you'll save her life and she'll be grateful" kept ringing. But instead of being grateful to him she would be grateful to the handsome stranger and his jealousy pictured the rest.

No incident of the scene between the rescued girl, her father and the rescuers had escaped his eye. As he heard the banker's offer and the stranger's retort, a malignant grin overspread his ugly countenance, only to disappear the next instant at the expression on Sally's face as she ran to join her father.

With a savage oath, Consollas wheeled his pony, rowelling the animal viciously with his spurs, and dashed off to the store.

But his father had witnessed the abortive attempt of his son and when the latter burst into his private office, he checked his wild words, waving him to a chair.

"It's too bad, Fred, you didn't do better," he began, but the lad blurted:

"Too bad? I'll be the laughing stock of the Springs and it'll be your fault because you told me to get on my pony. The people have gone crazy over those strangers."

Surprised at the vicious ring in his son's voice, the elder Consollas watched him a few minutes before continuing:

"What I was going to say was that while it was too bad you couldn't have saved the girl yourself, we can take the wind out of those men's sails."

"How?" snapped the fellow, his dull eyes brightening.

"Just close the transom over my door and I'll tell you. That's it, now draw your chair up closer to mine. What I'm going to say is for your ears alone."

Wondering what scheme had been evolved in his father's brain, the youth obeyed.

"Did you notice anything about the horse that brown bearded man rode?" whispered the storekeeper.

"No," returned Fred, more mystified than ever.

"Where are your eyes, boy? That horse is the living image of my roan mare, Betty!"

As the elder Consollas breathed the significant words, he scanned the face of his son for some gleam of intelligence.

Several moments the youth blinked his eyes, then slowly they shone with the light of understanding and excitedly he exclaimed:

"They stole the horse, you mean?"

"Good boy. We'll raise the cry that my mare has disappeared. While you're riding to the pasture to drive Betty into the woods, I'll drop down to the tent where the strangers are, look at their ponies and swear that the roan is mine.

"The people will do the rest. There's only one end for horse thieves and that's the hangman's noose.

"The rescue will be forgotten when your rival is dangling from a tree."

The plot met with the unqualified approval of the lad and his toad-like body quivered with excitement.

"Now be off to the pasture," commanded his father. And as Fred galloped away to drive the mare into the woods, the storekeeper picked up his hat and set forth to attend to his part of the dirty business.

Around the unsuspecting outlaws was an admiring gallery of men and women, the latter predominating.

Forcing his way through them till he reached the horses, the elder Consollas approached Jesse's, eyeing the splendid creature critically.

Several acquaintances spoke to him, but without noticing them, he opened the mare's mouth and looked at her teeth.

Summoning an angry expression, the storekeeper turned to the bandits and demanded:

"Where did you get that roan?"

Taken aback by the abruptness of the question, the great outlaw stared at his interrogator blankly.

"Afraid to tell, eh?" snarled the storekeeper. "I don't wonder."

Amazed at the words, three or four of the onlookers asked:

"What's the trouble? Anything wrong?"

"Wrong? Well, rather. That's my roan mare, Betty! She was stolen from my pasture last night!"