Lonesome Land | Page 8

which is called a sofa. He had a lace-edged handkerchief
folded upon his brow, and upon his face was an expression of
conscious unworthiness which struck Kent as being extremely
humorous. He grinned understandingly and Manley flushed--also
understandingly. Valeria hastily released Manley's hand and looked
very prim and a bit haughty, as she regarded the intruder from the red
plush chair, pulled close to the couch.
"Mr. Fleetwood's head is very bad yet," she informed Kent coldly. "I
really do not think he ought to see--anybody."
Kent tapped his hat gently against his leg and faced her unflinchingly,
quite unconscious of the fact that she regarded him as a dissolute,
drunken cowboy with whom Manley ought not to associate.
"That's too bad." His eyes failed to drop guiltily before hers, but

continued 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