Six Feet Four | Page 6

going to be stupid," she
announced with a little air of taking the situation in hand. "I would be,
if I stayed in there and caught cold. Tell them," and it was still Hap

Smith whom she addressed, "to go on with whatever they are doing."
Again she came in for a close general scrutiny, one of serious, frank
and matter of fact appraisal. Conscious of it, as she could not help
being, she for a little lifted her head and turned her eyes gravely to meet
the eyes directed upon her. Hers were clear, untroubled, a deep grey
and eminently pleasant to look into; especially now that she put into
them a little friendly smile. But in another moment and with a half sigh
of weariness, she settled into a chair at the fireside and let her gaze
wander back to the blazing fire.
Again among themselves they conceded, what by glances and covert
nods, that she was most decidedly worth a man's second look and
another after that. "Pretty, like a picture," offered Joe Hamby in a
guarded whisper to one of the recent arrivals, who was standing with
him at the bar. "Or," amended Joe with a flash of inspiration, "like a
flower; one of them nice blue flowers on a long stem down by the
crick."
"Nice to talk to, too," returned Joe's companion, something of the pride
of ownership in his tone and look. For, during the day on the stage had
he not once summoned the courage for a stammering remark to her, and
had she not replied pleasantly? "Never travelled with a nicer lady."
Whereupon Joe Hamby regarded him enviously. And old man Adams,
with a sly look out of his senile old eyes, jerked his thin old body
across the floor, dragging a chair after him, and sat down to entertain
the lady. Who, it would seem from the twitching of her lips, had been
in reality wooed out of herself and highly amused, when the
interruption to the quiet hour came, abruptly and without warning.
Poke Drury, willingly aided by the hungrier of his guests, had brought
in the cold dishes; a big roast of beef, boiled potatoes, quantities of
bread and butter and the last of Ma Drury's dried-apple pies. The long
dining table had begun to take on a truly festive air. The coffee was
boiling in the coals of the fireplace. Then the front door, the knob
turned and released from without, was blown wide open by the gusty
wind and a tall man stood in the black rectangle of the doorway. His
appearance and attitude were significant, making useless all conjecture.

A faded red bandana handkerchief was knotted about his face with rude
slits for the eyes. A broad black hat with flapping, dripping brim was
down over his forehead. In his two hands, the barrel thrust forward into
the room, was a sawed-off shotgun.
He did not speak, it being plain that words were utterly superfluous and
that he knew it. Nor was there any outcry in the room. At first the girl
had not seen, her back being to the door. Nor had old man Adams, his
red rimmed eyes being on the girl. They turned together. The old man's
jaw dropped; the girl's eyes widened, rather to a lively interest, it would
seem, than to alarm. One had but to sit tight at times like this and obey
orders....
The intruder's eyes were everywhere. His chief concern, however, from
the start appeared to be Hap Smith. The stage driver's hand had gone to
the butt of his revolver and now rested there. The muzzle of the short
barrelled shotgun made a short quick arc and came to bear on Hap
Smith. Slowly his fingers dropped from his belt.
Bert Stone, a quick eyed little man from Barstow's Springs, whipped
out a revolver from its hidden place on his person and fired. But he had
been over hasty and the man in the doorway had seen the gesture. The
roar of the shotgun there in the house sounded like that of a cannon; the
smoke lifted and spread and swirled in the draft. Bert Stone went down
with a scream of pain as a load of buckshot flung him about and half
tore off his outer arm. Only the fact that Stone, in firing, had wisely
thrown his body a little to the side, saved the head upon his body.
The wind swept through the open door with fresh fury. Here a lamp
went out, there the unsteady flame of a candle was extinguished. The
smoke from the shotgun was mingled with much wood smoke whipped
out of the fireplace. The man in the doorway, neither hesitating nor
hurrying, eminently cool and confident, came into the room.