The Best Western Novels of William MacLeod Raine. William MacLeod Raine
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At the touch of his lips upon her eyelids a shiver ran through her, but still she made no movement, was cold to him as marble. “You coward!” she said softly, with an infinite contempt.
“Your lips,” he continued to catalogue, “are ripe as fresh flesh of Southern fruit. No cupid ever possessed so adorable a mouth. A worshiper of Eros I, as now I prove.”
This time it was the mouth he kissed, the while her unconquered spirit looked out of the brave eyes, and fain would have murdered him. In turn he kissed her cold cheeks, the tip of one of her little ears, the small, clenched fist with which she longed to strike him.
“Are you quite through?”
“For the present, and now, having put the seal of my ownership on her more obvious charms, I'll take my bride home.”
“I would die first.”
“Nay, you'll die later, Madam Bannister, but not for many years, I hope,” he told her, with a theatrical bow.
“Do you think me so weak a thing as your words imply?”
“Rather so strong that the glory of overcoming y'u fills me with joy. Believe me, madam, though your master I am not less your slave,” he mocked.
“You are neither my master nor my slave, but a thing I detest,” she said, in a low voice that carried extraordinary intensity.
“And obey,” he added, suavely. “Come, madam, to horse, for our honeymoon.”
“I tell you I shall not go.”
“Then, in faith, we'll re-enact a modern edition of 'The Taming of the Shrew.' Y'u'll find me, sweet, as apt at the part as old Petruchio.” He paced complacently up the room and back, and quoted glibly:
“And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humor. He that knows better how to tame a shrew, Now let him, speak; 'tis charity to show.”
“Would you take me against my will?”
“Y'u have said it. What's your will to me? What I want I take. And I sure want my beautiful shrew.” His half-shuttered eyes gloated on her as he rattled off a couple more lines from the play he had mentioned.
“Kate, like the hazel-twig, Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.”
She let a swift glance travel anxiously to the door. “You are in a very poetical mood to-day.”
“As befits a bridegroom, my own.” He stepped lightly to the window and tapped twice on the pane. “A signal to bring the horses round. If y'u have any preparations to make, any trousseau to prepare, y'u better set that girl of yours to work.”
“I have no preparations to make.”
“Coming to me simply as y'u are? Good! We'll lead the simple life.”
Nora, as it chanced, knocked and entered at his moment. The sight of her vivid good looks truck him for the first time. At sight of him she stopped, gazing with parted lips, a double row of pearls shining through.
He turned swiftly to the mistress. “Y'u ought not to be alone there among so many men. It wouldn't be proper. We'll take the girl along with us.”
“Where?” Nora's parted lips emitted.
“To Arden, my dear.” He interrupted himself to look at his watch. “I wonder why that fellow doesn't come with the horses. They should pass this window.”
Bannister, standing jauntily with his feet astride as he looked out of the window, heard someone enter the room. “Did y'u bring round the horses?” he snapped, without looking round.
“NO, WE ALLOWED THEY WOULDN'T BE NEEDED.”
At sound of the slow drawl the outlaw wheeled like a flash, his hand traveling to the hilt of the revolver that hung on his hip. But he was too late. Already two revolvers covered him, and he knew that both his cousin and McWilliams were dead shots. He flashed one venomous look at the mistress of the ranch.
“Y'u fooled me again. That lamp business was a signal, and I was too thick-haided to see it. My compliments to y'u, Miss Messiter.”
“Y'u are under arrest,” announced his cousin.
“Y'u don't say.” His voice was full of sarcastic admiration. “And you done it with your little gun! My, what a wonder y'u are!”
“Take your hand from the butt of that gun. Y'u better relieve him of it, Mac. He's got such a restless disposition he might commit suicide by reaching for it.”
“What do y'u think you're going to do with me now y'u have got me, Cousin Ned?”
“We're going to turn y'u over to the United States Government.”
“Guess again. I have a thing, or two to say to that.”
“You're going to Gimlet Butte with us, alive or dead.”
The outlaw intentionally misunderstood. “If I've got to take y'u, then we'll say y'u go dead rather than alive.”
“He was going to take Nora and me with him,” Helen explained to her friends.
Instantly the man swung round on her. “But now I've changed my mind, ma'am. I'm going to take my cousin with me instead of y'u ladies.”
Helen caught his meaning first, and flashed it whitely to her lover. It dawned on him more slowly.
“I see y'u remember, Miss Messiter,” he continued, with a cruel, silken laugh. “He gave me his parole to go with me whenever I said the word. I'm saying it now.” He sat down astride a chair, put his chin on the back cross-bar, and grinned malevolently from one to another.
“What's come over this happy family? It don't look so joyous all of a sudden. Y'u don't need to worry, ma'am, I'll send him back to y'u all right—alive or dead. With his shield or on it, y'u know. Ha! ha!”
“You will not go with him?” It was wrung from Helen as a low cry, and struck her lover's heart.
“I must,” he answered. “I gave him my word, y'u remember.”
“But why keep it? You know what he is, how absolutely devoid of honor.”
“That is not quite the question, is it?” he smiled.
“Would he keep his word to you?”
“Not if a lie would do as well. But that isn't the point, either.”
“It's quixotic—foolish—worse than that—ridiculous,” she implored.
“Perhaps, but the fact remains that I am pledged.”
“'I