Lightnin'

"In my place?" asked Bill, with a twinkle. With a nod toward Thomas, he added, "You're like that other fellow."

Thomas flushed, but ignored the innuendo. Taking a paper from his pocket, he looked through it. At the California desk he stopped to sign his name at the end of it. Then he called to Bill, "Did you tell your wife we were waiting for her?"

"No, I didn't. I've been up visiting my friend Harper. He's a big millionaire. Havin' trouble with his wife. Patched it up. Told him to write her a note 'n' I brought it to her. He gimme this fer the idea." Bill produced the flask from his pocket and extended it toward Blodgett, but when it was half-way on its journey he jerked it back, just as Mrs. Harper emerged from between the portières of the Nevada upper hallway.

Clad in a fluffy, silken négligée, she tiptoed half-way down the stairs before she saw Thomas, who had left the desk and was standing in the doorway with his face toward the moonlit lake. She gave a smothered cry and was about to turn back. Bill held up a warning finger toward Blodgett, who quickly obeyed the injunction to look straight ahead.

Arising from his seat, the old man made a friendly motion toward the frightened little creature on the stairs and she came down to where he stood in the middle of the floor, casting bewildered glances to right and left and trembling as he whispered in her ear:

"He's in Number Four. Hurry now, before any one catches on."

"Do they all know he's my husband?" she flittered as she sped lightly up the California stairs.

"I won't say nothin' about it." Bill could not resist a wink, which met with a toss of Mrs. Harper's pretty head as she glided between the portières toward her husband's room.

Bill went back to his chair again. Everett Hammond came into the room from the porch outside. Laying his hat on the California desk, he went around behind the counter and turned the pages of the register.

Bill did not sit down, but wandered over to the desk where Hammond stood and gazed at him through half-open eyes. "Oh, you runnin' the place now?" he questioned.

Hammond did not answer him at once, but kept on running over the names on the list. But there was a compelling force in the mild gaze of the old man which made Hammond stop to reckon with him. "Yes," he said, bruskly, while he frowned at Bill. "I've just settled everything with your wife. All that's needed now is for you to sign that deed."

There was no answer forthcoming from Bill. Instead, he slowly took the flask from his pocket and held it in front of him. "I'll take a drink with you," he said, with a slow smile.

Hammond did not glance up, but answered, with a half-smile, "I'm sorry, but I, haven't got anything."

"I have," said Bill, shuffling toward him with the flask.

Blodgett twisted about in his chair and called, "You look and act as if you'd had enough."

Bill left the desk and seated himself beside Blodgett again. "I don't want it for myself," he said, putting the spurned flask back in his pocket; "it's just for social – ability. I don't drink."

"Don't tell me that," scoffed the sheriff. "You're a booze-fighter."

"No, I ain't," Bill answered, quickly.

Then seeing a chance for romance, he added, "I'm an Indian-fighter."

"Is that so?" Blodgett drew out his answer in an accent that spoke of disbelief.

"You bet it's so. Did you ever know Buffalo Bill?" Bill leaned forward so he could see what impression he was making upon the sheriff.

Out of the corner of his eyes Blodgett was watching Bill. "Yes, I knew him well," said the sheriff, gruffly.

Bill leaned closer to Blodgett and looked squarely into his eyes, which showed the same doubt as his own. "I learned him all he knew about killing Indians. Did he ever tell you about the duel I fought with Settin' Bull?"

"Settin' Bull?" The sheriff sat up straight and let his glance travel the length of Bill's body and back again to the old man's eyes, which were not quivering a lash.

"He was standin' when I shot him," grinned Bill. "I never took advantage of nobody, not even an Indian."

The sheriff relaxed contemptuously into his chair again. "You've got a bee in your bonnet, 'ain't you?"

"What do you know 'bout bees?" Bill started to roll a cigarette.

"Not much. Do you?" was Blodgett's reply as he looked straight ahead.

Bill slowly rolled the weed, put it in his mouth, and chewed on the end of it. Then he made slow answer, halting between sentences, his eyes slanting toward Blodgett to gather the effect of his words:

"I know all about 'em. I used to be in the bee business. Drove a swarm of bees across the plains in the dead of winter once. And never lost a bee. Got stung twice."

The sheriff jumped to his feet and directed a scornful glance Bill's way as he straightened his coat about his shoulders, twisted his belt, and started for the door, taking his chair and putting it in its place against the wall on his way. "I got enough. I'm going outside."

Hammond, who had been busy going over the register all this while, now came from behind the desk and walked toward Bill. "Now look here, Mr. Jones – "

"Won't do no good fer you to talk," Bill interrupted him, but did not even glance up, remaining seated in the middle of the lobby. "I ain't goin' to sign nothin' – understand that," he said, not ungently.

Hammond planted himself squarely in front of Bill, setting his doubled fists on his hips. "Well, if you don't," he snarled in a loud voice, "you'll find yourself without a home. You understand that – if you're not too drunk." He delivered the last remark with a sneer that was almost a bark.

"Do you think I'm drunk?" Bill went close to Hammond, his head thrown back the better to look into his opponent's shifting eyes.

But Hammond made him no answer, for just then Mrs. Jones, dressed in an evening gown of the latest cut, appeared on the stairs leading from the California side and walked self-consciously down on the arm of Thomas.

At first Bill did not recognize her. He thought it was some one of the boarders, who often wore evening dress for dinner. He hurried toward the Nevada desk, asking, as his eyes began at Mrs. Jones's feet incased in shining silver slippers and wandered slowly up the folds of handsome yellow brocade to the wide expanse of bare neck and shoulder, "Do you want your key?"

Mrs. Jones blushed, and the tears sprang to her eyes, as she wrapped the lace scarf flung over her shoulders closer across her bosom. Turning toward Bill, she did not answer him, but took up the pen and pointed to the paper which Hammond had placed on the desk, ready for them both to sign.

By this time Bill's glance had reached her face. For a moment he stared in astonishment. Then he gave a gasp and stood back, his arms limp at his sides. "Mother, 'tain't you?" he gasped.

"Yes, it's me," Mrs. Jones replied, angrily, as she gulped to keep back the tears which were forcing themselves to the surface, part in timidity and part in rage at her spouse, who she thought was making fun of her.

Bill straightened himself and, with a droll nod of his head, replied to Hammond, "You're right, I'm drunk."

Thomas stifled the smile that rose to his lips in spite of himself. He was standing on the other side of Mrs. Jones. Now he came around and stood in front of Bill. "Don't you approve, Lightnin'?" he asked, pleasantly. "She's dressed in the height of fashion."

"Looks higher 'n that to me," Bill drawled, as his eyes twinkled at the eight inches of bare ankle between Mrs. Jones's skirt edge and her silver pumps.

Mrs. Jones, with an insulted toss of her head, dropped the pen with which she had signed the paper and hurried across the lobby to the dining-room door. She was crying, but Bill did not see her tears. His eyes were still fastened upon her ankles. "The mosquitoes 'll give you hell in that this summer," he called out as she slammed the door behind her.

Thomas shrugged his shoulders and smiled indulgently. He had made up his mind to leave matters entirely in Hammond's hands now; so he went up the California stairs, calling out to Bill, "You'll get yourself disliked around here, if you don't look out."

"So'll you," Bill called back as he shambled to the same stairway.

But he got no farther than the first step. Hammond laid a detaining hand on his arm, pulling him around in front of him. "See here, Jones," he said, harshly, "I've taken over the management of this place and I don't propose to stand any more nonsense from you, and unless you do as your wife tells you to, sign this deed, I'll kick you out."

Bill pulled himself loose from Hammond and stood facing him, a defiant grin antagonizing Hammond to greater fury. "No, you won't!" Bill laughed, never flinching in the half-open eyes with which he held Hammond's eyes.

"What's the reason I won't?" Hammond asked, making a threatening move.

Still Bill remained unmoved. "'Cause you talk too much about it."