Starlight Riders Boxed-Set 50 Western Classics in One Edition. Ernest Haycox

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      THE EASY EVIL TRAIL

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      When Lola Monterey climbed the stairs and turned toward her room a slim man in a black hat stepped from the obscurity of the hall's end.

      "I wanted to see you, Lola," said he quietly.

      The girl stopped with a breath of surprise. "Lou—you come like a ghost."

      He drew off his hat, smiling with pleasure. "A ghost out of the past—a not pleasant past?" The dark and triangular face of the man studied her with quick pride. She rested against the wall, eyes half shut, passive. "I had to see you," he went on.

      She motioned to her door. "Go in, then. Five minutes, no more."

      He shook his head. "I wouldn't do that. It's too late at night."

      "You have not changed," she observed gently. "You still protect me."

      "You've changed."

      "For better or worse?"

      "Better for you—worse for me. Once you were Peter Monterey's daughter in a knockdown shack, and I fed you rustled beef to keep that fire in your eyes. Now you are a fine lady and past my help. Maybe you have forgotten."

      "Never! Why should I forget? I am not ashamed of my past, Lou. I am proud that this sand nourished me. There is only one thing I'm not proud of."

      "What's that?" he asked, sharp and intent.

      "For ever leaving. Tell me, is David serious with Eve Leverage?"

      Redmain's expressive face darkened. "I wish to God I knew!"

      Her luminous eyes widened on him. "So—it is that way with you?"

      "It is," was his short answer. "I have wanted that girl since she was out of pigtails. She doesn't know it. Nobody knows it but you, chiquita. And you are keeping it to yourself."

      "As you once kept my secrets," she promised him, "away back when I was fighting to be a fine and great lady. Ah, Lou, I am sorry for you. But he is not happy."

      "Who, Dave? I suppose not. Neither am I, neither are you. Neither is anybody in this world who's got mind enough to see how crooked the whole game is and blood enough to fight back."

      "You never have quarreled with him, Lou?" she asked, worry in her eyes.

      "Never yet. I like the man as much as it is in me to like anybody, which is say in' little."

      "I never want you to quarrel with him."

      He shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows what's to come? Things are pretty badly tangled in Yellow Hill. He and I step around each other politely. How long that continues only God knows."

      "You are bitter," she remarked. "What could happen that would make you two have trouble?"

      But he laughed shortly and changed the subject. "I had to see you for a minute. One of the few things I look back on with considerable satisfaction, Lola, is that I was a friend of yours and never let you down. Reckon it'll be a long time until—"

      "No. I am staying here. This is home for me from now on."

      He said nothing for several moments, but his lips tightened as he watched the changing color of her eyes. "I reckon," he said finally, "we are all fools. But what of it? Well, I'll see you again, then. Meantime, don't believe too much you hear about me. Goodnight."

      "Goodnight, Lou."

      He went slowly down the stairs to the street. Families and riding outfits were departing, leaving Sundown in the hands of the more reckless spirits; Grogan's was noisy, and the Palace piano, muted during the show, threw a rakish tune into the semidarkness. The night marshal passed by, cast a quick glance at Redmain, and spoke courteously. "Good-evenin' to you, Redmain."

      Redmain nodded, the curve of his Up increasingly sardonic. He reached his horse, swung to the saddle, and went racking down Prairie Street. As the lights of town winked out one by one behind him he lifted his head and laughed bitterly. "By God, life's funny enough to make a man cry. If she stays she'll find out what I've turned into—she'll find out that from a plain harum-scarum fellow I've got to be a crook, a rustler, a leader of outlaws—a renegade with enough reputation to make the night marshal act polite! I'd rather cut off my arm than to have her know it—but she will. Eve Leverage already knows it. Everybody I want to be friends with knows it. So now there ain't a damned soul in the world I can mix with as an ordinary, decent human bein'!"

      He swept rapidly along the road, passing slower rigs that were but shapeless outlines in the dark. Drowsy calls were thrown at him but he kept still, both from pride and purpose; for with the coming night he resumed the traits of his trade—secrecy, swiftness, and vigilance. The knowledge he shifted roles so abruptly added to the kindling fire of his temper.

      "Nobody to blame but myself. I chose this business, and I reckon I've prospered. Why have regrets? Why weaken now and fall away from the big prizes? I despise a quitter; I hate a man that will not live up to his talents whether crooked or honest. And if there's no longer a soul in Yellow Hill I can trust or go to for help—then why not throw overboard every damned last scruple I've got and turn wolf? Why not?"

      Unconsciously he had shouted that question into the night, and the muffled echo came down the dripping side of Shoshone Dome like the answer of fate. It stiffened him in the saddle as he went racing onward; it roused his gambler's superstitions. These black shadows, within which he spent so much of his life, had replied. It was his dark destiny speaking, it was one clear call in a career of uncertainty. Flashes of realization raced through his agile mind; he was successful and powerful because he had veered from set ways of honesty. He had cut through, he had gone ahead, each step СКАЧАТЬ