Miss Sampson's astonishment was succeeded by anger difficult to control.
“In the absence of my father I am mistress here. I will not permit you to search my house.”
“Then I regret to say I must do so without your permission,” he said sternly.
“Do not dare!” she flashed. She stood erect, her bosom swelling, her eyes magnificently black with passion. “How dare you intrude here? Have you not insulted us enough? To search my house to-night—to break up my party—oh, it's worse than outrage! Why on earth do you want to search here? Ah, for the same reason you dragged a poor innocent man into my father's court! Sir, I forbid you to take another step into this house.”
Steele's face was bloodless now, and I wondered if it had to do with her scathing scorn or something that he hid with his hand closing his coat that way.
“Miss Sampson, I don't need warrants to search houses,” he said. “But this time I'll respect your command. It would be too bad to spoil your party. Let me add, perhaps you do me a little wrong. God knows I hope so. I was shot by a rustler. He fled. I chased him here. He has taken refuge here—in your father's house. He's hidden somewhere.”
Steele spread wide his coat lapels. He wore a light shirt, the color of which in places was white. The rest was all a bloody mass from which dark red drops fell to the floor.
“Oh!” cried Miss Sampson.
Scorn and passion vanished in the horror, the pity, of a woman who imagined she saw a man mortally wounded. It was a hard sight for a woman's eyes, that crimson, heaving breast.
“Surely I didn't see that,” went on Steele, closing his coat. “You used unforgettable words, Miss Sampson. From you they hurt. For I stand alone. My fight is to make Linrock safer, cleaner, a better home for women and children. Some day you will remember what you said.”
How splendid he looked, how strong against odds. How simple a dignity fitted his words. Why, a woman far blinder than Diane Sampson could have seen that here stood a man.
Steele bowed, turned on his heel, and strode out to vanish in the dark.
Then while she stood bewildered, still shocked, I elected to do some rapid thinking.
How seriously was Steele injured? An instant's thought was enough to tell me that if he had sustained any more than a flesh wound he would not have chased his assailant, not with so much at stake in the future.
Then I concerned myself with a cold grip of desire to get near the rustler who had wounded Steele. As I started forward, however, Miss Sampson defeated me. Sally once more clung to my hands, and directly we were surrounded by an excited circle.
It took a moment or two to calm them.
“Then there's a rustler—here—hiding?” repeated Miss Sampson.
“Miss Sampson, I'll find him. I'll rout him out,” I said.
“Yes, yes, find him, Russ, but don't use violence,” she replied. “Send him away—no, give him over to—”
“Nothing of the kind,” interrupted George Wright, loud-voiced. “Cousin, go on with your dance. I'll take a couple of cowboys. I'll find this—this rustler, if there's one here. But I think it's only another bluff of Steele's.”
This from Wright angered me deeply, and I strode right for the door.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“I've Miss Sampson's orders. She wants me to find this hidden man. She trusts me not to allow any violence.”
“Didn't I say I'd see to that?” he snarled.
“Wright, I don't care what you say,” I retorted. “But I'm thinking you might not want me to find this rustler.”
Wright turned black in the face. Verily, if he had worn a gun he would have pulled it on me. As it was, Miss Sampson's interference probably prevented more words, if no worse.
“Don't quarrel,” she said. “George, you go with Russ. Please hurry. I'll be nervous till the rustler's found or you're sure there's not one.”
We started with several cowboys to ransack the house. We went through the rooms, searching, calling out, flashing our lanterns in dark places.
It struck me forcibly that Wright did all the calling. He hurried, too, tried to keep in the lead. I wondered if he knew his voice would be recognized by the hiding man.
Be that as it might, it was I who peered into a dark corner, and then with a cocked gun leveled I said: “Come out!”
He came forth into the flare of lanterns, a tall, slim, dark-faced youth, wearing dark sombrero, blouse and trousers. I collared him before any of the others could move, and I held the gun close enough to make him shrink.
But he did not impress me as being frightened just then; nevertheless, he had a clammy face, the pallid look of a man who had just gotten over a shock. He peered into my face, then into that of the cowboy next to me, then into Wright's and if ever in my life I beheld relief I saw it then.
That was all I needed to know, but I meant to find out more if I could.
“Who're you?” I asked quietly.
He gazed rather arrogantly down at me. It always irritated me to be looked down at that way.
“Say, don't be gay with me or you'll get it good,” I yelled, prodding him in the side with the cocked gun. “Who are you? Quick!”
“Bo Snecker,” he said.
“Any relation to Bill Snecker?”
“His son.”
“What'd you hide here for?”
He appeared to grow sullen.
“Reckoned I'd be as safe in Sampson's as anywheres.”
“Ahuh! You're taking a long chance,” I replied, and he never knew, or any of the others, just how long a chance that was.
Sight of Steele's bloody breast remained with me, and I had something sinister to combat. This was no time for me to reveal myself or to show unusual feeling or interest for Steele.
As Steele had abandoned his search, I had nothing to do now but let the others decide what disposition was to be made of Snecker.
“Wright, what'll you do with him?” I queried, as if uncertain, now the capture was made. I let Snecker go and sheathed my weapon.
That seemed a signal for him to come to life. I guessed he had not much fancied the wide and somewhat variable sweep of that cocked gun.
“I'll see to that,” replied Wright gruffly, and he pushed Snecker in front of him into the hall. I followed them out into the court at the back of the house.
As I had very little further curiosity I did not wait to see where they went, but hurried back to relieve Miss Sampson and Sally.
I found them as I had left them—Sally quiet, pale, Miss Sampson nervous and distressed. I soon calmed their fears of any further trouble or possible disturbance. Miss Sampson then became curious and wanted to know who the rustler was.
“How strange he should come here,” she said several times.
“Probably he'd run this way or thought he had a better chance to hide where there was dancing and confusion,” I replied glibly.