The Golden Cat by Max Brand

Author:Max Brand
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781428502529
Publisher: Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Published: 2011-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

I left the excitement stewing in the patio and went up to the room of Palliser. He had heard the shots, of course, and, when he wanted to know what had happened, I told him. He seemed to take this for granted in the most extraordinary way. He said to me: “You’ll have more of that. They get the idea, now, that I’m depending on you a little, and they’ll break their hearts trying to snag you. But if the luck is with us, they ain’t going to succeed . . . God willing! Tonight is the last night, Johnny. Tonight we break away from this hell on earth.”

I said: “It will upset poor Miss Mornay a good deal. Shall I tell her? Shall I give her a hint?”

He looked at me for a moment, and then he closed his eyes. He seemed to be thinking it over, and at last he said in an indecisive way: “No . . . don’t breathe a word of it to a soul in the place. Not to her, either.”

He wanted to know exactly when I should be ready, and I told him that I would leave the patio to make arrangements for the buckboard and horses and guns at about half past ten, probably. By that time, nearly everyone would have gone to bed. The only thing that might hold me up would be the Mexicans at the stable. Sometimes they didn’t turn in until very late.

He shut his eyes again and cursed heavily. But he said that he would resign himself, and not allow himself to think of the escape until eleven o’clock. He seemed so upset that I was afraid that something might have happened during the day to unnerve him, but, when I asked him, he said simply: “This morning we had about three chances out of five of getting away. Now we have one chance in five, but we’ve got to take that chance, even if it isn’t much good.”

As long as he didn’t care to talk any more openly than this, I didn’t press the conversation. I was feeling a little worse than grumpy, as a man is apt to after he has had a pair of slugs whistle about his head, so I went on down to the supper table and there I found a pretty glum lot.

Frances Mornay came down late. She had heard of what had happened, but she held herself in control, pretty well. Only little things showed that she was nearly at the end of her rope. I remember that when José let a plate slip as he was putting it on the table, and it came down with a crash, she half jumped from her chair with a little scream. She apologized afterward, but the rest of us took the hint and started to make cheerful talk to brace her up.

Only Ruth Derrick was no good at it. She sat like a wooden figure all through the meal, looking sick and tired.

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