Ray Cummings

“ The supper she had been preparing was almost ready. The little board table near the fireplace was set for one; over in a corner from a large, wood-burning stove came the odor of steaming coffee.
The girl put a lighted kerosene lamp upon the table and served herself with a single plateful of food from the frying-pan. Once she stood still, listening, but only the muffled noise of the brook and the lone wolf baying broke the silence. ”

“ And I can’t do anything about it because you won’t let me.”
“Tom—I—”
“And because he’s your stepfather, you won’t let anybody say a word against him. But you know he’s no good to himself, or anybody else. He’d be better off dead, and you know it. Somebody’ll get him one of these days, too—the way he acts down there at the Gulch when he’s drunk—you wait and see. Some day they’ll find him lying in a gully or something, where somebody’s pushed him. He hasn’t got a decent friend in the world—only the bums are good enough for him. ”

“ She came back to the fireside, and glancing at his bandaged ankle, smiled. “You’ll have to stay here tonight. In the morning I’ll walk over to Simpson’s—it’s only three miles back around Sugar Loaf—and get you a horse. You can make it to Vailstown then.”
A faint, distant sound outside made them look at each other in sudden alarm. They listened. It grew louder—a horse coming along the trail from Rocky Gulch at a gallop. Beth thought of her stepfather, perhaps returning unexpectedly—to find Tom here with her. ”

“ Then her glance fell upon the little tin clock over the fireplace. She smiled with the relief of sudden comprehension.
“Nine o’clock, Tom. I’d forgotten. It’s only the mail rider for Vailstown.”
She went to the window. “It’s snowing, Tom,” she added.
Tom was sitting up in his chair, tense. She wondered vaguely why he did not seem relieved at her words.
“It is the mail,” she cried, after a moment. She opened the door a little and stood looking out.
The boy started from his chair, standing upon his injured ankle without thought of it. “He may stop, Beth. He mustn’t see me here. ”

“ She let go of the telephone box she had clutched for support, and raised her hand in warning for silence. The voice in her ear was still sounding. She recognized the voice now—the sheriff of Rocky Gulch.
“—hell of a scrap this afternoon,” the voice was saying. “It’s him all right—only circumstantial evidence, but damn strong. And he’s gone—you know him—Tom Hawley—that slim young feller from the East over at Ransome’s.”
The man in Vailstown made some answer.
“You send some men down the trail,” the sheriff went on. “He might come along any time. Probably won’t. ”

“ He leaned forward suddenly, and gripped her by the shoulder, pulling her toward him. "Your neck's bruised black and blue. You think I don't notice things like that, don't you? I know how he treats you when he's crazy drunk—and I'm the only one who does. ”