# The Joyous Trouble Maker/Chapter 30
### CHAPTER XXX "OUT INTO THE FORESTS … ALL BY OURSELVES"

AND yonder, sweeping over the near ridge on a big bay horse, looking to Beatrice's eager eyes like a veritable god of the dawn, came Bill Steele. Almost the first thing she saw was the glint of light upon something in his hand.
Then she saw only the door jerked shut, barred by Embry's quick fingers, Embry himself in front of her, his revolver in his hand, his eyes full of fury.
"I'll kill him," he snapped viciously, "and swear I came upon him manhandling you … the fool!"
"Bill! Bill Steele!" cried Beatrice loudly. And did not even know that she had called out.
A great rattle of loose stones, the hammering thud of his horse's flying hoofs and Bill Steele had thrown himself to the ground in front of the door, shouting:
"Open, Embry! Open, I tell you!"
The report of the gun in Embry's hand, the slow smoke curling upward from the barrel, was Embry's answer. Beatrice saw the splinters fly from the door and stood rigid, her breathing stilled.
Again Embry fired, and again and again. Beatrice cried out softly with each shot so that her voice was like a strange faint echo to each burst of exploding powder. Steele would be killed … Oh, dear God, ​why hadn't she put her arms about him last night and told him … surely he would be killed now. And he was not even firing back. Because he would be afraid that it might be Beatrice and not Embry that his bullet found!
Embry had slipped fresh cartridges into his gun, was holding his shots now, was asking himself what Beatrice had asked before him; was Steele down already. And then came Steele's answer.
He had drawn back, had gathered all of the power lying in his big bulk, had thrown himself forward at the door. And, as he struck, the door flew from its hinges, as most doors would have done under the impact of his wrath-impelled body, cracked and snapped back against the wall.
But he himself was overbalanced by his own momentum, and as he straightened up Joe Embry had drawn back a step, had lifted his revolver so that the muzzle was not four feet from Steele's head … had fired! And, thanks to a broken ax handle in two tense white hands, the bullet went ripping into the boards of the floor, and the gun itself flew from Embry's grasp.
"Damn you!" cried Embry then. And threw himself upon Steele.
Many a time had Beatrice heard Bill Steele laugh. But never was she to forget the sound of his laugh now. He had seen, had marked Embry's springing forward and had thrown down his own gun, laughing! … She did not know that a man could laugh like that! Laugh for the sheer, pure joy of being able to put out his hands and find with them the man he wanted in them! ​She did not know that anything could so stir that sleeping, primal something deep down in the depths of her womanhood, that she could stand thus watching them with fierce, burning eyes.
Twice before had she seen them face each other in anger, twice had she sought to interfere, to prevent the thing to be read in their eyes. Now she stood still and rigid and yearned with all of the passion no longer dormant within her to see one man beat another man down mercilessly.
Embry struck desperately, Steele struck, they both reeled back. Embry struck again, viciously snarling, no longer a man of ice and repression. Then for the second time Bill Steele struck as Beatrice had not even guessed he could. Embry was flung back half across the room, his mouth cut by the fierce fist, to lie prone.
The light of battle in Embry's eye flickered and failed and went out, replaced at last by his fear. For one must have sought far throughout the world this morning to have found the man who could have stood up longer before the searing rage which clamoured through every muscle of Bill Steele's body. Beatrice, seeing the look in his eyes, wondered, marvelled, and in the end her breast rose with pride that that look in those eyes was there because of her.
Steele picked up the two guns, dropping them into his coat pockets. Embry rose heavily.
"Joe Embry," said Steele then, his tone curt and crisp. "I have had a long talk with Mrs. Denham. She has told me a great deal, all that she knows of you and your hold on Banks and your damned schemes. ​And she has caught a train and gotten out of your way, if you want to know. Now listen to me; you get out of this country inside of twenty-four hours or I'll put you in the pen. Understand? There's the door."
Embry stood a moment. He was hesitating, this man who had always been so sure of himself. Steele's arm, flung out, pointed to the door. Slowly Embry passed out.
Bill Steele, seeming gaunt from what the night had brought him, stood looking at a girl clad in the gay buckskin garb of a mountain girl. She sat upon the edge of a table, her booted feet swinging, a warm colour in her cheeks, her eyes dancing.
"Miss Corliss," he said gently, "we had better get started, hadn't we? Embry has arranged so that a lot of fool tongues are clacking and the sooner you stop them the better."
She looked up at him brightly, shaking her head at him.
"You're such a rough old bear of a man," she told him gaily. "Here with the first opportunity we have for a little holiday … all by ourselves … you don't even remind me that I am a good cook. You don't even suggest going off to shoot a rabbit while I get ready to prepare breakfast. …"
"Beatrice Corliss," he said sharply, his eyes frowning and stern on hers, "once and for all, don't you love me the least little bit in the world?"
"Once and for all," said Beatrice Corliss, seeking to ​speak as gruffly as Bill Steele had spoken, "I love you with my whole heart!"
But her eyes faltered in spite of her, her cheeks were already flaming before he had her in his arms.
"Embry thought that I would care what people said," said Beatrice. … In the meantime Steele had gotten a rabbit with a lucky shot and both of them had cooked that very small animal. … "Just to show you that I don't we are going to have the whole day to ourselves, unchaperoned and happy. And to-morrow …"
"Tomorrow you promised to marry me!" he reminded her quickly. As though she had forgotten all about it. …
"Tomorrow," said Beatrice softly, "we're going to Summit City in the early, early dawn, you and I, Bill Steele. You may have a preacher there or a justice of the peace or … or a sea captain! And then you are going to take a big pack on those big shoulders of yours … and I am going to wear this little foolish buckskin dress … and we are going out into the forests. All by ourselves. Just the wide world and you and I, Bill Steele! And, Big Man …"
"What, Beatrice?"
"Sylvia Carruthers wrote me a note the other day. And do you know what she told me? You great big bluff! … She told me that when you sold Summit City to Dr. Gilchrist, you let him have it ten thousand dollars cheaper than I let you have it. … You are a perfectly ridiculous business man!"
​But Bill Steele had hardly heard. In his brain, seeming to pulse there with the beat of his heart, were ringing the golden words:
"Just the wide world and you and I, Bill Steele!"
THE END