Kitabı oku: «The Golden Woman: A Story of the Montana Hills», sayfa 9
CHAPTER XIV
A WHIRLWIND VISIT
Joan was idling dispiritedly over her breakfast. A long, wakeful night had at last ended in the usual aching head and eyes ringed with shadows. She felt dreary, and looked forward drearily to inspecting her farm – which, in her normal state, would have inspired nothing but perfect delight – with something like apprehension.
Her beginning in the new life had been swamped in a series of disastrous events which left her convinced of the impossibility of escape from the painful shadow of the past. All night her brain had been whirling in a perfect chaos of thought as she reviewed her advent to the farm. There had been nothing, from her point of view, but disaster upon disaster. First her arrival. Then – why, then the “luck” of the gold find. In her eyes, what was that but the threat of disaster to come? Had not her aunt told her that this extraordinary luck that she must ever bring was part of the curse shadowing her life? Then the coincidence of her nickname. It was truly hideous. The very incongruity of it made it seem the most terrible disaster of all. Surely, more than anything else, it pointed the hand of Fate. It was her father’s nickname for her, and he – he had been the worst sufferer at her hands.
The whole thing seemed so hopeless, so useless. What was the use of her struggle against this hateful fate? A spirit of rebellion urged her, and she felt half-inclined to abandon herself to the life that was hers; to harden herself, and, taking the cup life offered her, drain it to the dregs. Why should she waste her life battling with a force which seemed all-powerful? Why should she submit to the terror of it? What were the affairs of these others to her? She was not responsible. Nothing in the whole sane world of ethics could hold her responsible.
The spirit of rebellion, for the moment, obtained the upper hand. She had youth; Fortune had bestowed a face and figure upon her that she need not be ashamed of, and a healthy capacity for enjoyment. Then why should she abandon all these gifts because of a fate for which she was in no way responsible?
She pushed back her chair from the table, and crossed to the open front door.
The sun was not yet up, and the morning air was dewy and fresh with perfumes such as she had never experienced in St. Ellis. It was – yes, it was good to be alive on such a day in spite of everything.
She glanced out over the little farm – her farm. Yes, it was all hers, bought and paid for, and she still had money for all her needs and to do those things she wanted to do. She turned away and looked back into the little parlor with its simple furnishings, its mannish odds and ends upon the wall. She heard the sounds of the old housekeeper busy in her heavy, blundering way with the domestic work of her home. She had so many plans for the future, and every one in its inception had given her the greatest delight. Now – now this hideous skeleton had stepped from its cupboard and robbed her of every joy. No, she would not stand it. She would steel her heart to these stupid, girlish superstitions. She would —
Her gloomy reflections were abruptly cut short. There was a rush and clatter. In a perfect whirlwind of haste a horseman dashed up, dragged his horse back on to its haunches as he pulled up, and flung out of the saddle.
It was the boy, Montana Ike. He grabbed his disreputable hat from his ginger head, and stared agape at the vision of loveliness he had come in search of.
“Good – good-morning,” Joan said, hardly knowing how to greet this strange apparition.
The boy nodded, and moistened his lips as though consumed by a sudden thirst.
For a moment they stared stupidly at each other. Then Joan, feeling the awkwardness of the situation, endeavored to relieve it.
“Daylight?” she exclaimed interrogatively, “and you not yet out at the – where the gold is?”
Ike shook his head and grinned the harder. Then his tongue loosened, and his words came with a sudden rush that left the girl wondering.
“Y’ see the folks is eatin’ breakfast,” he said. “Y’ see I jest cut it right out, an’ come along. I heard Pete – you know Blue Grass Pete – he’s a low-down Kentuckian – he said he tho’t some un orter git around hyar case you was queer after last night. Sed he guessed he would. Guess I’ll git back ’fore they’re busy. It’ll take ’em all hustlin’ to git ahead o’ me.”
“That’s very kind,” Joan replied mechanically. But the encouragement was scarcely needed. The boy rushed on, like a river in flood time.
“Oh, it ain’t zac’ly kind!” he said. “Y’ see they’re mostly a low-down lot, an’ Pete’s the low-downest. He’s bad, is Pete, an’ ain’t no bizness around a leddy. Then Beasley Melford. He’s jest a durned skunk anyways. Don’t guess Curly Saunders ain’t much account neither. He makes you sick to death around a whisky bottle. Abe Allinson, he’s sort o’ mean, too. Y’ see Abe’s Slaney Dick’s pardner, an’ they bin workin’ gold so long they ain’t got a tho’t in their gray heads ’cept gold an’ rot-gut rye. Still, they’re better’n the Kid. The Kid’s soft, so we call him Soapy. Guess you orter know ’em all right away. Y’ see it’s easy a gal misbelievin’ the rights o’ folks.”
Joan smiled. Something of the man’s object was becoming plain.
She studied his face while he was proceeding to metaphorically nail up each of these men’s coffins, and the curious animal alertness of it held her interest. His eyes were wide and restless, and a hardness marked the corners of his rather loose mouth. She wondered if that hardness were natural, or whether it had been acquired in the precarious life that these people lived.
“It’s just as well to know – everybody,” she said gently.
“Oh, it sure is, in a country like this,” the man went on confidently. “That’s why I come along. Fellers chasin’ gold is a hell of a bad outfit. Y’ see, I ain’t bin long chasin’ gold, an’ I don’t figger to keep at it long neither. Y’ see, I got a good claim. Guess it’s sure the best. We drew lots for ’em last night. It was the Padre fixed that up. He’s a great feller, the Padre. An’ I got the best one – wher’ the Padre found that nugget you got. Oh, I’m lucky – dead lucky! Guess I’ll git a pile out o’ my claim, sure. A great big pile. Then I’m goin’ to live swell in a big city an’ have a great big outfit of folks workin’ fer me. An’ I’ll git hooked up with a swell gal. It’ll be a bully proposition. Guess the gal’ll be lucky, cos I’ll have such a big pile.”
The youngster’s enthusiasm and conceit were astounding. Nor could Joan help the coldness they inspired in her voice.
“She will be lucky – marrying you,” she agreed. “But – aren’t you afraid you’ll miss something if the others get out to the hill before you? I mean, they being such a bad lot.”
The man became serious for a second before he answered. Then, in a moment, his face brightened into a grin of confidence.
“Course you can’t trust ’em,” he said, quite missing Joan’s desire to be rid of him. “But I don’t guess any of ’em’s likely to try monkey tricks. Guess if any feller robbed me I’d shoot him down in his tracks. They know that, sure. Oh, no, they won’t play no monkey tricks. An’ anyway, I ain’t givin’ ’em a chance.”
He moved toward his horse and replaced the reins over its neck in spite of his brave words. Joan understood. She saw the meanness underlying his pretended solicitation for her well-being. All her sex instincts were aroused, and she quite understood the purpose of the somewhat brutal youth.
“You’re quite right to give them no chances,” she said coldly. “And now, I s’pose, you’re going right out to your claim?”
“I am that,” exclaimed the other, with a gleam of cupidity in his shifty eyes. “I’m goin’ right away to dig lumps of gold fer to buy di’monds fer that gal.”
He laughed uproariously at his pleasantry as he leapt into the saddle. But in a moment his mirth had passed, and his whole expression suddenly hardened as he bent down from the saddle.
“But ef Pete comes around you git busy an’ boot him right out. Pete’s bad – a real bad un. He’s wuss’n Beasley. Wal, I won’t say he’s wuss. But he’s as bad. Git me?”
Joan nodded. She had no alternative. The fellow sickened her. She had been ready to meet him as one of these irresponsible people, ignorant, perhaps dissipated, but at least well-meaning. But here she found the lower, meaner traits of manhood she thought were only to be found amongst the dregs of a city. It was not a pleasant experience, and she was glad to be rid of him.
“I think I understand. Good-bye.”
“You’re a bright gal, you sure are,” the youth vouchsafed cordially. “I guessed you’d understand. I like gals who understand quick. That’s the sort o’ gal I’m goin’ to hitch up with.” He grinned, and crushed his hat well down on his head. “Wal, so long. See you ag’in. Course I can’t git around till after I finish on my claim. Guess you won’t feel lonesome tho’, you got to git your farm fixed right. Wal, so long.”
Joan nodded as the man rode off, thankful for the termination of his vicious, whirlwind visit. Utterly disgusted, she turned back to the house to find Mrs. Ransford standing in the doorway.
“What’s he want?” the old woman demanded in her most uncompromising manner.
The girl laughed mirthlessly.
“I think he wants a little honesty and kindliness knocked into his very warped nature,” she declared, with a sigh.
“Warped? Warped?” The old woman caught at the word, and it seemed to set her groping in search of adequate epithets in which to express her feelings. “I don’t know what that means. But he’s it anyways – they all are.”
And she vanished again into the culinary kingdom over which she presided.
CHAPTER XV
THE CLAIMS OF DUTY
Half an hour later Joan left the house for the barn.
In that brief space she had lived through one of those swiftly-passing epochs in human life when mind, heart and inclination are brought into something approaching actual conflict. But, stern as the fight with weakness had been, she had emerged chastened and victorious. Realization had come to her – realization of whither her troubles had been leading her. She knew she must not abandon herself to the selfishness which her brief rebellion had prompted. She was young, inexperienced, and of a highly-sensitive temperament, but she was not weak. And it was this fact which urged her now. Metaphorically speaking, she had determined to tackle life with shirt sleeves rolled up.
She knew that duty was not only duty, but something which was to yield her a measure of happiness. She knew, too, that duty was not only to be regarded from a point of view of its benefit to others. There was a duty to oneself – which must not be claimed for the sin of selfishness – just as surely as to others; that in its thoroughness of performance lay the secret of all that was worth having in life, and that the disobedience of the laws of such duty, the neglect of them, was to outrage the canons of all life’s ethics, and to bring down upon the head of the offender the inevitable punishment.
She must live her life calmly, honestly, whatever the fate hanging over her. That was the first and most important decision she arrived at. She must not weakly yield to panic inspired by superstitious dread. To do so was, she felt, to undermine her whole moral being. She must ignore this shadow, she must live a life that defied its power. And when the cloud grew too black, if that method were not sufficient to dispel it, she must appeal for alleviation and support from that Power which would never deny its weak and helpless creatures. She knew that human endurance of suffering was intended to be limited, and that when that limit was honestly reached support was still waiting for the sufferer.
Thus she left the house in a chastened spirit, and once more full of youthful courage. The work, the new life she had chosen for herself, must fill every moment of her waking hours. And somehow she felt that with her stern resolve had come a foretaste of that happiness she demanded of life. Her spirits rose as she neared the barn, and a wild excitement filled her as she contemplated a minute inspection of her belongings and her intention to personally minister to their wants.
Something of the instinct of motherhood stirred in her veins at the thought. These were hers to care for – hers to attend and “do” for. She laughed as she thought of the family awaiting her. What a family. Yes, why not? These creatures were for the guardianship of the human race. With all their physical might they were helpless dependents on human aid. Yes, they must be thought for and cared for. They were her family. And she laughed again.
The barn was a sturdy building. Nor was it unpicturesque with its solid, dovetailed lateral logs and heavy thatched roof. She saw that it was built with the same care and finish as the house that was now her home. She could not help wondering at the manner of man who had designed and built it. She saw in it such deliberateness, such skill. There was nothing here of the slap-dash prairie carpenter she had read of – the man who flung up buildings simply for the needs of the moment. These were buildings that might last for ages and still retain all their original weather-proof comfort for the creatures they sheltered. She felt pleased with this man Moreton Kenyon.
She passed round the angle of the building to the doorway, and paused for a moment to admire the scheme of the farm. Every building fronted on a largish open space, which was split by the waters of Yellow Creek, beyond which lay the corrals. Here was forethought. The operative part of the farm was hidden from the house, and every detail of it was adjacent one to another. There was the wagon shed with a wagon in it, and harvesting implements stabled in perfect order. There were the hog-pens, the chicken-houses; the sheds for milch cows. There was the barn and the miniature grain store; then, across the creek, a well, with accompanying drinking-trough, corrals with lowing kine in them; a branding cage. And beyond these she could see a vista of fenced pastures.
As she stood reveling in the survey of her little possession the thought recurred to her that this was hers, all hers. It was the home of her family, and she laughed still more happily as she passed into the barn.
Pushing the door open she found herself greeted in the half-light by a chorus of equine whinnying such as she had never before experienced, and the sound thrilled her. There stood the team of great Clydesdale horses, their long, fiddle heads turned round staring at her with softly inquiring eyes. She wanted to cry out in her joy, but, restraining herself, walked up beside the nearest of them and patted its glossy sides. Her touch was a caress which more than gave expression to her delight.
Those were precious moments to Joan. They were so precious, indeed, that she quite forgot the purpose which had brought her there. She forgot that it was hers to tend and feed these great, helpless creatures. It was enough for her to sit on the swinging bail between the stalls, and revel in the gentle nuzzling of two velvety noses. In those first moments her sensations were unforgettable. The joy of it all held her in its thrall, and, for the moment at least, there was nothing else in the world.
The moments passed unheeded. Every sound was lost to her. And so it came about that she did not hear the galloping of a horse approaching. She did not hear it come to a halt near by. She did not even notice the figure that presently filled the doorway. And only did her first realization of the intrusion come with the pleasant sound of a man’s deep voice.
“Bob an’ Kitty’s kind o’ friendly, Miss Joan,” it said.
The girl turned with a jump and found herself confronted by Buck’s smiling face. And oddly enough her first flash of thought was that this man had used her own name, and not her nickname, and she was grateful to him.
Then she saw that he had the fork in his hand with which she had first seen him, and she remembered his overnight promise to do those very things for her which she had set out to do, but, alas! had forgotten all about.
His presence became a reproach at once, and a slight pucker of displeasure drew her even brows together.
“You’re very kind,” she began, “but – ”
Buck’s smile broadened.
“‘But’s’ a ter’ble word,” he said. “It most always goes ahead of something unpleasant.” He quietly laid the fork aside, and, gathering an armful of hay, proceeded to fill Kitty’s manger. “Now what you wer’ going to say was something like that old – I mean your housekeeper – said, only you wouldn’t say it so mean. You jest want to say I’m not to git around doing the chores here for the reason you can’t accept favors, an’ you don’t guess it would be right to offer me pay, same as a ‘hired’ man.”
He hayed Bob’s manger, and then loosened both horses’ collar chains.
“If you’ll sit on the oat-box I’ll turn ’em round an’ take ’em to water at the trough. That’s it.”
Joan obeyed him without a word, and the horses were led out. And while they were gone the girl was left to an unpleasant contemplation of the situation. She determined to deal with the matter boldly, however, and began the moment he returned.
“You’re quite right, Mr. Buck,” she began.
“Buck – jest plain Buck,” he interrupted her. “But I hadn’t jest finished,” he went on deliberately. “I want to show you how you can’t do those things the old – your housekeeper was yearnin’ to do. Y’ see, you can’t get a ‘hired’ man nearer than Leeson Butte. You can’t get him in less’n two weeks. You can’t do the chores yourself, an’ that old – your housekeeper ain’t fit to do anything but make hash. Then you can’t let the stock go hungry. Besides all of which you’re doing me a real kindness letting me help you out. Ther’s no favor to you. It’s sure to me, an’ these creatures which can’t do things for themselves. So it would be a sound proposition to cut that ‘but’ right out of our talk an’ send word to your lawyer feller in Leeson Butte for a ‘hired’ man. An’ when he gits around, why – well, you won’t be needin’ me.”
All the time he was speaking his fork was busy clearing the stalls of their litter, and, at the finish, he leant on the haft of it and quizzically smiled into the girl’s beautiful, half-troubled face.
Joan contemplated protesting, but somehow his manner was so friendly, so frank and honest, that she felt it would be ungracious of her. Finally he won the day, and she broke into a little laugh of yielding.
“You talk too – too well for me,” she cried. “I oughtn’t to accept,” she added. “I know I oughtn’t, but what am I to do? I can’t do – these things.” Then she added regretfully: “And I thought it would be all so simple.”
Buck saw her disappointment, and it troubled him. He felt in a measure responsible, so he hastened to make amends.
“Wal, y’ see, men are rough an’ strong. They can do the things needed around a farm. I don’t guess women wer’ made for – for the rough work of life. It ain’t a thing to feel mean about. It’s jest in the nature of things.”
Joan nodded. All the time he was speaking she had been studying him, watching the play of expression upon his mobile features rather than paying due attention to his words.
She decided that she liked the look of him. It was not that he was particularly handsome. He seemed so strong, and yet so – so unconcerned. She wondered if that were only his manner. She knew that often volcanic natures, reckless, were hidden under a perfect calm. She wondered if it were so in his case. His eyes were so full of a brilliant dark light. Yes, surely this man roused might be an interesting personality. She remembered him last night. She remembered the strange, superheated fire in those same eyes when he had hurled the gold at her feet. Yes, she felt sure a tremendous force lay behind his calmness of manner.
The man’s thoughts were far less analytical. His was not the nature to search the psychology of a beautiful girl. To him Joan was the most wonderful thing on earth. She was something to be reverenced, to be worshipped. His imagination, fired by all his youthful impulse, endowed her with every gift that the mind of simple manhood could conceive, every virtue, every beauty of mind as well as body.
Joan watched him for some moments as he continued his work. It was wonderful how easy he made it seem, how quickly it was done. She even found herself regretting that in a few minutes the morning “chores” would be finished, and this man would be away to – where?
“You must have been up very early to get over here,” she said designedly. Her girlish curiosity and interest could no longer be denied. She must find out what he was and what he did for a living.
“I’m mostly up early,” he replied simply.
“Yes, of course. But – you have your own – stock to see to?”
She felt quite pleased with her cunning. But her pleasure was short-lived.
“Sure,” he returned, with disarming frankness.
“It really doesn’t seem fair that you should have the double work,” she went on, with another attempt to penetrate his reserve.
Buck’s smile was utterly baffling. He walked to the door of the barn and gave a prolonged, low whistle. Then he came back.
“It sure wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t,” he said simply.
“But you must have heaps to do on your – farm,” Joan went on, feeling that she was on the right track at last “Look at what you’re doing for me. These horses, the cattle, the – the pigs and things. I’ve no doubt you have much more to see to of your own.”
At that moment the head of Cæsar appeared in the doorway. He stared round the familiar stable evidently searching for his master. Finally catching sight of him, he clattered in to the place and rubbed his handsome head against Buck’s shoulder.
“This is my stock,” Buck said, affectionately rubbing the creature’s nose. “An’ I generally manage to see to him while the kettle’s boilin’ for breakfast.”
Just for a moment Joan felt abashed at her deliberate attempt to pump her companion. Then the quick, inquiring survey of the beautiful horse was too much for her, and she left her seat to join in the caresses.
“Isn’t he a beauty?” she cried, smoothing his silken face from the star on his forehead to the tip of his wide muzzle.
Just for a second her hand came into contact with the man’s, and, all unconscious, she let it remain. Then suddenly realizing the position she drew it away rather sharply.
Buck made no move, but had she only looked up she must have noted the sudden pallor of his face. That brief touch, so unconscious, so unmeaning, had again set his pulses hammering through his body. And it had needed all his control to repress the fiery impulse that stirred him. He longed to kiss that soft white hand. He longed to take it in his own strong palms and hold it for his own, to keep it forever. But the moment passed, and when he spoke it was in the same pleasant, easy fashion.
“I kind o’ thought I ought to let him go with the farm,” he said, “only the Padre wouldn’t think of it. He’d have made a dandy feller for you to ride.”
But Joan was up in arms in a moment.
“I’d never have forgiven you if you’d parted with him,” she cried. “He’s – he’s perfectly beautiful.”
Buck nodded.
“He’s a good feller.” And his tone said far more than his words.
He led the beast to the door, and, giving him an affectionate slap, sent him trotting off.
“I must git busy,” he said, with a laugh. “The hay needs cuttin’. Guess I’ll cut till dinner. After that I’ve got to quit till sundown. I’ll go right on cuttin’ each mornin’ till your ‘hired’ man comes along. Y’ see if it ain’t cut now we’ll be too late. I’ll just throw the harness on Kitty an’ Bob an’ leave ’em to git through with their feed while I see the hogs fed. Guess that old – your housekeeper can milk? I ran the cows into the corral as I came up. Seems to me she could do most things she got fixed on doing.”
Joan laughed.
“She was ‘fixed’ on sending you about what she called ‘your business,’” she said slyly.
Buck raised his brows in mock chagrin.
“Guess she succeeded, too. I sure got busy right away – until you come along, and – and got me quittin’.”
“Oh!” Joan stared at him with round eyes of reproach. Then she burst out laughing. “Well, now you shall hear the truth for that, and you’ll have to answer me too, Mr. Buck.”
“Buck – jest plain Buck.”
The girl made an impatient little movement.
“Well, then, ‘Buck.’ I simply came along to thank you, and to tell you that I couldn’t allow your help – except as a ‘hired’ man. And – I’m afraid you’ll think me very curious – I came to find out who you were, and how you came to find me and bring me home here. And – and I wanted to know – well, everything about my arrival. And you – you’ve made it all very difficult. You – insist on doing all this for me. You’re – you’re not so kind as I thought.”
Joan’s complaint was made half-laughingly and half-seriously. Buck saw the reality underlying her words, but determined to ignore it and only answer her lighter manner.
“If you’d only asked me these things I’d have told you right away,” he protested, smiling. “Y’ see you never asked me.”
“I – I was trying to,” Joan said feebly.
Buck paused in the act of securing Kitty’s harness.
“That old – your housekeeper wouldn’t ha’ spent a deal of time trying,” he said dryly.
Joan ignored the allusion.
“I don’t believe you intend to tell me now,” she said.
Buck left the stall and stood before the corn-box. His eyes were still smiling though his manner was tremendously serious.
“You’re wantin’ to know who I am,” he said. Then he paused, glancing out of the doorway, and the girl watched the return of that thoughtful expression which she had come to associate with his usual manner. “Wal,” he said at last, in his final way, “I’m Buck, and I was picked up on the trail-side, starving, twenty years ago by the Padre. He’s raised me, an’ we’re big friends. An’ now, since we sold his farm, we’re living at the old fur fort, back ther’ in the hills, and we’re goin’ to get a living pelt hunting. I’ve got no folks, an’ no name except Buck. I was called Buck. All I can remember is that my folks were farmers, but got burnt out in a prairie fire, and – burnt to death. That’s why I was on the trail starving when the Padre found me.”
Joan’s eyes had softened with a gentle sympathy, but she offered no word.
“’Bout the other,” the man went on, turning back to the girl, and letting his eyes rest on her fair face, “that’s easy, too. I was at the shack of the boys in the storm. You come along an’ wer’ lying right ther’ on the door-sill when I found you. I jest carried you right here. Y’ see, I guessed who you wer’. Your cart was wrecked on the bank o’ the creek – ”
“And the teamster?” Joan’s eyes were eagerly appealing.
Buck turned away.
“Oh, guess he was ther’ too.” Then he abruptly moved toward the horses. “Say, I’ll get on an’ cut that hay.”
Joan understood. She knew that the teamster was dead. She sighed deeply, and as the sound reached him Buck looked round. It was on the tip of his tongue to say some word of comfort, for he knew that Joan had understood that the man was dead, but the girl herself, under the influence of her new resolve, made it unnecessary. She rose from her seat, and her manner suggested a forced lightness.
“I’ll go and feed the chickens,” she said. “I – I ought to be capable of doing that.”
Buck smiled as he prepared to go and see to the hogs.
“Guess you won’t have trouble – if you know what to give ’em,” he said.
Nor was he quite sure if the girl were angry or smiling as she hurried out of the barn.
