CHAPTER V
LOVE COMES A CROPPER
"I am speaking of a war with England." These words of Colonel Lewis rangin my ears as I rode to Salem. They had sounded fantastic when he utteredthem. Now that I was alone they repeated themselves most ominously. Theflying hoofs of my horse pounded them into my ears. War with England wasunthinkable, and yet the colonel's speech lifted me up to a dreary heightand I was gazing over into a new and very grim world.
For years, from my first connected thoughts, there had been dissensionafter dissension between England and America. My father before me hadlived through similar disputes. But why talk of war now? Many times thecolonies had boiled over a bit; then some concession was made, and whatour orators had declared to be a crisis died out and became a dead issue.
To be sure another "crisis" always took the place of the defunct one, butthe great fact remained that none of those situations had led to war.Perhaps if some one other than Colonel Lewis had indulged in the direforeboding it would have made less of an impression. At the time he spokethe words I had not been disturbed. Now that I was remembering what anunemotional level-headed man he was the effect became accumulative. Thefarther I left Richfield behind and the longer I mulled over his sinisterstatement the more I worried.
As I neared Salem my meditations continued disquieting and yet were highlypleasing. I was on my way to meet Patricia Dale. I was born on theMattapony and left an orphan at an early age. I had gone to Williamsburgwhen turning sixteen, and soon learned to love and wear gold and silverbuckles on a pewter income.
In my innocence, rather ignorance, I unwittingly allowed my townacquaintances to believe me to be a chap of means. When I discovered theirfalse estimate I did not have the courage to disillusion them. My truespending-pace was struck on my eighteenth birthday, and inside the year Ihad wasted my King William County patrimony.
Just what process of reasoning I followed during that foolish year I havenever been able to determine. I must have believed it to be imperativethat I live up to the expectations of my new friends. As a complement tothis idiotic obsession there must have been a grotesque belief thatsomehow, by accident or miracle, I would be kept in funds indefinitely. Ido recall my amazement at the abrupt ending of my dreams. I woke up onemorning to discover I had no money, no assets. There were no odds andends, even, of wreckage which I could salvage for one more week of the oldlife.
Among my first friends had been Ericus Dale and his daughter, Patricia. Toher intimates she was known as Patsy. As was to be expected when anawkward boy meets a dainty and wonderful maid, I fell in love completelyout of sight. At nineteen I observed that the girl, eighteen, was becominga toast among men much older and very, very much more sophisticated thanI.
She was often spoken of as the belle of Charles City County, and I spentmuch time vainly wishing she was less attractive. Her father, engaged inthe Indian-trade, and often away from home for several months at a time,had seemed to be very kindly disposed to me.
I instinctively hurried to the Dales to impart the astounding fact that Iwas bankrupt. One usually speaks of financial reverses as "crashing about"one's head. My wind-up did not even possess that poor dignity; for therewas not enough left even to rattle, let alone crash.
The youth who rode so desperately to the Dale home that wonderful daytragically to proclaim his plight, followed by fervid vows to go away andmake a new fortune, has long since won my sympathy. I have always resentedEricus Dale's attitude toward that youth on learning he was a pauper. Itis bad enough to confess to a girl that one has not enough to marry on;but it is hell to be compelled to add that one has not enough to woo on.
How it wrung my heart to tell her I was an impostor, that I was going tothe back-country and begin life all over. Poor young devil! How many likeme have solemnly declared their intentions to begin all over, whereas, infact, they never had begun at all.
And why does youth in such juvenile cataclysms feel forced to seek newfields in making the fresh start? Shame for having failed, I suppose. Anunwillingness to toe the scratch under the handicap of having hisneighbors know it is his second trial.
But so much had happened since that epochal day back in Williamsburg thatit seemed our parting had been fully a million years ago. It made me smileto remember how mature Patsy had been when I meekly ran her errands andgladly wore her yoke in the old days.
Three years of surveying, scouting and despatch-bearing through thetrackless wilderness had aged me. I prided myself I was an old man inworldly wisdom. Patsy Dale had only added three years to her young life. Icould even feel much at ease in meeting Ericus Dale. And yet there hadbeen no day during my absence that I did not think of her, stillidealizing her, and finding her fragrant memory an anodyne when sufferingin the wilderness.
The sun was casting its longest shadows as I inquired for the house androde to it. If my heart went pit-a-pat when I dismounted and walked to theveranda it must have been because of anticipation. As I was about to rapon the casing of the open door I heard a deep voice exclaim:
"This country's going to the dogs! We need the regulars over here. Usingvolunteers weakens a country. Volunteers are too damned independent.They'll soon get the notion they're running things over here. Put me incharge of Virginia, and I'd make some changes. I'd begin with Dunmore andwind up with the backwoodsmen. Neither Whigs nor Tories can save thiscountry. It's trade we want, trade with the Indians."
I could not hear that any one was answering him, and after a decentinterval I rapped again. At last I heard a slow heavy step approachingfrom the cool twilight of the living-room.
"Aye? You have business with me, my man?" demanded Dale, staring into myface without appearing to recognize me. He had changed none that I couldperceive. Short, square as though chopped out of an oak log. His dark hairstill kinked a bit and suggested great virility. His thick lips werepursed as of old, and the bushy brows, projecting nearly an inch from thedeep-set eyes, perhaps had a bit more gray in them than they showed threeyears back.
"Ericus Dale, you naturally have forgotten me," I began. "I am BasdelMorris. I knew you and your daughter three years ago in Williamsburg."
"Oh, young Morris, eh? I'm better at remembering Indian faces than white.Among 'em so much. So you're young Morris, who made a fool of himselftrying to be gentry. Sit down. Turned to forest-running, I should say."And he advanced to the edge of the veranda and seated himself. He had notbothered to shake hands.
"I had business with Colonel Lewis and I wished to see you and Patsybefore going back," I explained. I had looked for bluntness in hisgreeting, but I had expected to be invited inside the house.
"Pat's out," he mumbled, his keen gaze roaming up and down my forest garb."But she'll be back. Morris, you don't seem to have made much of a hit atprosperity since coming out this way."
"I'm dependent only on myself," I told him. "Personal appearance doesn'tgo for much when you're in the woods."
"Ain't it the truth?" he agreed. "In trade?"
"Carrying despatches between Fort Pitt and Governor Dunmore just now.Surveying before that."
"Then, by Harry, sir! You could be in better business," he snapped. "Whatwith Dunmore at the top, and thieving, land-grabbing settlers at thebottom, this country is going to the devil! Dunmore cooks up a war to makea profit out of his land-jobbing! Settlers quit good lands on this sidethe mountains to go land-stealing in the Kentucky country and north of theOhio. It riles my blood! I say you could be in better business thanhelping along the schemes of Dunmore and that trained skunk of his, JackConnolly."
I smiled pleasantly, beginning to remember that Ericus Dale was always afreely spoken man.
"Do you mean that there is no need of this war? You say it is cooked up."
"Need of war?" he wrathfully repeated. "In God's mercy why should we havewar with the Indians? All they ask is to be let alone! Ever see a singlepiaster of profit made out of a dead Indian unless you could sell hishair? Of course not. The Indians don't want war. What they want is trade
.I've lived among 'em. I know. It's Dunmore and the border scum who wantwar. They want to steal more land."
I had no wish to quarrel with the man, but I, too, had been among theIndians; and I could not in decency to myself allow his ridiculousstatements to go unchallenged.
"How can the country expand unless the settlers have land? And if theIndians block the trail how can we get the land without fighting for it?Surely it was never intended that five or more square miles of the fairestcountry on earth should be devoted to keeping alive one naked redhunter."
He fairly roared in disgust. Then with an effort to be calm he began:
"Land? Settlers? You can't build a profit on land and settlers. Why, thecolonies already refuse to pay any revenue to England. Line both sides ofthe Ohio with log cabins and stick a white family in each and what gooddoes it do? Did the French try to settle Canada? No! The French weren'tfools. They depended on trade."
"But they lost Canada," I reminded.
"Bah! For a purely military reason. The future of this country is trade.England's greatness is built up on trade." His trick of jumping his voiceon that word "trade" was very offensive to the ears.
"Pennsylvania has the right idea. Pennsylvania is prosperous. Pennsylvaniadoesn't go round chopping down bee-trees and then killing the bees to getthe honey. What good is this land over here if you can't get fur from it?Settlers chop down the timber, burn it, raise measly patches of corn, livehalf-starved, die. That's all."
His crazy tirade nettled me. It was obvious I could not keep in his goodbooks, even with Patricia as the incentive, without losing myself-respect. I told him:
"This country can never develop without settled homes. We're buildingrudely now, but a hundred years from now----"
"Yah!" And his disgust burst through the thick lips in a deep howl. "Whoof us will be alive a hundred years from now? Were we put on earth toslave and make fortunes for fools not yet born? Did any fools work andsave up so we could take life soft and easy? You make me sick!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Dale, to hear you say that. However, the war is here----"
"The war may be here, in Virginia, among the backwoodsmen. It is also inDunmore's heart, but it ain't in the hearts of the Indians," hepassionately contradicted. "The Indians only ask to be let alone, to beallowed to trade with us. Some canting hypocrites are whining for us tocivilize the Indians. Why should they be civilized? Do they want to be?Ever hear of Indians making a profit out of our civilization? Did theConestoga Indians make a profit when they tried to live like the whitesnear Lancaster, and the Paxton boys killed fourteen of them, men, womenand children, then broke into the Lancaster jail where the others had beenplaced for their safety, and butchered the rest of them?
"Did the ancient Virginia Indians prosper by civilization? I reckon if theold Powhatans could return they'd have some mighty warm things to say onthat score. Why shouldn't the Indians insist we live as they do? They werehere first. The only way to help the Indian is to trade with him. And whenyou help him that way you're helping yourself. That's the only point youcan ever make a red man see.
"I know the Indians. I can go into their towns now, be they Cherokee,Mingo, Shawnee or Delaware, and they'll welcome me as a brother. They knowI don't want their land. They know I'm their true friend. They want me tomake a profit when I trade with them, so I'll come again with more rum andblankets and guns, and gay cloth for their women."
"You have the trader's point of view, and very naturally so," I said.
"Thank God I ain't got the land-grabber's point of view! Nor the cantinghypocrite's point of view! Nor a thick-headed forest-runner's point ofview!" he loudly stormed, rising to end the discussion.
But I was not to be balked, and I reminded him:
"I called to pay my respects to Mistress Dale. I hope I may have thepleasure."
"She's in the field back of the house. I'll call her," he grumbled. "Ihave a man in my kitchen, a white man, who has lived with the Indians eversince he was a boy. He knows more about them than all you border-folkscould learn in a million years. He's the most sensible white man I evermet. He agrees with me perfectly that trade is what the Indian wants; notsettlers nor Bibles."
"Your guest would be John Ward!" I exclaimed, remembering the governor'serrand. "I was asked by Colonel Lewis to find him and send him toRichfield. The colonel and Governor Dunmore wish to talk with him."
"Ho! Ho! That's the way the cat jumps, eh? Want to milk him for militaryinformation, eh? Well, I reckon I'll go along with him and see they don'tplay no tricks on him. I've taken a strong liking to Ward. He's the onewhite man that's got my point of view."
"He lived with the Indians so long he may have the Indians' point ofview," I warned.
"The sooner white men learn the Indians' point of view the better it'll befor both white and red. Ward knows the Indians well enough to know I'mtheir friend. He knows I'm more'n welcome in any of their towns. I'm goingto carry a talk to Cornstalk and Black Hoof. If I can't stop this war Ican fix it so's there'll never be any doubt who's to blame for it."
"I tell you, Dale, that no white men, except it be Ward or Tavenor Rossand others like them, are safe for a minute with Logan's Cayugas,Cornstalk's Shawnees, Red Hawk's Delawares, or Chiyawee's Wyandots."
"Three years ain't even made a tomahawk improvement on you," he sneered."You mean to tell me that after all my years of friendship with theIndians I won't be safe among them, or that any friends I take along won'tbe safe among them? You talk worse'n a fool! I can send my girl alone intothe Scioto villages, and once she gives belts from me she will be as safeas she would be in Williamsburg or Norfolk."
"Such talk is madness," I cried. "The one message your cousin, PatrickDavis' wife, on Howard's Creek, asked me to deliver to your daughter isfor her not to cross the mountains until the Indian trouble is over."
"An old biddy whose husband is scared at every Indian he sees because heknows he's squatting on their lands. My cousin may not be safe on Howard'sCreek, but my daughter would be. I'll say more; once the Indians know I amat Howard's Creek, they'll spare that settlement."
It was useless to argue with the man. It was almost impossible to believethat he meant his vaporings for seriousness. With a scowl he walked to therear of the house and entered the kitchen. All the windows were open, andhis voice was deep and heavy. I heard him say:
"Ward, I want you. We're going to have a talk with two white men, whodon't understand Indians. Pat, that young cub of a forest-running Morrisis out front. Hankers to see you, I 'low."
My leather face was still on fire when I heard the soft swish of skirts.Then she stood before me, more beautiful than even my forest-dreaming hadpictured her, more desirable than ever. She courtesied low, and theamazing mass of blue-black hair seemed an over-heavy burden for the slimwhite neck to carry.
She smiled on me and I found my years dropping away like the leaves of themaple after its first mad dance to the tune of the autumn's wind. I feltfully as young as when I saw her in Williamsburg. And time had placed adistance other than that of years between us: it had destroyed the oldfamiliarity.
To my astonishment we were meeting as casual acquaintances, much as if achin-high barrier was between us. It was nothing like that I had pictured.I had supposed we would pick up the cordiality at the first exchange ofglances. I stuck out my hand and she placed her hand in it for a moment.
"Basdel, I would scarcely have known you. Taller and thinner. And you'revery dark."
"Wind and weather," I replied. "It was at Howard's Creek I learned youwere here. I was very anxious to see you."
"Don't stand." And she seated herself and I took a chair opposite her. "Sonice of you to have us in mind. It's some three years since."
"I reckon your father doesn't fancy me much."
"He's displeased with you about something," she readily agreed. "Youmustn't mind what he says. He's excitable."
"If I minded it I've forgotten it now," I told her. I now had time to notethe cool creamy whiteness of her arm
s and throat and to be properlyamazed. She had been as sweet and fresh three years before, but I was usedto town maids then, and accepted their charms as I did the sunshine andspring flowers. But for three years I had seen only frontier women, andweather and worry and hard work had made sad work of delicatecomplexions.
"Now tell me about yourself," she commanded.
There was not much to tell; surveying, scouting, despatch-bearing. When Ifinished my brief recital she made a funny little grimace, too whimsicalto disturb me, and we both laughed. Then quite seriously she reminded me:
"But, Basdel, your last words were that you were to make a man ofyourself."
In this one sentence she tagged my forest work as being valueless. Had Ibeen the boy who rode through the May sunshine frantically to announce hispoverty, I might have accepted her verdict as a just sentence. Now therewas a calculating light in her dark blue eyes that put me on my mettle.She was throwing down a red ax.
"I am self-dependent," I said. "I never was that in Williamsburg. I haverisked much. Before crossing the mountains, I did not dare risk even yourdispleasure. I have done things that men on the frontier think well of.When you knew me back East I only succeeded in making a fool of myself.The carrying of despatches between Fort Pitt and Botetourt County isconsidered to be rather important."
"But, please mercy, there's more important things for young men to do thanthese you've mentioned," she softly rebuked.
"If the work of surveying lands for homes and settlements, if the scoutingof wild country to protect settlements already established, if keeping aline of communication open between the Ohio and the James are notimportant tasks, then tell me what are?" I demanded.
She was displeased at my show of heat.
"There's no call for your defending to me your work over the mountains,"she coldly reminded. "As an old friend I was interested in you."
"But tell me what you would consider to have been more important work," Ipersisted. "I honestly believed I was working into your good opinion. Ibelieved that once you knew how seriously I was taking life, you would beglad of me."
"Poor Basdel," she soothed. "I mustn't scold you."
"Pitying me is worse," I corrected. "If you can't understand a man doing aman's work at least withhold your sympathy. I am proud of the work I havedone."
This ended her softer mood.
"You do right to think well of your work," she sweetly agreed. "But thereare men who also take pride in being leaders of affairs, of holding officeand the like."
"And going into trade," I was rash enough to suggest.
With a stare that strongly reminded me of her father she slowly said:
"In trade? Why not? Trade is most honorable. The world is built up ontrade. Men in trade usually have means. They have comfortable homes. Theycan give advantages to those dependent upon them. Trade? Why, the averagewoman would prefer a trader to the wanderer, who owns only his rifle andwhat game he shoots."
"Patsy, that is downright savagery," I warmly accused. "Come, be your oldself. We used to be mighty good friends three years ago. Be honest withme. Didn't you like me back in Williamsburg?"
The pink of her cheeks deepened, but she quietly countered:
"Why, Basdel, I like you now. If I didn't I never would bother to speakplainly to you."
Three years' picture-painting was turning out to be dream-stuff. I triedto tell myself I was foolish to love one so much like Ericus Dale; but thelure was there and I could no more resist it than a bear can keep awayfrom a honey-tree.
She had shown herself to be contemptuous in reviewing the little I haddone. She was blind to the glory of to-morrow and more than filled withabsurd crotchets, and yet there was but one woman in America who couldmake my heart run away from control. If it couldn't be Patsy Dale it couldbe no one.
"Back in Williamsburg, before I made such a mess of my affairs, you knew Iloved you."
"We were children--almost."
"But I've felt the same about you these three years. I've looked ahead toseeing you. I've--well, Patsy, you can guess how I feel. Do I carry anyhope with me when I go back to the forest?"
The color faded from her face and her eyes were almost wistful as she metmy gaze unflinchingly, and gently asked:
"Basdel, is it fair for a man going back to the forest to carry hope withhim? The man goes once and is gone three years. What if he goes a secondtime and is gone another three years? And then what if he comes back,rifle in hand, and that's all? What has he to offer her? A home in thewilderness? But what if she has always lived in town and isn't used tothat sort of life?"
"But if she loves the man----"
"But what if she believes she doesn't love him quite enough to take himand his rifle and live in the woods? Has he any more right to expect thatsacrifice than she has the right to expect him to leave the forest andrifle and make his home where she always has lived?"
"I suppose not. But I, too, like the scenes and things you like. I don'tintend spending all my life fighting Indians and living in the forest."
"If your absence meant something definite," she sighed.
"Meaning if I were in trade," I bitterly said.
The kindly mood was gone. She defiantly exclaimed:
"And why not? Trade is honorable. It gets one somewhere. It has hardshipsbut it brings rewards. You come to me with your rifle. You talk sentiment.I listen because we were fond of each other in a boy-and-girl way. Wemustn't talk this way any more. You always have my best wishes, but Inever would make a frontier woman. I like the softer side of life toomuch."
"Then you will not wait? Will not give me any hope?"
"Wait for what? Another three years; and you coming back with your longrifle and horse. Is that fair to ask any woman?"
"No. Not when the woman questions the fairness. 'Another three years' areyour words, not mine. I shall see this war through, and then turn selfish.What I have done is good for me. It will serve to build on."
"I'm sure of it," she agreed. "And you always have my best--my bestwishes."
"And down in your heart you dare care some, or you wouldn't talk it overwith me," I insisted.
"We liked each other as boy and girl. Perhaps our talk is what I believe Iowe to that friendship. Now tell me something about our backwoodssettlements."
In story-writing the lover should, or usually does, fling himself off thescene when his attempt at love-making is thwarted. Not so in life withPatsy. I believed she cared for me, or would care for me if I could onlymeasure up to the standard provided for her by her father's influence.
So instead of running away I remained and tried to give her a truthfulpicture of border conditions. She understood my words but she could notvisualize what the cabins stood for. They were so many humble habitations,undesirable for the town-bred to dwell in, rather than the symbols ofmany, happy American homes. She pretended to see when she was blind, buther nods and bright glances deceived me none. She had no inkling of what afrontier woman must contend with every day, and could she have glimpsedthe stern life, even in spots, it would be to draw back in disgust at thehardships involved.
So I omitted all descriptions of how the newly married were provided withhomes by a few hours' work on the part of the neighbors, how the simplefurniture was quickly fashioned from slabs and sections of logs, how a fewpewter dishes and the husband's rifle constituted the happy couple'sworldly possessions. She wished to be nice to me, I could see. She wishedto send me away with amiable thoughts.
"It sounds very interesting," she said. "Father must take me over themountains before we return to town."
"Do not ask him to do that," I cried. And I repeated the message sent byMrs. Davis.
She was the one person who always had her own way with Ericus Dale. Shesmiled tolerantly and scoffed:
"Father's cousin sees danger where there isn't any. No Indian would everbother me once he know I was my father's daughter."
"Patsy Dale," I declared in my desperation. "I've loved you from the day Ifirst saw
you. I love you now. It's all over between us because you haveended it. But do not for your own sake cross the mountains until theIndian danger is ended. Howard's Creek is the last place you should visit.Why, even this side of the creek I had to fight for my life. The Indianshad murdered a family of four, two of them children."
She gave a little shudder but would not surrender her confidence in herfather.
"One would think I intended going alone. I know the Indians are killingwhite folks, and are being killed by white folks. But with my fatherbeside me----"
"If you love your father keep him on this side of the Alleghanies!"
"You will make me angry, Basdel. I don't want to be displeased with you.My father has known the Indians for years. He has warm friends in everytribe. He is as safe among them as he is here in Salem. And if Howard'sCreek is in danger he can request the Indians to keep away from it."
"Good God! Are you as blind as all that?" I groaned.
"Forest-running, Basdel, has made you violent and rough in your talk," sheicily rebuked. "You hate the Indians simply because you do not understandthem. Now I'm positive that the best thing for you to do is to keep awayfrom the frontier and see if you can't start right on this side of themountains."
It would be folly to argue with her longer. I fished a pair of moccasins,absurdly small, from the breast of my hunting-shirt and placed them on thetable. I had bought them from a squaw in White Eyes' village, and theywere lavishly embroidered with gay beads. The squaw had laughed when Itold the size I wanted.
"If you will forget these came from the forest and will let me leave them,I shall be pleased," I said. "If you don't care for them, just chuck themaside. I had to guess at the size."
"Oh, they are beautiful," she softly exclaimed, snatching them from thetable. "Basdel, why not stay on this side of the mountains? You're a veryclever young man if you would only give yourself a chance. Very soon youcould go to the House of Burgesses. If you don't care to go into trade youcould speculate in land. Father is against it, but if it will be done, youmight as well do it as to leave the cream for others."
"Even if I wished to stay, I could not," I replied. "I have much to doover there. Unfinished work. I have promised Colonel Lewis to carrydespatches when not scouting. If they can send some one to Fort Pitt in myplace I shall serve as scout in the Clinch River Valley. The people downthere are badly upset."
"Well, giving yourself for others may be very Christian-like. One mustdecide for one's self," she said.
"The people over there help one another. They stand together. If I canhelp them, I shall be helping myself."
"I wish my father could go there and make them see how silly they are,"she impatiently declared. "If they would only be friendly with theIndians! It is so simple----"
"I know a fellow about your age," I broke in. "The Indians killed hispeople on Keeney's Knob ten years ago and stole his little sister. Hedoesn't know whether she is dead or a captive. His folks were friendly.They were butchered after making a feast for Cornstalk and his warriors.There are many such cases. It would do no good for your father to tellyoung Cousin and others, who happened to survive, that they are silly."
"Do you mean they would resent it?" she demanded, her chin going up in avery regal manner.
"He could scarcely change their opinions," I mumbled.
We were interrupted by a colored woman bustling in with Colonel Lewis'servant in tow. The man bowed profoundly before Patsy and then informedme:
"Please, Massa Morris, de c'unel 'mires fo' to see yo' at de house righterway. I 'spects it's business fo' de gun'ner. De c'unel mos' 'tic'lar datsay he wants to see yo' to once. Yas, sah. Please, sah."
I dismissed him with a word of my immediate attendance on the colonel.Then I gave my hand to Patsy and said:
"This ends it then. Patsy, my thoughts of you have helped me out of manytight places."
"If you'd only be sensible, Basdel, and stay back here where you belong.Just say the word and father will place you in his office. I'm sure ofit."
"So am I sure of it, if you asked it. No, Patsy, it can't be that way. Ithank you. I may be an awful failure, but I can always fool myself withhoping for better things. If I was pushed into trade, that would end me."
"Of course you know your limitations better than I do," she coldly said."Thanks for the pretty moccasins. I may have a chance to wear them soon."
"Do not wear them over the mountains," I begged. "You were never meant forthe frontier. Good-by."
I had mounted my horse and was galloping back to Richfield almost before Ihad realized how definitely I had separated from her. There was so much Ihad intended to say. My thoughts grew very bitter as I repeatedly livedover our short and unsatisfactory meeting. I recalled patches of thebright dreams filling my poor noodle when I was riding to meet her, and Ismiled in derision at myself.
I had carried her in my heart for three years, and because daily I hadpaid my devotion to her I had been imbecile enough to imagine she wasthinking of me in some such persistent way. Patsy Dale was admired by manymen. Her days had been filled with compliments and flattery.
My face burned as though a whip had been laid across it when I recalledher frank skepticism of my ability to support a wife. I had a rifle.Several times she had thrust that ironical reminder at me, which meant Ihad nothing else. I came to her carrying my rifle. It was unfair to tie agirl with a promise when the wooer had only his rifle.
The damnable repetition kept crawling through my mind. She wanted toimpress the fact of my poverty upon me. I worked up quite a fine bit ofanger against Patsy. I even told myself that had I come back with profitsderived from peddling rum to the Indians, I might have found her moresusceptible to my approach. Altogether I made rather a wicked game ofviewing the poor girl in an unsavory light.
With a final effort I declared half-aloud that she was not worth a seriousman's devotion. And it got me nowhere. For after all, the remembrance ofher as she stood there, with her slim white neck and the mass ofblue-black hair towering above the upturned face, told me she must everfill my thoughts.
I reached Richfield early in the evening. Governor Dunmore had retiredagainst an early start for Williamsburg. It was Colonel Lewis' wish that Iride without delay to Charles Lewis' place at Staunton, something betterthan eighty miles, and confer with him over the situation on thefrontier.
"My brother has recently received intelligences from Fort Pitt which statethe Indians are anxious for peace," explained the colonel.
"A parcel of lies," I promptly denounced.
"So say I. But the written statements are very plausible. They have madean impression on Charles. It is very important that he know the truth. Itwill be much better for you to talk with him than for me to try to sendhim your statements in writing. Haste is necessary. Leave your horse andtake one of mine."
"Have your man bring out the horse. I will start now."
"A prompt response," he said. "And most pleasing. But to-morrow early willdo. Spend the night here."
"To-night. Now," I insisted. "I need action."
He gave me a sharp glance, then called his man and gave the order. Whilemy saddle was being shifted he informed me:
"Ericus Dale and John Ward paid us a call. Dale and His Excellency had arare bout of words. The fellow Ward didn't say much, but he agreed toeverything Dale said."
"I know about the way Dale talked," I gloomily said. "I talked with himbefore he came here. He thinks that Virginia is made up of fools, thatonly Pennsylvania knows how to handle the Indians."
I swung into the saddle and the colonel kindly said:
"I hope this business of mine isn't taking you away from something morepleasant."
"I thank you, Colonel, but I am quite free. All I ask is action and anearly return to the frontier."
I knew the colonel knew the truth. He knew I had paid my respects to thegirl and had been dismissed. He stretched out a hand in silence and gaveme a hearty handshake; and I shook the reins and thundered up the road to
Staunton.
A Virginia Scout Page 5