CHAPTER IV
JIM PROPOSES
Eve Marsham was in two minds of hailing Peter Blunt as she saw himpass on his way to his hut. She wanted him. She wanted to ask hisadvice about something. Like many others who needed a sympatheticadviser she preferred to appeal to Peter Blunt rather than to any ofher sex in Barnriff. However, she allowed the opportunity to slip by,and saw him disappear within his doorway. Then she turned again to theboy sitting on the rough bench beside her, and a look of alarm leapedto her soft brown eyes. He was holding out a tiny pup at arm's length,grasping it by one of its little fore paws.
"Elia, how can you?" she cried. "Put him down, instantly."
The boy turned a bland, beautiful face to her. There was seemingly noexpression beyond surprise in his pale blue eyes.
"He likes it," he said, while the whimpering pup still wriggled in hisgrasp.
Eve made a move to take the wretched animal away, but the boy promptlyhugged it to his misshapen breast.
"He's mine," he cried. "I can do what I like with him."
There was no anger in his voice, not even protest. It was a simplestatement of denial that at the same time had no resistance in it.
"Well, don't you be cruel," Eve exclaimed shortly, and her eyes turnedonce more in the direction of Peter Blunt's hut.
Her pretty face was very thoughtful. Her sun-tanned cheeks, her tall,rounded body were the picture of health. She looked as fresh andwholesome as any wild prairie flower with her rich coloring of almosttropical splendor. She was neatly dressed, more after town fashionthan in the method of such places as Barnriff, and her expressedreason for thus differentiating from her fellow villagers was a matterof mild advertisement. She made her living as a dressmaker. She wasBarnriff's leading and only _modiste_.
The boy at her side continued his amusement at the puppy's expense. Heheld it in his two hands and squeezed its little body until the poorcreature gasped and retched. Then he swung it to and fro by itsdiminutive tail. Then he threw it up in the air, making it turn asomersault, and catching it again clumsily.
All this he did in a mild, emotionless manner. There was no boyishinterest or amusement in it. Just a calm, serious immobility that gaveone the impression of a painting by one of the old European masters.
Elia was Eve Marsham's crippled brother. He was seven years youngerthan she, and was just about to turn sixteen. In reality he was morethan a cripple. He was a general deformity, a deformity that somehoweven reached his brain. By this it must not be imagined that he was anidiot, or lacking in intelligence in any way, but he had some curiousmental twists that marked him as something out of the normal. Hischief peculiarity lay in his dread of pain to himself. An ache, atrifling bruise, a mere scratch upon himself, would hurl him into aparoxysm of terror which frequently terminated in a fit, or, at least,convulsions of a serious nature. This drove the girl, who was his onlyliving relative, to great pains in her care of him, which, combinedwith an almost maternal love for him, kept her on a rack ofapprehension for his well-being.
He had another strange side to his character, and one of whicheverybody but Eve was aware. He possessed a morbid love for horror,for the sufferings of others. He had been known to sit for hours witha sick man in the village who was suffering agonies of rheumatism, forthe mere delight of drawing from him details of the pains he wasenduring, and reveling in the horror of the description with ghoulishdelight.
When Restless, the carpenter, broke his leg the boy was always around.And when the wretched man groaned while they set it, his face was apicture of rapt fascination. To Eve his visits on such occasions werea sign of his sympathetic nature, and she encouraged him because shedid not know the real meaning of them. But there were other things shedid not know. He used to pay weekly visits to Gay's slaughter yard onkilling day, and reveled in the cruel task of skinning and cutting upthe carcase of the slaughtered beast. If a fight between two menoccurred in the village Elia's instinct led him unerringly to it. Itwas a curious psychological fact that the pains and sufferings which,for himself, he dreaded with an almost insane abhorrence, he loved anddesired in others.
He was a quaint figure, a figure to draw sympathy and pity from thehardiest. He was precisely four feet high. One leg was shorter thanthe other, and the hip was drawn up in a corresponding manner. Hischest was sunken, and his back was hunched, and he carried his headbent sideways on his shoulders, in the inquiring attitude oneassociates with a bird.
He was his sister's sole charge, left to her, when much younger, bytheir dying mother. And the girl lavished on him all the wealth of agood woman's sympathy and love. She saw nothing of his faults. She sawonly his deplorable physical condition, and his perfect angel-face.His skin and complexion were so transparent that one could almost havecounted the veins beneath the surface; the sun had no power to burnthat face to the russet which was the general complexion among prairiefolk. His mouth had the innocence of a babe's, and formed a perfectCupid's bow, such as a girl might well be proud of. His eyes werelarge, inquiring and full of intelligence. His nose might have beenchiseled by an old Greek sculptor, while his hair, long and wavy, wasof the texture and color of raw silk.
He was certainly the idol of Eve's heart. In him she could see nowrong, no vice. She cherished him, and served him, and worked for him.He was her life. And, as is only natural, he had learned to claim ashis right all that which out of her boundless affection it was her joyto bestow.
Suddenly the yelping of the pup brought Eve round on him again. He wasonce more holding it aloft by its tail. The girl darted to its rescue,and, instantly, Elia released his hold, and the poor creature fellwith a squelching sound upon the ground. She gave a little scream, butthe boy only looked on in silent fascination. Fortunately the poorpup was only badly shaken and hastily crawled away to safety. Elia wasfor recovering it, but Eve promptly vetoed his design.
"Certainly not, you cruel boy," she said sharply. "You remainwhere you are. You can tell me about the chicken killing down atRestless's."
In the interest of the subject on which Eve desired information Eliaforgot all about the pup. He offered no protest nor made the leastdemur, but forthwith began his story.
"Sure I will," he said, with a curious, uncanny laugh. "Old MaRestless is just raving her fat head off. I was around this morningand heard her. Gee! She was sayin' things. She was cussin' and cussin'like mad. So I jest turned in the yard to see. It was just as funny asa circus. She stood there, her fat sides all of a wabble, an' areg'lar waterfall pourin' out of her eyes. He! He! But what made melaff most was to see those checkens around her on the ground. Therewas ten of 'em lying around, and somebody had choppened off all theirheads. Say, the blood was tricklin', an'--well, there, you never didsee such a mess. It was real comic, an' I--well, to see her wringin'her fat hands, and cussin'. Gee! I wonder she wasn't struck for it,an' her a woman an' all."
He laughed silently, while his sister stared at him in amazement.
Finally she checked his amusement sharply.
"Yes? Well?"
"Well, then she see me, an' she turned on me like a wildcat, an' I was'most scairt to death. She said, 'What you doin' here, you imp o'Satan? Who's done this? Tell me! Tell me an' I'll lay for 'em! I'llshoot 'em down like vermin.' I knew she wasn't really talkin' to me,so then I wasn't scairt. She was jest blowin' off steam. Then I gotaround an' looked close at 'em--the checkens, I mean--and I see justwhere the knife had cut their necks off. It was an elegant way ofkilling 'em, and say, how they must have flapped around after they'dgot clear of their silly heads." He laughed gleefully again. "I lookedup after that and see her watchin' me. Guess her eyes was kind offunny lookin', so I said, 'You don't need to take on, mam,' I said.'They'll make elegant roasts, an' you can get busy and hatch out somemore.' And somehow she got quiet then, and I watched her gather themcheckens up, an' take 'em into the house. Then when she came out an'see me again, she says, 'Light you right out o' here, you imp o'Satan! I fair hates the sight o' you.' So I lit out. Say, Eve," headded,
after a reflective pause, "why does folks all hate me somuch?"
The girl sighed and shook her head. Then she came over to him, and,bending down, kissed his fair waving hair.
"Never mind, dear. I don't hate you," she said. "Perhaps it is youoffend folks somehow. You know you do manage to upset folks at times.You seem to say--say queer things to them, and get them mad." Shesmiled down upon the boy a little wistfully. She knew her brother wasdisliked by most in the village, and it pained her terribly that itshould be so. They tried to be outwardly kind to him, but she alwaysfelt that it was solely for her sake and never for his. As Elia hadnever spoken of it before, she had lived in the hope that he did notunderstand their dislike. However, it was as well that he shouldknow. If he realized it now, as he grew older he might endeavor toearn their good-will in spite of present prejudice.
"Guess it must be, sis. You see I don't kind of mean to say things,"he said almost regretfully. "Only when they're in my head they mustcome out, or--or I think my head would jest bust," he finished upnaively.
The girl was still smiling, and one arm stole round the boy's hunchedshoulders.
"Of course you can't help saying those things you know to betrue----"
"But they most generally ain't true."
The innocent, inquiring eyes looked straight up into hers.
"No," he went on positively, "they generally ain't. I don't think myhead would bust keepin' in the truth. Now, yesterday, Will Hendersonwas down at the saloon before he came up to see you. He came and sortof spoke nice to me. I know he hates me, and--and I hate him worse'npoison. Well, he spoke nice to me, as I said, an' I wanted to spit athim for it. And I jest set to and tho't and tho't how I could hurthim. And so I said, right out before all the boys, 'Wot for do youallus come hangin' around our shack? Eve's most sick to death withyou,' I said; 'it isn't as if she ast you to get around, it's just youbuttin' in. If you was Jim Thorpe now----'"
"You never said all that, Elia," cried Eve, sternly. All her woman'spride was outraged, and she felt her fingers itching to box the boy'sears.
"I did sure," Elia went on, in that sober tone of decidedself-satisfaction. "And I said a heap more. And didn't the boys jestlaff. Will went red as a beet, and the boys laffed more. And I wasreal glad. I hate Will! Say, he was up here last night. Wot for? Hewas up here from six to nigh nine. Say, sis, I wish you wouldn't havehim around."
Eve did not respond. She was staring out at the rampart of hillsbeyond, where Will worked. She was thinking of Will, thinking of--butthe boy was insistent.
"Say, I'd have been real glad if it had been Jim Thorpe. Only he don'tcome so often, does he? I like him. Say, Jim's allus good to me. Idon't never seem to want to hurt him. No, sure. Jim's good. ButWill---- Say, sis, Will's a bad lot; he is certain. I know. He's neverdone nuthing bad, I know, but I can see it in his face, his eyes. It'sin his head, too. Do you know I can allus tell when bad's in folks'heads. Now, there's Smallbones. He's a devil. You'll see it, too, someday. Then there's Peter Blunt. Now Peter's that good he'd break hisneck if he thought it 'ud help folks. But Will----"
"Elia," Eve was bending over the boy's crooked form. Her cheek wasresting on his silky hair. She could not face those bland inquiringeyes. "You mustn't say anything against Will. I like him. He's not abad man--really he isn't, and you mustn't say he is. Will is just adear, foolish Irish boy, and when once he has settled down willbe--you wait----"
The boy abruptly wriggled out of his sister's embrace. His eyes soughthers so that she could no longer avoid them.
"I won't wait for anything to do with Will Henderson--if that's whatyou mean. I tell you he's no good. I hate him! I hate him! And--and Ihope some one'll kill all the checkens he's left in your care down atthat old shack of his." He scrambled to his feet and hobbled away,vanishing round the corner of the house in a fury of fierceresentment.
He had been roused to one of his dreaded fits of passion, and Eve wasalarmed. In a fever of apprehension she was about to follow him up andsoothe him, when she saw a horseman galloping toward the house. Thefigure was unmistakable, besides she knew the horse's gait and color.It was Jim Thorpe, riding in from the AZ ranch.
In a few moments he drew rein at the gate of her vegetable patch. Heflung the reins over his horse's head and removed the bit from itsmouth. Then he let it wander grazing on the tawny grass of themarket-place.
Eve waited for him to come up the garden path, and for the moment theboy was forgotten. She welcomed him with the cordiality of oldfriendship. There was genuine pleasure in her smile, there was heartywelcome in her eyes, and in the soft, warm grip of her strong younghand, but that was all. There was no shyness, no avoiding the honestdevotion in his look. The radiant hope shining in his clear, dark eyeswas not for her understanding. The unusual care in his dress, theneatly polished boots under his leather chaps, the creamy whiteness ofhis cotton shirt, the store creases of the new silk handkerchief abouthis neck, none of these things struck her as being anything out of theordinary.
And he, blind soul, took courage from the warmth of her welcome. Hisheart beat high with a hope which no ordinary mundane affairs couldhave inspired. All the ill-fate behind him was wiped off the slate.The world shone radiant before eyes, which, at such times, aremercifully blinded to realities. An Almighty Providence sees thatevery man shall live to the full such moments as were his just then.It is in the great balance of things. The greater the joy, theharder---- But what matters the other side of the picture!
"Eve," he exclaimed, "I was hoping to find you--not busy. I've riddenright in to yarn with you--'bout things. Say, maybe you've got fiveminutes?"
"I've always got five minutes for you, Jim," the girl respondedwarmly. "Sit right down here on this seat, and get--going. How'sthings with the 'AZ's'?"
"Bully! Dan McLagan's getting big notions of doing things; he'sheaping up the dollars in plenty. And I'm glad, because with him doingwell I'm doing well. I've already got an elegant bunch of cows andcalves up in the foot-hills. You see I make trade with him for mywages. I've done more. Yesterday I got him to promise me a lease ofgrazing, and a big patch for a homestead way up there in thefoot-hills. In another two years I mean to be ranching on my own, eh?How's that?"
The girl's eyes were bright with responsive enthusiasm. She wassmiling with delight at this dear friend's evident success.
"It's great, Jim. But how quiet you've been over it. You never evenhinted before----"
The man shook his head, and for a moment a shadow of regret passedacross his handsome face.
"Well, you see I waited until I was sure of that lease. I've come somany falls I didn't guess I wanted to try another by anticipating toomuch. So I just waited. It's straight going now," he went on, with areturn to his enthusiasm, "and I'm going to start building."
"Yes, yes. You'll get everything ready for leaving the 'AZ's' in----"
"Two years, yes. I'll put up a three-roomed shack of split logs, asmall barn, and branding corrals. That'll be the first start. Yousee"--he paused--"I'd like to know about that shack. Now what aboutthe size of the rooms and things? I--I thought I'd ask you----"
"Me?"
The girl turned inquiring eyes upon him. She was searching his facefor something, and that something came to her as an unwelcomediscovery, for she abruptly turned away again, and her attention washeld by those distant hills, where Will Henderson worked.
"I don't know," she said seriously. The light of enthusiasm had diedout of her eyes, leaving them somehow sad and regretful. "You see, Idon't know a man's requirements in such things. A woman has ideas, butthat is chiefly for herself. You see, she has the care of the housegenerally."
"Yes, yes; that's it," Jim broke in eagerly. Then he checked himself.Something in Eve's manner gave him pause. "You see I--I wanted awoman's ideas. I don't want the house for a man. I----"
He did not finish what he had to say. Somehow words failed him. It wasnot that he found it difficult to put what he wanted to say intowords. Something in the girl's manner checked hi
s eagerness and drovehim to silence. He, too, suddenly found himself staring out at thehills, where--Will worked.
For one fleeting instant Eve turned her gentle eyes upon the facebeside her. She saw the strong features, the steady look of the darkeyes, the clean-cut profile and determined jaw. She saw, too, that hewas thinking hard, and her woman's instinct came to her aid. She feltthat she must be the first to speak. And on what she said dependedwhat would follow.
"Why not leave the house until toward the end of the two years? Bythat time you will have been able to talk it over with--the rightperson."
"That's what I want to do now."
Jim's eagerness leaped again. He thought he saw an opening. His eyeshad in them the question he wanted to ask. All his soul was behind hiswords, all his great depth of feeling and love looked out at therounded oval of her sweet face. He hungrily took in the beauty of herhair, her eyes, her cheeks; the sweet richness of her ripe lips, thechiseled roundness of her beautiful neck. He longed to crush her tohis heart where they sat. He longed to tell her that she and she onlyof all women could ever occupy the hut he intended to build; he longedto pour into her ears his version of the old, old story, and so fullwas his great, strong heart, so overwhelming was his lover's madness,that he believed he could tell that story as it had never been toldbefore. But the question never reached his lips. The old story was notfor his telling. Nor did he ask himself why. It was as though a powerwhich was all-mastering forbade him to speak further.
"Have you seen Will to-day?" Eve suddenly inquired, with apparentirrelevance. "I half expected to----" And she broke off purposely.
The look in Jim's eyes hardened to one of acute apprehension.
"You were--expecting him?"
"Well, not exactly, Jim." She withdrew her gaze from the distanthills, and, gently smiling, turned her eyes upon him. They were fullof sympathy and profound kindness. "You see, he came here last night.And, well, I thought he said something about----"
Jim started. A shiver passed through his body. He suddenly felt coldin that blazing sun. His eyes painfully sought the girl's face. Hislook was an appeal, an appeal for a denial of what in his heart hefeared. For some seconds he did not speak. There was no sound betweenthem, but of his breathing, which had become suddenly heavy.
"Will--Will was here last night?" he said at last.
His voice was husky and unusual. But he dropped his eyes before theinnocent look of inquiry in the girl's.
"Why, yes; he spent the evening with me."
In lowering his eyes Jim found them staring at the girl's hands,resting in her lap. On one of them he noticed, for the first time, agold band. It was the inside of a ring. It was on the third finger ofthe left hand. He had never seen Eve wearing rings before. Suddenly hereached out and caught her hands in his. He turned them over withalmost brutal roughness. Eve tried to withdraw them, but he held themfast.
"That ring!" he exclaimed, hoarsely. It was in full view now. "Itis Will's. It was my father's signet ring. I gave it to him.Where?--How----? But no, you needn't tell me, I guess." He almostflung her hands from him. And a wave of sickness swept over him ashe thought.
Then in a moment all the passion of his heart rose uppermost in him,and its scorching tide swept through his body, maddening him, drivinghim. A torrent of words surged to his lips, words of bitterness, cruelwords that would hurt the girl, hurt himself, words of hatefulintensity, words that might ease his tortured soul at the expense ofthose who had always occupied foremost place in his heart.
But they were not uttered. He choked them back with a gasp, and seizedhimself in an iron grip of will. And, for some moments, he held on asa drowning man may cling to the saving hand. He must not hurt thegirl, he must not wound her love by betraying his cousin. If Will hadnot played the game, at any rate he would. Suddenly, he spoke again,and no one would have suspected the storm raging under his calmexterior. Only his voice was hoarse, and his lips were dry, and theusually clear whites of his eyes were bloodshot.
"The boy has asked you, then?" he said slowly. And he waited for thedeath-knell of all his hopes, his love.
"Yes." Eve's voice was very low. Her gentle woman's heart ached, forher instinct told her of the pain she was causing. "Last night heasked me to be his wife, and I--I love him, Jim, and so I consented."
"Yes, yes." There was weariness in the man's voice now. It soundedalmost as though he were physically weary. "I hope you will be happy,dear. Will's--a good boy----"
"Yes, and I asked him if you knew anything about it. And he said,'No.' He said it would be a little surprise for you---- You are notgoing?" Jim had suddenly started to his feet. "Won't you wait forWill? He's staying in the village. He said he'd be up to see me thismorning--before he went out to the hills."
Jim could stand no more.
"I'm glad you told me, Eve," he said, almost harshly. "Will's not goodat surprises. No, I won't stay. I'll get right back, after I've donesome business in the village." He stood, glancing thoughtfully down atthe village for some moments. Then he turned again, and a shadowysmile lit his sombre eyes.
"I've given out a contract for that homestead," he went on. "Well, I'mgoing to cancel it. Good-bye, little girl."
"Oh, Jim, I----"
But the man shook his head.
"Don't you be sorry. Get all the happiness you can. Maybe Will will bea real good husband to you."
He moved away and strode after his horse. The beast was well out onthe market-place, and Eve watched him catch it and clamber into thesaddle. Then she turned away with a sigh, and found herself lookinginto the beautiful face of her brother. He had silently crept up toher side.
"You've hurt him, sis; you've hurt him real bad. Did you see? It wasall inside. Inside here;" the boy folded his delicate hands over hishollow breast. "I know it because I feel it here, too. It's as thoughyou'd taken right hold of a bunch of cords here, and were pulling 'em,tearing 'em, an' someway they're fixed right on to your heart. That'sthe way you've hurt him, an' it hurts me, because I like him--he'sgood. You don't know what it feels when a man's hurt. I do. It'selegant pain. Gee!" His calm face was quite unlit by the emotion hedescribed. "It don't stop at your heart. It gets right through to yourmuscles, and they tingle and itch to do something, and they mostlywant to hurt, same as you've been hurt. Then it gets to the head,through the blood. That's it; the blood gets hot, and it makes thebrain hot, an' when the brain's hot it thinks hot thoughts, an' theyscorch an' make you feel violent. You think hurt for some one, see?It's all over the body alike. It's when men get hurt like that thatthey want to kill. Gee! You've hurt him."
The boy paused a little breathlessly. His tense nerves were quiveringwith some sort of mental strain. It was as though he were watchingsomething that was going on inside himself, and the effort wastremendous, physically and mentally. But, used as Eve was to hisvagaries, she saw none of this. She was thinking only of Jim. Thinkingof the suffering which her brother had said she had caused him.Woman-like, she felt she must excuse herself. Yet she knew she hadnothing to blame herself with.
"I only told him I had promised to marry Will."
The boy uttered a little cry. It was a strange sound, unlike anythinghuman. He rushed at her, and his thin hands seized upon her wrists,and clutched them violently.
"You're goin' to marry Will? You! You! And you've hurt him--to marryWill?" Then, with the force of his clutch upon her wrists, he drew herdown toward him till her face was near to his, and his placid eyeslooked coldly into hers. "You've--hurt--me--too," he hissed into herface, "and I almost--hate you. No, it's not you--but I hate Willworse'n I ever hated anything in my life."
The One-Way Trail: A story of the cattle country Page 6