CHAPTER XVIII
A WOMAN'S INSTINCT
The women of Barnriff were as keenly alive to the prevailingexcitements as the men. Perhaps they were affected differently, butthis was only natural. The village, with its doings, its gossip, wastheir life. The grinding monotony of household drudgery left themlittle margin for expansion. Their horizon possessed the narrowestlimits in consequence. Nor could it be otherwise. Most of them livedin a state of straining two ends across an impossible gulf, and theprocess reduced them to a condition of pessimism which blinded them tomatters beyond their narrow focus.
But just now the cloud had lifted for a moment and a flutter ofexcitement gave them an added interest in things, and relieved themfrom the burden of their usual topics. When they met now matters ofhousekeeping and babies, and their men-folk, were thrust aside for thefresher interests. And thus Pretty Wilkes, blustering out of AbeHorsley's emporium in a heat of indignation, found little sympathy forher grievance from Mrs. Rust and Jane Restless.
"Say, I'll give Carrie a word or two when I see her," she cried,viciously flourishing a roll of print in the faces of her friends. "IfAbe isn't a money grubbing skinflint I just don't know nothin'. Lookat that stuff. Do I know print? Do I know pea-shucks! He's been tryin'to sell me faded goods that never were anything else but faded, attwice the price they ever were, when they couldn't have been worthhalf of it if the color hadn't faded that never did, because therewasn't no decent color to fade. I'll----"
But the two women's attention was wandering. They were gazing acrossat Eve's house where Annie Gay was just disappearing through thedoorway. Pretty saw her, too, and, in a moment, her anger merged intothe general interest.
"Say, if that ain't the third time this mornin'," she exclaimed.
"Meanin' Annie?" inquired Mrs. Rust.
"Chasin' dollars," added Jane Restless, with a sniff.
Pretty laughed unpleasantly.
"Why not?" she asked, and promptly answered herself. "Guess her man'staught her. However, I don't blame her. Dollars are hard enough tocome by in this place. Say, they tell me Eve's gettin' 'em inhundreds."
"Thousands," said Mrs. Rust, her eyes shining.
"Say, ain't she lucky?" exclaimed Jane. "I don't care who knows it. Ienvy her good an' plenty. Thousands! Gee!"
"I don't know she's to be envied a heap," said Mrs. Rust. "I 'lows allmen has their faults, but Will Henderson ain't no sort of bokay ofvirtues. He's a drunken bum anyway."
"An' he knocks her about," added Pretty, with a snap.
"But he's pilin' up the dollars for her," Jane urged, still lost inserious contemplation of the fabulous sums her simple mind attributedto Eve's fortune.
But Pretty Wilkes had no sympathy with such excuses.
"Well, dollars or no dollars, I wouldn't change places with Eve for alot. Guess there's some folk as would sell their souls for dollars,"she said, eyeing Jane Restless severely. "But if dollars means havingWill Henderson behind 'em, I'd rather get out an' do chores all mylife."
"Guess you're right," acquiesced Mrs. Rust, thoughtfully. "Will's awhiskey souse an' poker playin' bum. What I sez is, give me a fool manlike my Rust, who's no more sense than to beat hot iron, an' keep outo' my way when I've a big wash doin'."
"That's so," agreed Pretty. "An' if I'm any judge, that's just 'bouthow pore Eve feels."
"Pore?" sniggered Jane.
"Yes, 'pore.'" Pretty's manner assumed its most pronounced austerity."That gal ain't what she was, an'--an' I can't get the rights of it.What for does she keep right on with her needle, with all thosedollars? She don't never laff now for sure. There's something on hermind, and it's my belief it's Will Henderson. Say, Kate Crombie toldme that Eve never spent any o' those dollars, an' it was her beliefshe ain't never touched 'em. _She_ says it's 'cause of him. _She_ saysit's 'cause she hates Will, has hated him ever since that time shefell agin the coal box. That was Will. Kate said so; and her man fixedEve up. Say, he orter been lynched. An' if the men-folk won't do it,then we ought to. It makes my blood boil thinkin' of it. Pore Eve! Iallus liked her. But she's fair lost her snap since she's got married.Guess it 'ud bin different if she'd married Jim Thorpe."
"I don't know," exclaimed Jane, with some antagonism. "I don't know.Jim Thorpe's a nice seemin' feller enough, someways, but----"
"But--what?" inquired Mrs. Rust, eagerly.
"Oh, nothin' much, on'y there's queer yarns goin' of that same JimThorpe. Restless was yarning with two of McLagan's boys, who are outhuntin' the stolen cattle. Well, they got a yarn from one of the boysof the '[diamond] P.'s.' Course I don't know if it's right, but thisfeller seen a big bunch of cattle running where Jim keeps his stock.An' he swore positive they was re-branded with Jim's mark. You know,'[double star],' which, as he pointed out, was an elegant brand forcovering up an original brand. Them boys, Restless said, was off tolook up the stock."
Jane told her story with considerable significance, and, for themoment, her two friends were held silent. Then Pretty Wilkes gatheredherself to protest.
"But--but Jim's McLagan's foreman. He don't need to."
"That's just it. Folks wouldn't suspect him easy."
The force of Jane's argument almost carried conviction. But theblacksmith's wife liked Jim, and could not let Jane carry off honorsso easily.
"Jim ain't no cattle-thief," she said. "And," she hurried on, withtruly feminine logic, "if he was he'd be cleverer than that. Mark me,Jim's too dead honest. Now, if it was Will Henderson----"
But the gossip was becoming too concentrated, and Pretty helped itinto a fresh channel.
"Talkin' of Will Henderson," she said, "Kate Crombie told me the Doc'sgoin' to make him say where he gets his gold--in the interest ofpublic prosperity. That's how she called it. That's why he ain'tshowed up in town for nigh three weeks. Guess he'll go on keepin'away."
"Doc's up again Will someways," said Jane.
"Most folks is," added Mrs. Rust.
"Doc's a bad one to get up against," observed Pretty. "If he's goingto make Will talk, our men-folk 'll all get chasin' gold. I don'tknow, I'm sure. Seems to me a roast o' beef in the cook-stove's wortha whole bunch o' cattle that ain't yours. Well, I'll get on to home,an' get busy on the children's summer suitings--if you can call suchstuff as Abe sells any sort o' suitings at all. Good-bye, girls."
She left the matrons and hurried away. A moment later Jane Restlesswent on to the butcher's, while Mrs. Rust pottered heavily along toSmallbones' store to obtain some iron bolts for her husband.
But these good women wronged Annie Gay when they hinted at time-servingto Eve on account of the money her husband was making. Her friendshipfor Eve was of much too long standing, and much too disinterested forit to be influenced by the other's sudden rise to prosperity. As amatter of fact it made her rejoice at the girl's sudden turn offortune. She was cordially, unenviously glad of it.
She found Eve hard at work at her sewing-machine, in the midst of anaccumulation of dress stuff, such as might well have appalled oneunused to the business. But the busy rush of the machine, and theconcentrated attitude of the sempstress, displayed neither confusionnor worry beyond the desire to complete that which she was at workon.
Eve glanced up quickly as Annie came in. She gave her a glance ofwelcome, and silently bent over her work again. Annie possessedherself of a chair and watched. She liked watching Eve at work. Therewas such a whole-hearted determination in her manner, such abusinesslike directness and vigor.
But just now there was more to hold her interest. The girl was notlooking well. Her sweet young face was looking drawn, and, as she hadtold her that very morning, she looked like a woman who had gonethrough all the trials of rearing a young family on insufficientmeans. Now she was here she meant to have it out with Eve. She wasgoing to abandon her role of sympathetic onlooker. She was going todelve below the surface, and learn the reason of Eve's presentunsmiling existence.
All this she thought while the busy machine rattled down the clothseams of Jane Restle
ss's new fall suit. The low bent head with itssoft wavy hair held her earnest attention, the bending figure, solissome, yet so frail as it swayed to the motion of the treadle. Shewatched and watched, waiting for the work to be finished, her heartaching for the woman whom she knew to be so unhappy.
How she would have begun her inquiries she did not know. Nor did shepause to think. It was no use. She knew Eve's proud, self-reliantdisposition, and the possibilities of her resenting any intrusion uponher private affairs. But she was spared all trouble in this direction,for suddenly the object of her solicitude looked up, raised herneedle, and drew the skirt away from the machine.
"Thank goodness that's done," she exclaimed. Then she leaned back inher chair and stretched her arms and eased her aching back. "Annie,I'm sick of it all. Sick to death. It's grind, grind, grind. Nolightness, nothing but dark, uncheered work." She turned her eyes tothe window with a look of sorrowful regret. "Look at the sunlightoutside. It's mocking, laughing. Bidding us come out and gather freshcourage to go on, because it knows we can't. I mean, what is the useof it if we do go out? It is like salt water to the thirsty man. Hefeels the moisture he so needs, and then realizes the maddeningparching which is a hundred times worse than his original state.Life's one long drear, and--and I sometimes wish it were all over anddone with."
Annie's pretty eyes opened wide with astonishment. Here was theself-reliant Eve talking like the veriest weakling. But quick asthought she seized her opportunity.
"But, Eve, surely you of any folk has no right to get saying things.You, with your husband heapin' up the dollars. Why, my dear, you don'tneed to do all this. I mean this dressmakin'. You can set right out todo just those things you'd like to do, an' leave the rest for folksthat has to do it."
She rose from her chair and came to her friend's side, and gentlyplaced an arm about her shoulders.
"My dear," she went on kindly, "I came here now to talk straight toyou. I didn't know how I was to begin for sure, but you've saved methe trouble. I've watched you grow thinner an' thinner. I've sure seenyour poor cheeks fadin', an' your eyes gettin' darker and darker allround 'em. I've seen, too, and worst of all, you don't smile any now.You don't never jolly folks. You just look, look as though your gravewas in sight, and--and you'd already give my man the contract. I----"
The girl's gentle, earnest, half-humorous manner brought a shadowysmile to Eve's eyes as she raised them to the healthy face besideher. And Annie felt shrewdly that she'd somehow struck the rightnote.
"Don't worry about me, Annie," she said. "I'm good for a few yearsyet." Then her eyes returned to the gloomy seriousness which seemed tobe natural to them now. "I don't know, I s'pose I've got themiserables, or--or something. P'raps a dash of that sunlight would dome good. And--yet--I don't think so."
Suddenly she freed herself almost roughly from Annie's embracing armand stood up. She faced the girl almost wildly, and leaned against thework-table. Her eyes grew hot with unshed tears. Her face suddenlytook on a look of longing, of yearning. Her whole attitude was one ofappeal. She was a woman who could no longer keep to herself the heartsickness she was suffering.
"Yes, yes, I am sick. It's not bodily though, sure, sure. Oh,sometimes I think my heart will break, only--only I suppose that's notpossible," she added whimsically. "Ah, Annie, you've got a good man.You love him, and he loves you. No hardship would be a trouble to you,because you've got him. I haven't got my man, and," she added in a lowvoice, "I don't want him. That's it! Stare, child! Stare and stare.You're horrified--and so am I. But I don't want him. I don't! I don't!I don't! I hate him. I loathe him. Say it, Annie. You must think it.Every right-minded woman must think it. I'm awful. I'm wicked.I----!"
She broke off on the verge of hysteria and struggled for calmness.Annie sensibly kept silent, and presently the distracted womanrecovered herself.
"I won't say anything like that again, dear. I mustn't, but--but I hadto say it to some one. You don't know what it is to keep all that onyour mind and not be able to tell any one. But it's out now, and I--Ifeel better, perhaps."
Annie came to her side and placed her arm about her waist. Her actionwas all sympathy.
"I came here to listen," she said kindly. "I knew there was thingstroublin'. You can tell me anything--or nothing. And, Eve, you'll sureget my meanin' when I say the good God gave me two eyes to use, an'sometimes to sleep with. Well, dear, I mostly sleep at nights."
Eve tried to smile, but it was a failure.
"You're a good woman, Annie, and--and I don't know how I'd have got onall this time without you. But sit you down and listen. I've begunnow, and--and I must go on. Oh, I can't tell you quite why, but I wantto tell it to somebody, and--and--I'll feel better. You said I don'tneed to do all this," she hurried on, pointing at the dressmaking. "Ido. It's the only thing that keeps me from running away, and breakingmy marriage vows altogether. Will's got no love for me, and I--my lovefor him died weeks ago. Maybe with those sharp eyes of yours you'veseen it."
Annie nodded and Eve went on.
"I'm frightened, Annie, and--and I don't know why. Will's a differentman, but it's not that. No," she added thoughtfully, "somehow I'm notfrightened of him now. I--I hate him too much. But I'm frightened,and----"
She flung herself upon the worn settee, and lifted a pair of gloomyeyes to her friend's face. "I can never touch his money, nor thethings he buys. I want nothing from him, either for Elia or myself.I'm married to him and that I can't undo. Would to God I could! But Ican never take anything from the man I do not love, and my love forWill is dead--dead. No, Annie, I must go on working in my own way, andI only hope and pray my husband will keep away. Maybe he will. Maybewhen he's made a big pile out of his--claim he will go awayaltogether, and leave me in peace with Elia. I'm hoping forit--praying for it. Oh, my dear, my dear, what a mistake I've made!You don't know. You can't guess."
There was a silence for some moments. Annie was thinking hard.Suddenly she put a sharp question.
"Tell me, Eve. This fear you was saying. How can you be frightened?What of?"
There was no mistaking the effect of her words. Eve's brown eyessuddenly dilated. She looked like a hunted woman. And Annie shrank atthe sight of it.
"I don't know," she said with a shiver. "I--I can't describe it.It's to do with Will. It's to do with"--she glanced about herfearfully--"his money, his gold find. Don't question me, because Idon't know why I'm afraid. I think I first got afraid through Elia.He's a queer lad--you don't know how queer he is at times. Well"--sheswallowed as though with a dry throat--"well, from the first,when--when Will found gold Elia laughed. And--and every time wespeak about it he laughs, and will say nothing. Oh, I wish I knew."
"Knew what?"
Annie's question came with a curious abruptness. Eve stared. And whenshe spoke it was almost to herself.
"I don't know what I want to know. Only I--I wish I knew."
Annie suddenly came over to her friend's side. She took her hands inhers and squeezed them sympathetically.
"Eve, I don't guess I've got anything to say that can help you. Butwhenever you want to talk things that'll relieve you, why, you canjust talk all you like to me. But don't you talk of these things toany other folk. Sure, sure, girl, don't you do it. You can just trustme, 'cause I've got so bad a memory. Other folks hasn't. I'll be goin'now to get my man's dinner. Good-bye."
She bent over and kissed the girl's thin cheek with a hearty smack.But, as she left the house, there was a grave light such as wasrarely, if ever, seen in her merry eyes.
The One-Way Trail: A story of the cattle country Page 20