The Sagebrusher: A Story of the West

by Emerson Hough

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE PLEDGE

  Wid Gardner, by some miracle of self-confidence, did prove able todrive a car in some fashion, for he made the round trip to the dam ingood enough time. But he had had his trip for nothing; for DoctorBarnes now made sudden and unexplained resolution not to remain longerat Sim Gage's ranch. After his departure in his own car, Wid Gardnerapproached Sim as he stood, hands in pockets, in his door yard.

  "Well," said he. And Sim, in the succinct fashion of the land, repliedlikewise, "Well"; which left honors even conversationally.

  "How's things down below?" asked Sim presently.

  "Sort of uneasylike," replied Wid. "News had got down there thatsomething's wrong. Company of soldiers is expected any day fromKansas. This here Doc Barnes is the main guy down there, a Major orsomething. They're watching the head engineer for the Company, Ibelieve. No one knows who's who. A heap of things has happened thatoughtn't to happen, but looks like Washington was getting on the game.

  "Well, I got to go over home and look around," he concluded. "We'vegot to do some building before long--you got to get up another houseand barn, and so have I."

  "I don't see why," said Sim Gage bitterly. "I ain't got nothing to putinto a barn, ner I ain't got no cows to feed no hay to neither. Icould of sold the Government plenty hay this fall if I'd had any, butnow how could I, without no horses and no money to get none? I'm rundown mighty low, Wid, and that's the truth. Mrs. Jensen can't stayalong here always, though Lord knows what we would a-done if she hadn'tcome now. One thing's sure--_She_ ain't a-goin' to stay here lessenthings straightens out. You know who I mean."

  Wid nodded, his face grave under its grizzled stubble. "Yes," said he.

  "Say," he added, suddenly. "You know that letter we got fer her? Now,if that girl that wrote it, that Annie Squires, could come out here andget into this here game, why, how would that be? You reckon she would?"

  "Naw, she wouldn't come," said Sim Gage. "But, say, that reminds me--Inever did tell _her_ about that letter."

  "Better take it in to her," said Wid, turning away.

  He walked towards the gate. After Sim had seen him safely in thedistance he went with laggard step toward the door of his own home.

  Mary Warren was not asleep. It was her voice, not loud, which greetedhis timid tapping at the half-burned door frame.

  "Come in. Who is it?"

  "It's me, ma'am," said he; and entered a little at a time.

  He might have seen the faint color rise to her cheek as she drewherself up in bed, to talk with him. Her face, turned full toward him,was a thing upon which he could not gaze direct. It terrified him withits high born beauty, even as he now resolved to "look right into hereyes."

  "You've not been in to see me, Mr. Gage," said she at length, bravely."Why didn't you come? I get awfully lonesome."

  "Is that so?" said he. "That's just the way I do."

  "It's too bad, all this awful trouble," said she. "I've been what theycall a Jonah, don't you think, Mr. Gage?"

  "Oh, no, ma'am!"

  "It was very noble of you--up there," she began, on another tack. "Yousaved my life. Not worth much."

  She was smiling cheerily as she could. Sim Gage looked carefully ather face to see how much she knew.

  "Doctor Barnes told me that that man, the one that took me away, washurt by a tree; that you got there too late to save him. But to think,I'd have shot that man. I _did_ try to shoot him, Mr. Gage!"

  "Why, _did_ you, ma'am?" said Sim Gage. "But then, it would of been amiracle if you had a-hit him, your eyes being poor, like. I reckonit's just as well you didn't."

  "Won't you sit down?" She motioned her hand vaguely. "There's a boxright there."

  "How do you know, ma'am?"

  "Oh, I know where everything is now. I'm going to learn all about thisplace. I can do all sorts of things after a while--cook and sweep andwash dishes and feed the chickens, and--oh, a lot of things." It waswell enough that he did not see her face as she turned it away, anxiousto be brave, not succeeding.

  "That there looks, now, like you'd moved in," said Sim Gage. "Lookslike you'd come to stay, as the feller says." He tried to laugh, butdid not make much of it; nor did she.

  "Oh, I forgot," he resumed suddenly, bethinking himself of the errandwhich had brought him hither. "I got a letter fer you, ma'am."

  "A letter? Why, that's strange--I didn't know of any one----"

  "Sure, it's fer you, ma'am. It's from Annie Squires."

  "Annie! Oh! what does she say? Tell me!"

  Sim had the letter opened now, his face puckered.

  "Why, nothing very much, ma'am," said he. "I can't exactly see what itsays--light's rather poor in here just now. But Wid, he read it. Andshe said it was all right with her, and that she was back in her littleroom again. I reckon it's the room where you both used to live?"

  "She isn't married! What did she say?"

  "No'm, not married. That's all off. Her feller throwed her down. Butshe says she wants you to write to her right away and tellher--now--tell her about things--you know----"

  "What does she say?--Tell me _exactly_ what she said."

  "One thing-"--he plunged desperately--"she said she was sure you washappily married. And she wanted you to tell her all about yourhusband. But then, good God A'mighty! she didn't know!"

  "Well," said Mary Warren, her blood high in her face, "I'll have totell her all about that, won't I? I'll write to her at once."

  "You'll write to her? What?"

  --"And tell her how happy I am, how fortunate I've been. I'll tell herhow you took me in even though I was blind; how you saved my life; howkind and gentle you've been all along, where you might have been sodifferent! I'll tell her how fine and splendid it's been of you totake care of a sick, blind, helpless girl like me; and to--to--give hera man's protection."

  He was speechless. She struggled on, red to the hair.

  "You don't know women, how much they want a strong man to depend on,Mr. Gage; a man like you. Chivalrous? Why, yes, you've been all ofthat and more. I'll write to Annie and tell her that I'm very happy,and that I've got the very best--the very best--_husband_--in all theworld. I'll tell her that? I'll say that--that my _husband_----"

  He heard her sobbing. He could endure no more. Suddenly he reachedout a hand and touched hers very gently.

  "Don't, ma'am," said he. "Fer God's sake don't cry."

  It was some time after that--neither could have told how long--that hemanaged to go on, his voice trembling. "Do you _mean_ that, ma'am? Doyou mean that, real and for sure? You wouldn't joke with a feller likeover a thing like that?"

  "I'm not joking," said she. "My God! Yes, I mean it."

  His hand, broad, coarse, thick-fingered, patted hers a hundred times asit lay upon the blankets, until she got nervous over his nervousness.

  "It's too bad I ain't got no linen sheets," said he suddenly. "Butthem blankets is eleven-pound four-points, at that. Of course, youknow, ma'am," said he, turning towards her, his voice broken, his ownvague eyes wet all at once, "you _do_ know I only want to do whateveris the best fer you, now don't you?"

  "Of course. I do believe that."

  "And it _couldn't_ run on this way very long. Even Mrs. Jensenwouldn't stay very long. Nobody would come. They'd like enough tarand feather you and me, people in this Valley, if we _wasn't_ married.And yet you say you've got no place to go back to. You talk like youwas going to tell her, Annie Squires, that you was married. Shesupposes it _now_, like enough. If there was any way, shape or manneryou could get out of marrying me, why of course I wouldn't let you.But what else is there we can do?"

  "Some time it would come to that," said Mary Warren, trying to dry hereyes. "It's the only way fair to us both."

  "Putting it that way, now!" said Sim Gage, wisely, "putting it _that_way, I'm here to say I ain't a-scared to do _nothing_ that's best feryou. And I want to say right now and
here, I didn't mean no harm toyou. I swear, neither Wid nor me ever did dream that a woman likeyou'd come out here--I never knew such a woman as you was in the whole_world_. I just didn't _know_--that was all. You won't blame me toomuch fer gettin' you here into this awful place, will you?"

  "No, I understand," said she gently. "I think I know more about younow than I did at first."

  "I ain't much to know, ma'am. But you--why, if I studied all my life,I wouldn't begin to know you hardly none at all." She could not doubtthe reverence of his tone, could not miss the sweetness of it. No; northe sureness of the anchorage that it offered.

  "If this is the way you want it," he went on, "I'll promise you neverto bother you, no way in the world. I'll be on the square with you, sohelp me God! I'll take care of you the best way I can, so help me God!I'll work, I'll do the best I can fer you; so help me God!"

  "And I promise to be faithful to you, Sim Gage," said she, using hiscommon name unconsciously now. "I swear to be true to you, and to helpyou all I can, every way I can. I'll do my duty--my _duty_. Do youunderstand?"

  She was pale again by now, and trembling all through her body. Herhands trembled on the blankets. It was a woman's pledge she wasgiving. And no man's hands or lips touched hers. It was terrible. Itwas terrible, but had it not been thus she could not have endured it.She must wait.

  "I understand a heap of things I can't say nothing about, ma'am," saidSim Gage. "I'm that sort of man, that can't talk very much. But Iunderstand a heap more'n I'm going to try to say. Sometimes it's thatway."

  "Sometimes it's that way," said Mary Warren, "yes. Then that's ourpromise!"

  "Yes, it's a promise, so fer as I'm concerned," said Sim Gage.

  "Then there isn't much left," said she after a time, her throatfluttering. She patted his great hand bravely as it lay upon theblankets, afraid to touch her own. "The rest will be--I think the restwill be easier than this."

  "A heap easier," said he. "I dreaded this more'n I would to be shot.I wanted to do the right thing, but I didn't know what _was_ right.Won't you _say_ you knowed I wanted to do right all the time, and thatI just didn't _know_? Can't you see that I'm sorry I made you marryme, because it wasn't no way right? Can't you see it's only just toget you some sort of a home?"

  "I said _yes_, Sim Gage," said Mary Warren.

  "Yes?" A certain exultation was in his voice. "To _me_? All my lifeeverything's been _no_ to me!"

  She laid her hand on his, pity rising in her own heart. "I'll takecare of you," said she.

  "I was scared from the first of any woman coming out here," said SimGage truthfully. "But whatever you say goes. But our gettin' married!When?"

  "The sooner the better."

  They both nodded assent to this, neither seeing the other, for he darednot look her way now.

  "I'll go down to the Company dam right soon," said he. "Ministerscomes in down there sometimes. Up here we ain't got no church. Iain't been to church--well, scarcely in my whole life, but sure not ferten years. You want to have it over with, don't you, ma'am?"

  "Yes."

  "That's just the way I feel! It may take a week or so before I can getany minister up here. But I hope you ain't a-goin' to change?"

  "I don't change," said Mary Warren. "If I promise, I promise. I havesaid--yes."

  "How is your bad knee?" she asked after a time, with an attempt to beof service to him. "You've never told me."

  "Swoll up twict as big as it ought to be, ma'am. But how come you tothink of that? _You_ mustn't mind about me. You mustn't never thinkof me a-tall."

  "Now," he continued a little later, the place seeming insufferablysmall to him all at once, "I think I've got to get out in the air." Hepushed over his box seat with much clatter as he rose, agony in everyfiber of his soul.

  "I suppose you could kiss me," said Mary Warren, hesitatingly."It's--usual." She tried to smile as she turned her face toward him.It was a piteous thing, a terrible thing.

  "No, ma'am, thank you. I don't think I will, now, but I thank you justthe same. You see, this ain't a usual case."

  "Good-by!" said Mary Warren to him with a sudden wondering joy. "Goout and look at the mountains for me. Look out over the valley. Iwish I could see them. And you'll come in and see me when you can,won't you?"

  She was talking to the empty room, weeping to an empty world.