The Sagebrusher: A Story of the West

by Emerson Hough

  CHAPTER XXIII

  THE OUTLOOK

  Doctor Barnes was making ready to depart when Sim Gage came in at thegate with his load of logs. They exchanged greetings, Sim regardinghis visitor rather closely.

  "We've just got back from fishing," said Doctor Barnes.

  "Yes, I seen you both, down in the medders."

  "We had one grand time, brother. Look here." He opened the lid of hisbasket.

  "All right," said Sim. "We'll cook 'em for supper. Some folks like'em. There's need for about everything we can get. I reckon God'sforgot us all right."

  "Cheer up!" rejoined his guest. "I was just thinking God was in Hisheaven to-day. Well, thank you, old man, for that fishing. That's thefinest grayling water in the whole world. I've lost my bet with you.May I come up again some time?"

  "Yes," said Sim Sage, "sometimes,--when you know I'm around. Comeagain," he added, somewhat formally, as they shook hands. "I'll bearound."

  He turned toward his house as soon as he saw the car well off in thelane. He found his wife sitting with her face turned toward the window.

  "He's just about going around the corner now," said she, following thesound of the car. And then, presently, "And how are you, sir? You'vebeen gone a long while."

  Sim had seated himself awkwardly on a chair, his hat on his knee."Have a good time down in the medder?" he asked presently. "He told meyou was fishing."

  "Oh, yes, and we caught some whoppers too. They'll be good to eat, I'msure."

  "Yes, I expect you'll like them." He seemed for some reason less thanordinarily loquacious, and suddenly she felt it.

  "Tell me," said she, turning squarely towards him with a summoning ofher own courage. "Why are you away all the time? It's been more thana week, and I've hardly seen you. You're away all the time. Am Idoing wrong in any way?"

  "Why, no."

  "I don't mean to cry--it's just because I'm not used to things yet.It's hard to be blind. But--I meant all I said--then. Don't youbelieve me?"

  "I know you did," said he, simply. But still the awkward silence, andstill her attempt to set things more at ease.

  "Why don't you come over here close to me?" said she, with an attemptdutiful at least. "How can I tell anything about you? You've nevereven touched me yet, nor I you. You've never even--I've never had anyreal notion of how you look, what you are like. I never saw yourpicture. It was an awful thing of me to do."

  "Are you sorry?"

  "But any woman wants to see her husband, to know what he is, what helooks like. I can't tell you how I wonder. And I don't seem toknow--and can't learn. Tell me _about_ yourself, won't you? What sortof looking man are you? What are you like?"

  "I ain't like nothing much," said Sim Gage. "I ain't much for looks.Of course, I suppose women do kind of want to know what men folks islike, that way. I hadn't thought of that, me being so busy--and mebeing so pleased just to look at you, and not even thinking of yourlooking at me." He struggled in saying these words, so brave for SimGage to venture.

  "Yes? Can't you go on?"

  "I ain't so tall as some, but I'm rather broad out, and right strong atthat. My eyes is sort of dark, like, with long lashes, now, and I gotdark hair, in a way of speaking--and I got good features. I dunno as Ican say much more." Surely he had been guilty of falsehood enough forone effort. But he did not know he lied, so eager was he to have favorin her eyes.

  "That's fine!" said she. "I knew all along you were a fine-lookingman--the Western type. We women all admire it, don't you know? AndI'd like to see you in the Western dress too. I always liked that.But, tell me, what can you do? What do you do? Do you read out heremuch? Do you have anything in the way of music? I used to play thepiano a little."

  Sim moved about awkwardly on his chair. "I ain't got around to gettinganother pianny since I moved in here. Maybe we can, some day, afterthe hay gets turned. I used to play the fiddle some, but I ain't gotno fiddle now, neither. Some play the fiddle better'n what I do. Amouth harp's a good thing when you're alone a good deal. Most any onecan play a mouth harp some. Lots of fellers do out here, nights, ofwinters."

  "Is there anything else you can do?" she asked, bravely, now. Theutter bleak barrenness of the man and his life came home to her,struggling with her gratitude, her sense of duty.

  He thought for a time before he spoke. "Why, yes, several things, andI'm sorry you can't see them things, too. For instance, I can tie astrong string around my arm, and bust it, just doubling up my muscle.I'm right strong."

  "That's fine!" said she. "Isn't it odd? What else, then?" She smiledso bravely that he did not suspect. "Mayn't I feel the muscle on yourarm?"

  Hesitatingly, groping, she did put out her hand. By chance, as heshifted back, afraid of her hand, it touched the coarse fabric of hisshirt sleeve. Had it fallen further she might have felt his arm, bare;might have discovered the sleeve itself to be ragged and fringed withlong-continued use. But she did not know.

  "Oh, you're just in your working clothes, aren't you?" she said. "Sothis is the West I used to read about," she said musing. "EverythingWestern--even the way you talk. Not like the people back East that Iused to know. Is every one out here like you?"

  "No, not exactly, maybe," said he. "Like I said, you'd get tired oflooking at me if that's all there was to do."

  She broke out into laughter, wholly hysterical, which he did not in theleast understand. He knew the tragedy of her blindness, but did notknow that he himself was tragic.

  "You are odd," said she. "You've made me laugh." She both laughed andwept.

  "You see, it's this way," he went on eagerly. "It's all right in thesummer time, when you can get out of doors, and the weather ispleasant, like it is now. But in the winter time--_that's_ when itgets lonesome! The snow'll be eight feet deep all around here. Wehave to go on snow shoes all the winter through. Now, if we was shutin here alone together--or if you was shut in here all by yourself, andstill lonesomer, me being over in the other house mostly--the eveningswould seem awful long. They always used to, to me."

  She could not answer at all. A terrible picture was coming before her.He struggled on.

  "If that Annie Squires girl came out here, she'd be a lot of help. Buthow can you tell whether she'd stay all winter? That's the troublewith women folks--you can't tell what they'll do. She wouldn't want tostay here long unless she was settled down some way, would she? Sheain't married, like you, ma'am. She might get restless, like enough,wouldn't she?"

  "I don't know," said Mary Gage, suddenly turning away. She felt a vastcloud settling down upon her. Ten days? She had been married tendays! What would ten years mean?

  "I wish I didn't have to think at all," said she, her lips trembling.

  "So do I, ma'am," said Sim Gage to his lawful wedded wife with engagingcandor. "I sure do wish that."