The Sagebrusher: A Story of the West

by Emerson Hough

  CHAPTER XXV

  ANOTHER MAN'S WIFE

  Revolution, and not less, had occurred within a month at Sim Gage'sranch. This was not so much evidenced by the presence of a hard-bittencorporal and his little army of four men; nor so much more by theadvent of Annie Squires; neither was it proved by the new buildingsthat had risen so quickly; nor by the appearance of new equipment. Itwas not so much in the material as in the intangible things of lifethat greatest change had come.

  Karen Jensen smiled now as she talked with her new friend, AnnieSquires. Even Mary Gage, for some reason, had ceased to weep. But themain miracle was in the instance of Sim Gage himself.

  Perhaps it was the hat which did it, with its brave cord of green,humblest of all the insignia of those who stand at the threshold of theArmy. To Sim's vague soul it carried a purpose in life, knowledge thatthere was such a thing as service in the world. Daily his face now wasnew-reaped, his hands made clean. He imitated the erectness andalertness of these young soldiers whom he saw, learned the jerk of theelbow in their smart salute. Enriched by a pair of cast-off breeches,and the worn leggins thereto, he rode now with both feet in thestirrups and looked square between his horse's ears. Strong as aremany lazy men, not cowardly, and therefore like many timid men, he rodestraight, with his campaign hat a trifle at one side, like to thefashion of these others.

  And he wished that She might see him now, in his new uniform. Hewondered if she knew how much larger and more important a man he wasnow. Into the pleached garden of his life came a new vision of theprocession of the days; and he was no longer content. He saw thevision of a world holding the cares and duties of a man.

  That this revolution had come to pass was by reason of the presence ofthis blind woman who walked tap-tapping, led by a little dog; a blindwoman who for some reason had begun to smile again.

  As for Doctor Barnes, he had been the actual agent, to be sure. Thisnew order of things was the product of his affirmative and initiatingmind. Mary Gage, consciously or unconsciously, within a few weeks,learned his step as surely as his voice, could have told you which washis car had a dozen come into the yard at the same time. Therefore, onthis certain morning, she knew his voice, when, after stopping his carin the dooryard, he called out to the men before he approached the doorof her own home. It was then that Mary Gage did something which shenever yet had done when she had heard the step and voice of her lawfullord and master--something she had not done since her arrival here.Blind, she turned unconsciously to the mirror which she knew Annie hadhung on the wall! She smoothed back her hair, felt for the corners ofher collar to make it neat. She really did not know that she did thesethings.

  She was young. Life was still buoyant in her bosom, after all, and farmore now than at any time in her life. New graciousness of face andfigure began to come to her. Well-being appeared in her eye and hercheek. The clean air of this new world had done its work, the actinicsun had painted her with the colors of the luckier woman, who expectsto live and to be loved. It was a lovely face she might have seen inyonder mirror--a face flushed as she heard this step at the door.

  "Greetings and salutations!" said he as he entered. "Of course youknow who I am."

  "I'm trained in hide-and-seek," said she. "Sit down, won't you?"

  He tossed his hat on the table. "Alone?" he asked.

  "I always am. Annie is busy almost all day, over at the soldier house,you know."

  "I suppose he is up in the hills to-day?"

  She knew whom he meant. "Yes. Annie tells me he goes up every otherday to look around. I should think he would be afraid."

  "Annie told you?--doesn't he tell you what he does?"

  "No. Sometimes in the evening he comes in for a moment."

  "Well, of course," he went on, "in my capacity as Pooh Bah, Major anddoctor too, I've got to be part medico to take care of the poor devilswho blow off their hands or drop things on their feet, or eat too muchcheap candy at the store. How is Sim's knee by this time?"

  "He limps a little--I can hear it when he walks on the boards. Anniesays that Wid Gardner says that Sim says that his leg's all right."She smiled, and he laughed with her.

  "That's fine. And how about Madam herself, Mrs. Gage?"

  She shivered. "I wish you wouldn't call me that. It--well, don't,please. Let's not ever joke."

  "What shall I call you?"

  "I don't know. What's _wrong_ here, Doctor?" She faced him now.

  He evaded. "I was wondering about your health."

  "Oh, I'm very well. Sometimes my eyes hurt me a little, as though Ifelt more of the light. Subjective, I suppose."

  She could not feel him look at her. At length, he spoke, quietly."I've some news for you, or possible news. It has very much to do withyour happiness. Tell me, if it were in my power to give you back youreyes, would you tell me to do that?"

  "My eyes? What do you mean? To see again?"

  "If I gave you back your sight, I would be giving you back the truth;and that would be very, very cruel."

  He saw the fluttering of her throat, the twitching of the hands in herlap, and so hurried on.

  "Listen! There's a chance in a hundred that your sight can berestored. My old preceptor writes me, from what I've told him, thatthere is about that chance. If it did succeed----"

  "Then I'd see again!"

  "Yes. So you would be very unhappy."

  "You say a thing like that!"

  He winced, flushed.

  "You come here now with hopes that you ought not to offer, and youqualify even that! Fine--fine! You think I can stand much more than Ihave?"

  Still the trembling of her hands, the fluttering at her throat. Heendured it for a time, but broke out savagely at last. "You'd beperfect then--as lovely as ever any woman--why, you're perfect now!And yet without that one flaw where would you be? You'd not be marriedthen, though you are now."

  "Go on!" she said at length, coldly.

  "You don't know one of us here except that girl, Annie, as differentfrom you as night is from day. You don't know about the rest of us.You only think about us, imagine us--you don't see us, don't know us.Ah, God! If you only could! But--if you did!"

  The last words broke from him unconsciously. He sat chilled withhorror at his own speech, but knew he had to go on.

  "I am going to do what shall leave us both unhappy as long as we live.I'll give you back your eyes if I can."

  "I am helpless." She spoke simply.

  "Yes! Why, if I even look at you, I feel I'm an eavesdropper, I'mstealing. You can't see in my face what your face puts there--youcan't see my eyes with yours. You can't understand how you've made meknow things I never did know until I saw you. Why, cruel? yes! Andnow you're asking me to be still more cruel. And I'm going to be."

  "Don't!" she broke out. "Oh, God! Don't! Please--you must not talk.I thought you were different from this."

  "And yet you have asked me a dozen times what's wrong here. Why,everything's wrong! That man loves you because he can see you--any manwould--but you don't love him, because you _haven't_ seen him. You'renot a woman to him at all, but an abstraction. He's not a man to youat all, but an imagination. _That's_ not love of man and woman. Butwhen you have back your eyes,--_then_ you're in shape to compete withthe best women in the world for the best man in the world. That'slove! That's marriage! That's right! Nothing else is."

  He paused horrified. Her voice was icy. "I asked you what was wronghere. I begin to see now. You spoke the truth--everything is wrong."

  "You'll hate me all your life and I hate myself now as I never havebefore in my life--despise myself. What a mockery we've made of itall. God help those who see!"

  She sat silent for a very long time. "You say I shall be able to seehim--my husband?"

  "You say I shall be able to see him--my husband?"]

  "Yes, I think so," he said.

  "And you also?"

  "No! Him, but not me. You ne
ver will. I'll be an imaginationforever. You'll never see me at all."

  "Under what star of sadness was I born?" said Mary Gage, simply. "Whata problem!"

  "Good-by," he replied. "I don't need to wait."

  She held out her hands to him, gropingly. "Going?"

  "Yes. I'm coming back, week after next, to get you. I'll not talkthis way ever again. Don't forgive me--you can't.

  "You'll have to go down to our hospital, perhaps for a couple ofweeks," he concluded.

  He stepped from the room so silently, passed so quickly on the turf,that she was not sure he had gone. He never saw her hands reach out,did not hear her voice: "No, no! I'll not go! Let me be as I am!"