That Girl Montana

by Marah Ellis Ryan

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  OVERTON'S WIFE.

  A few hours later, 'Tana sat in a box at the theater; for the party shehad suggested had been arranged, and pretty Miss Margaret was radiant overthe evening planned for her, and 'Tana began to enjoy her role ofmatchmaker. She had even managed to tell Margaret, in a casual manner,that Miss Seldon's idea of a decided engagement between herself and Maxhad never a very solid foundation, and now had none at all. He was hergood friend--that was all, and she was to leave for Italy in a month.

  And Margaret went up to her and kissed her, looking at her with puzzled,admiring eyes.

  "They tried at home to make me think very differently," she said. "But youare a queer girl, Miss Montana. You have told me this on purpose, and--"

  "And I want to hear over in Italy that you are going to make a boy I likevery happy some of these days. Remember, Margaret, you are--or will be--amillionairess, while he has not more than a comfortable income; andboys--even when they are in love--can be proud. Will you think of that?"

  Margaret only blushed and turned away, but the answer was quite satisfyingto 'Tana, and she felt freer because her determination had been put intowords, and the last bond connecting her with the old life was to bebroken. Ever since the snows had gone, some cord of her heart-string hadbeen drawing all her thoughts to those Northern hills, and she felt theonly safety was to put the ocean between them and her.

  The home Mr. Seldon had offered her with his sister was a very lovely one,but to it there came each week letters about the mines and the peoplethere. Mr. Seldon had already gone out, and would be gone all summer. Ashe was an enthusiast over the beauties and the returns of the country, hisletters were full of material that she heard discussed each day.Therefore, the only safety for herself lay in flight; and if she did notgo across the ocean to the East, she would surely grow weaker and morehomesick until she would have to turn coward entirely and cross themountains to her West.

  Realizing it all, she sat in her dainty array of evening dress and watchedwith thoughts far away the mimic scene of love triumphant on the stagebefore her. When, on the painted canvas, a far-off snow-crowned mountainrose to their view, her heart seemed to creep to her throat and choke her,and when the orchestra breathed softly of the winds, music, and thetwittering of birds, the tears rose to her eyes and a great longing in herheart for all the wild beauty of her Kootenai land.

  Then, just as the curtain went down on the second act, some one enteredtheir box.

  "You, Harvey?" said Max, with genuine pleasure. "Good of you to look meup. Let me introduce you to my aunt and Miss Haydon. You and Miss Riversare old acquaintances."

  "Yes; and that fact alone has brought me here just now," he managed to sayto Lyster. "To confess the truth, I have been to see Miss Rivers at herhome this evening, having got her address from Roden, and then had theassurance to follow her here. You may be sure I would not have spoiledyour evening for any trivial thing, but I come because of a woman who isdying."

  "A woman who is dying?" repeated 'Tana, in wonder. "And why do you come tome?"

  "She wants to see you. I think--to tell you something."

  "But who is it?" asked Lyster. "Some beggar?"

  "She is a beggar now at least," agreed Mr. Harvey--"a poor woman dying.She said only to tell Miss Rivers, and here is a line she sent."

  He gave her a slip of paper, and on it was written:

  "Come and take some word to Dan Overton for me. I am dying.

  OVERTON'S WIFE."

  She arose, and Margaret exclaimed at the whiteness of her face.

  "Oh, my dear," sighed Miss Seldon, "you know how I warned you not to giveyour charities individually among the beggars of a city. It is really amistake. They have no consideration, and will send for you at all hours ifyou will go. It is so much better to distribute charity through someorganization."

  But 'Tana was tying her opera cloak, and moving toward the entrance.

  "I am going," she said. "Don't worry. Is it far, Mr. Harvey? If not,perhaps I can be back to go home with you when the curtain goes down."

  "It is not far," he answered. "Will you come, Lyster?"

  "No!" said 'Tana; "you stay with the others, Max. Don't look vexed. MaybeI can be of some use, and that is what I need."

  Many heads turned to look at the girl whose laces were so elegant, andwhose beautiful face wore such a startled, questioning expression. But shehurried out of their sight, and gave a little nervous shiver as shewrapped her white velvet cloak close about her and sank into a corner ofthe carriage.

  "Are you cold?" Harvey asked, but she shook her head.

  "No. But tell me all."

  "There is not much. I was with a doctor--a friend of mine--who was calledin to see her. She recognized me. It is the little variety actress whocame over the Great Northern, on our train."

  "Oh! But how could she know me?"

  "She did not know your name; she only described you, remembering that Ihad talked with you and your friends. When I told her you were in thecity, she begged so for you to come that I could not refuse to try."

  "You did right," she answered. "But it is very strange--very strange."

  Then the carriage stopped before a dingy house in a row that had oncebelonged to a very fashionable quarter, but that was long ago. Boardinghouses they were now, and their class was about number three.

  "It is a horrible place to bring you to, Miss Rivers," confessed herguide; "and I am really glad Miss Seldon did not accompany you, for shenever would have forgiven either of us. But I knew you would not beafraid."

  "No, I am not afraid. But, oh, why don't they hurry?"

  He had to ring the bell the second time ere any one came to the door.Then, as the harsh jangle died away, steps were heard descending thestairs, and a man without a coat and with a pipe in his mouth, shot backthe bolt with much grumbling.

  "I'll cut the blasted wire if some one in the shebang don't tend to thisdoor better," he growled to a lady with a mug of beer, who just thenemerged from the lower regions. "Me a-trying to get the lines of that newafterpiece in my head--chock-full of business, too!--and that bellclanging forever right under my room. I'll move!"

  "I wish you would," remarked Harvey, when the door opened at last. "Move alittle faster when you do condescend to open the door. Come, MissRivers--up this way."

  And the lady of the beer mug and the gentleman of the pipe stared at eachother, and at the white vision of girlhood going up the dark, bad-smellingstairway.

  "Well, that's a new sort in this castle," remarked the man. "Do you guessthe riddle of it?"

  The woman did not answer, but listened to the footsteps as they went alongthe hall. Then a door opened and shut.

  "They've gone to Goldie's room," she said. "That's queer. Goldie ain't thesort to have very high-toned friends, so it can't be a long-lost sister,"and she smiled contemptuously.

  "She's a beauty, anyway, and I'm going to see her when she makes her exit,if I have to sit up all night."

  "Oh! And what about the afterpiece?"

  "To the devil with the afterpiece! It hasn't any angels in it."

  Inside Goldie's room, a big Dutch blonde in a soiled blue wrapper sat bythe bed, and stared in open-mouthed surprise at the new-comers.

  "Is it _you_ she's been askin' for?" she asked, bluntly.

  But 'Tana did not reply, and Harvey got the blonde to the door, andafter a few whispered words, induced her to go out altogether, and closedthe door behind her.

  "I thought you'd come," whispered the little woman on the bed. "I thoughtthe note would bring you. I saw you talk to him, and I dropped to thegame. You're square, too, ain't you? That's the kind I want now. Thatswell who went for you is the right sort, too. I minded his face andyours. But tell him to go out for a minute. It won't take long--to tellyou."

  Harvey went, at a motion from 'Tana. She had not uttered a word yet. Allshe could do was to stare in wonder at the wreck of a woman
before her--apainted wreck; for, even on her deathbed, the ghastly face was tinted withrouge.

  "I can't get well--doctor says," she continued. "There was a baby; it diedyesterday--three hours old; and I can't get well. But there is another oneI want to tell you of. You tell him. It is two years old. Here is theaddress. Maybe he will take care of it for me. He was good-hearted--that'swhy he married me; thought I was only a little girl without a home. Anywoman could fool him, for he thought all women were good. He thought I wasonly a little girl; and I had been married three years before."

  She smiled at the idea of that past deception, while 'Tana's face grewhard and white.

  "How you look!" said the dying woman. "Well, it's over now. He never caredfor me much, though--not so much as others did. He was never my realhusband, you know, for I never had a divorce. He thought he was, though;and even after he left me, he sent me money regular for me to live quietin 'Frisco, but it didn't suit me. Then he got turned dead against mewhen I tried to make him think the child was his. He wouldn't doanything for me after that; I had cheated him once too often."

  "And was it?" It was the first time 'Tana had spoken, and the womansmiled.

  "You care, too, do you? Well, yes, it was. You tell him so; tell him Isaid so, and I was dying. He'll take care of her, I think. She's pretty,but not like me. He never saw her. She's with a woman in Chicago, where Iboarded. I haven't paid her board now for months, but it's all right; thewoman's a good soul. Dan Overton will pay when you tell him."

  "You write an order for that child, and tell the woman to give it to me,"said 'Tana, decidedly, and looked around for something to write with. Asheet of paper was found, and she went to Harvey for a pencil.

  "'Most ready to go?" he asked, looking at her anxiously.

  She nodded her head, and shut the door.

  "But I can't write now; my hands are too weak," complained the woman. "Ican't."

  "You've _got_ to!" answered the girl; and, taking her in her strong younghands, she raised her up higher on the pillow. "There is the paper andpencil--now write."

  "It will kill me to lay like this."

  "No matter if it does; you write."

  "You're not a woman at all; you're like iron--white iron," whined theother. "Any woman with a heart--" and the weak tears came in her eyes.

  "No, I have no heart to be touched by you," answered the girl. "You had achance to live a decent life, and you wouldn't take it. You had an honestman to trust you and take care of you, and you paid him with deceit.Don't expect pity from me; but write that order."

  She tried to write but could not, and the girl took the pencil.

  "I will write it, and you can sign it," she said; "that will do as well."

  Thus it was accomplished, and the woman was again laid lower in the bed.

  "You are terrible hard on--on folks that ain't just square," she said."You needn't be so proud; you ain't dead yet yourself. You don't know whatmay happen to you."

  "I know," said the girl, coldly, "that if I ever brought children into theworld, to be thrown on strangers' hands and brought up in the streets tolive your sort of life, I would expect a very practical sort of hellprepared for me. Have you anything more to tell me? I'm going."

  "Oh--h! I wish you hadn't said that about hell. I'm dreadful afraid ofhell," moaned the woman.

  "Yes," said the girl; "you ought to be."

  "How hard you are! And the doctor said I would die to-night."

  Then she lay still quite a while, and when she spoke again, her voiceseemed weaker.

  "You have that order for Gracie, and you are so hard-hearted. I don't knowwhat you will do--and I don't want her to grow up like me."

  "That is the first womanly thing I have heard you say," replied the girl.

  She went over to the bed and took the woman's hands in hers, looking ather earnestly.

  "Your child shall have a beautiful and a good home," she said,reassuringly. "I am going for her myself to-morrow, and she will neverlack care again. Have you any other word to give me?"

  The woman shook her head, and then as 'Tana turned away, she said:

  "Not unless you would kiss me. You are not like other women; but--will youkiss me?"

  And, with the pressure of the dying kiss on her lips, 'Tana went out thedoor.

  "Please give her every care money can secure for her," she said to thewoman at the door; while the man, minus the pipe, was there to open it.

  "Mr. Harvey, can I trouble you to look after it for me? You know thedoctor and can learn all that is needed. Have the bills sent to me; andlet me know when it is all--over."

  They reached the theater just as the curtain went down on the last act,and she remained in the carriage until her own party came out.

  "I can hardly thank you enough for coming after me to-night," she said, asshe shook hands very cordially with Harvey. "You can never be a mereacquaintance to me again. You are my friend."

  "Have I ignorantly done some good?" he asked, and she smiled at him.

  "Yes--more than you know--more than I can tell you."

  "Then may I hope not to be forgotten when you are in Italy?"

  "Oh!" and the color flushed over all the pallor caught from that deathbed."But I--I don't think I will go to Italy after all, Mr. Harvey. I havechanged my mind about that, and think I will go back to the Kootenai hillsinstead."