CHAPTER III
MAXWELTON BRAES
"Oh the song--the song in the blood! Magic walks the forest; there's bewitchment on the air-- Spring is at the flood!"
--_The Gypsy Heart._
"Well, sir, this here feller, he lit a cigarette an' throwed away the match, an' it fell in a powder kaig; an' do you know, more'n half that powder burned up before they could put it out! Yes, sir!"--WILDCAT THOMPSON.
Ellinor opened her basket and spread its tempting wares with prettyhostly care--or is there such a word as hostessly?
"There! All ready, Mr.----I declare, this is too absurd! We don't evenknow each other's names!" Her conscious eye fell upon the ampleness ofthe feast--amazing, since it purported to have been put up for onealone; and her face lit up with mischievous delight. She curtsied. "Ifyou please, I'm the Ultimate Consumer!"
He rose, bowing gravely.
"I am the Personal Devil. Glad to meet you."
"Oh! I've heard of you!" remarked the Ultimate Consumer sweetly. She satdown and extended her hand across the spotless linen. "Mr. Lakesays----"
The Personal Devil flushed. It was not because of the proffered hand,which he took unhesitatingly and held rather firmly. The blush wasunmistakably caused by anger.
"There is no connection whatever," he stated, grimly enough, "betweenthe truth and Mr. Lake's organs of speech."
"Oh!" cried the Ultimate Consumer triumphantly. "So you're Mr. Beebe?"
"Bransford--Jeff Bransford," corrected the Personal Devil crustily. Hewilfully relapsed to his former slipshod speech. "Beebe, he's gone tothe Pecos work, him and Ballinger. Mr. John Wesley Also-Ran Pringle'sgone to Old Mexico to bring back another bunch of black, long-hornedChihuahuas. You now behold before you the last remaining Rose ofRosebud. But, why Beebe?"
"Why does Mr. Lake hate all of you so, Mr. Bransford?"
"Because we are infamous scoundrels. Why Beebe?"
"I can't eat with one hand, Mr. Bransford," she said demurely. He lookedat the prisoned hand with a start and released it grudgingly. "Helpyourself," said his hostess cheerfully. "There's sandwiches, and roastbeef and olives, for a mild beginning."
"Why Beebe?" he said doggedly.
"Help yourself to the salad and then please pass it over this way. Thankyou."
"Why Beebe?"
"Oh, very well then! Because of the little eohippus, you know--and otherthings you said."
"I see!" said the aggrieved Bransford. "Because I'm not from Ohio, likeBeebe, I'm not supposed----"
"Oh, if you're going to be fussy! I'm from California myself, Mr.Bransford. Out in the country at that. Don't let's quarrel, please. Wewere having such a lovely time. And I'll tell you a secret. It'sungrateful of me, and I ought not to; but I don't care--I don't like Mr.Lake much since we came on this trip. And I don't believe----" Shepaused, pinkly conscious of the unconventional statement involved inthis sudden unbelief.
"----what Lake says about us?" A much-mollified Bransford finished thesentence for her.
She nodded. Then, to change the subject:
"You do speak cowboy talk one minute--and all booky, polite and properthe next, you know. Why?"
"Bad associations," said Bransford ambiguously. "Also for 'tis my natureto, as little dogs they do delight to bark and bite. That beef suretastes like more."
* * * * *
"And now you may smoke while I pack up," announced the girl whendessert was over, at long last. "And please, there is something I wantto ask you about. Will you tell me truly?"
"Um--you sing?"
"Yes--a little."
"If you will sing for me afterward?"
"Certainly. With pleasure."
"All right, then. What's the story about?"
Ellinor gave him her eyes. "Did you rob the post-office atEscondido--really?"
Now it might well be embarrassing to be asked if you had committed afelony; but there was that behind the words of this naive query--inlook, in tone, in mental attitude--an unflinching and implicit faiththat, since he had seen fit to do this thing, it must needs have beenthe right and wise thing to do, which stirred the felon's pulses to apleasant flutter and caused a certain tough and powerful muscle to thumpfoolishly at his ribs. The delicious intimacy, the baseless faith, wassweet to him.
"Sure, I did!" he answered lightly. "Lake is one talkative little man,isn't he? Fie, fie! But, shucks! What can you expect? 'The beast will doafter his kind.'"
"And you'll tell me about it?"
"After I smoke. Got to study up some plausible excuses, you know."
She studied him as she packed. It was a good face--lined, strong,expressive, vivid; gay, resolute, confident, alert--reckless, perhaps.There were lines of it disused, fallen to abeyance. What was wellwith the man had prospered; what was ill with him had faded anddimmed. He was not a young man--thirty-seven, thirty-eight--(she wastwenty-four)--but there was an unquenchable boyishness about him,despite the few frosty hairs at his temples. He bore his hard yearsjauntily: youth danced in his eyes. The explorer nodded to herself,well pleased. He was interesting--different.
The tale suffered from Bransford's telling, as any tale will suffer whenmarred by the inevitable, barbarous modesty of its hero. It was a longstory, cozily confidential; and there were interruptions. The sun waslow ere it was done.
"Now the song," said Jeff, "and then----" He did not complete thesentence; his face clouded.
"What shall I sing?"
"How can I tell? What you will. What can I know about good songs--oranything else?" responded Bransford in sudden moodiness anddejection--for, after the song, the end of everything! He flinched atthe premonition of irrevocable loss.
The girl made no answer. This is what she sang. No; you shall not betold of her voice. Perhaps there is a voice that you remember, thatechoes to you through the dusty years. How would you like to describethat?
"Oh, Sandy has monie and Sandy has land, And Sandy has housen, sae fine and sae grand-- But I'd rather hae Jamie, wi' nocht in his hand, Than Sandy, wi' all of his housen and land.
"My father looks sulky; my mither looks soor; They gloom upon Jamie because he is poor. I lo'e them baith dearly, as a docther should do; But I lo'e them not half sae weel, dear Jamie, as you!
"I sit at my cribbie, I spin at my wheel; I think o' the laddie that lo'es me sae weel. Oh, he had but a saxpence, he brak it in twa, And he gied me the half o't ere he gaed awa'!
"He said: 'Lo'e me lang, lassie, though I gang awa'!' He said: 'Lo'e me lang, lassie, though I gang awa'!' Bland simmer is cooming; cauld winter's awa', And I'll wed wi' Jamie in spite o' them a'!"
Jeff's back was to a tree, his hat over his eyes. He pushed it up.
"Thank you," he said; and then, quite directly: "Are you rich?"
"Not--very," said Ellinor, a little breathless at the blunt query.
"I'm going to be rich," said Jeff steadily.
"'I'm going to be a horse,' quoth the little eohippus." The girlretorted saucily, though secretly alarmed at the import of thisexamination.
"Ex-actly. So that's settled. What is your name?"
"Hoffman."
"Where do you live, Hoffman?"
"Ellinor," supplemented the girl.
"Ellinor, then. Where do you live, Ellinor?"
"In New York--just now. Not in town. Upstate. On a farm. You see,grandfather's growing old--and he wanted father to come back."
"New York's not far," said Jeff.
A sudden panic seized the girl. What next? In swift, instinctiveself-defense she rose and tripped to the tree where lay her neglectedsketch-book, bent over--and started back with a little cry of alarm.With a spring and a rush, Jeff was at her side, caught her up and glaredwatchfully at bush and shrub and tufted grass.
"Mr. Bransford! Put me down!"
"What was it? A rattlesnake?"
"A snake? What
an idea! I just noticed how late it was. I must go."
Crestfallen, sheepishly, Mr. Bransford put her down, thrust his handsinto his pockets, tilted his chin and whistled an aggravating littletrill from the Rye twostep.
"Mr. Bransford!" said Ellinor haughtily.
Mr. Bransford's face expressed patient attention.
"Are you lame?"
Mr. Bransford's eye estimated the distance covered during the recentsnake episode, and then gave to Miss Hoffman a look of profound respect.His shoulders humped up slightly; his head bowed to the stroke: he stoodupon one foot and traced the Rainbow brand in the dust with the other.
"I told you all along I wasn't hurt," he said aggrieved. "Didn't I,now?"
"Are you lame?" she repeated severely, ignoring his truthful saying.
"'Not--very.'" The quotation marks were clearly audible.
"Are you lame at all?"
"No, ma'am--not what you might call really lame. Uh--no, ma'am."
"And you deceived me like that!" Indignation checked her. "Oh, I am sodisappointed in you! That was a fine, manly thing for you to do!"
"It was such a lovely time," observed the culprit doggedly. "And such achance might never happen again. And it isn't my fault I wasn't hurt,you know. I'm sure I wish I was."
She gave him an icy glare.
"Now see what you've done! Your men haven't come and you won't stay withMr. Lake. How are you going to get home? Oh, I forgot--you can walk, asyou should have done at first."
The guilty wretch wilted yet further. He shuffled his feet; he writhed;he positively squirmed. He ventured a timid upward glance. It seemed togive him courage. Prompted, doubtless, by the same feeling which drivesone to dive headlong into dreaded cold water, he said, in a burst ofcandor:
"Well, you see, ma'am, that little horse now--he really ain't got far.He got tangled up over there a ways----"
The girl wheeled and shot a swift, startled glance at the littleeohippus on the hillside, who had long since given over his futilestruggles and was now nibbling grass with becoming resignation. Sheturned back to Bransford. Slowly, scathingly, she looked him over fromhead to foot and slowly back again. Her expression ran thegamut--wonder, anger, scorn, withering contempt.
"I think I hate you!" she flamed at him.
Amazement triumphed over the other emotions then--a real amazement: thedetected impostor had resumed his former debonair bearing and met herscornful eye with a slow and provoking smile.
"Oh, no, you don't," he said reassuringly. "On the contrary, you don'thate me at all!"
"I'm going home, anyhow," she retorted bitterly. "You may draw your ownconclusions."
Still, she did not go, which possibly had a confusing effect upon hisinferences.
"Just one minute, ma'am, if you please. How did you know so pat wherethe little black horse was? _I_ didn't tell you."
Little waves of scarlet followed each other to her burning face.
"I'm not going to stay another moment. You're detestable! And it'snearly sundown."
"Oh, you needn't hurry. It's not far."
She followed his gesture. To her intense mortification she saw the bluesmoke of her home campfire flaunting up from a gully not half a mileaway. It was her turn to droop now. She drooped.
There was a painful silence. Then, in a far-off, hard, judicial tone:
"How long, ma'am, if I may ask, have you known that the little blackhorse was tangled up?"
Miss Ellinor's eyes shifted wildly. She broke a twig from a mahoganybush and examined the swelling buds with minutest care.
"Well?" said her ruthless inquisitor sternly.
"Since--since I went for your hat," she confessed in a half whisper.
"To deceive me so!" Pain, grief, surprise, reproach, were in his words."Have you anything to say?" he added sadly.
A slender shoe peeped out beneath her denim skirt and tapped on a buriedboulder. Ellinor regarded the toetip with interest and curiosity. Then,half-audibly:
"We were having such a good time.... And it might never happen again!"
He captured both her hands. She drew back a little--ever so little; shetrembled slightly, but her eyes met his frankly and bravely.
"No, no!... Not now.... Go, now, Mr. Bransford. Go at once. We will havea pleasant day to remember."
"Until the next pleasant day," said resolute Bransford, openly exultant."But see here, now--I can't go to Lake's camp or to Lake's ball"--hereMiss Ellinor pouted distinctly--"or anything that is Lake's. After yourmasked ball, then what?"
"New York; but it's only so far--on the map." She held her hands apartvery slightly to indicate the distance. "On a little map, that is."
"I'll drop in Saturdays," said Jeff.
"Do! I want to hear you sing the rest about the little eohippus."
"If you'll sing about Sandy!" suggested Jeff.
"Why not? Good-by now--I must go."
"And you won't sing about Sandy to any one else?"
The girl considered doubtfully.
"Why--I don't know--I've known you for a very little while, if youplease." She gathered up her belongings. "But we're friends?"
"_No! No!_" said Jeff vehemently. "You won't sing it to any oneelse--Ellinor?"
She drew a line in the dust.
"If you won't cross that line," she said, "I'll tell you."
Mr. Bransford grasped a sapling with a firm clutch and shook it to tryits strength.
"A bird in the bush is the noblest work of God," he announced. "I'lltake a chance."
Her eyes were shining.
"You've promised!" she said. She paused: when she spoke again her voicewas low and a trifle unsteady. "I won't sing about Sandy to--any oneelse--Jeff!"
Then she fled.
Like Lot's wife, she looked back from the hillside. Jeff clungdesperately to the sapling with one hand; from the other ahandkerchief--hers--fluttered a good-by message. She threw hima farewell, with an ambiguous gesture.
* * * * *
It was late when Jeff reached Rosebud Camp. He unsaddled Nigger Baby,the little and not entirely gentle black horse, rather unobtrusively;but Johnny Dines sauntered out during the process, announcing supper.
"Huh!" sniffed Jeff. "S'pose I thought you'd wait until I come to getit?"
Nothing more alarming than tallies was broached during supper, however.Afterward, Johnny tilted his chair back and, through cigarette smoke,contemplated the ceiling with innocent eyes.
"Nigger Babe looks drawed," he suggested.
"Uh-huh. Had one of them poor spells of his."
Puff, puff.
"Your saddle's skinned up a heap."
"Run under a tree."
Johnny's look of innocence grew more pronounced.
"How'd you get your clothes so wet?"
"Rain," said Jeff.
Puff, puff.
"You look right muddy too."
"Dust in the air," said Jeff.
"Ah!--yes." Silence during the rolling of another cigarette. Then:"How'd you get that cut on your head?"
Jeff's hand went to his head and felt the bump there. He regarded hisfingers in some perplexity.
"That? Oh, that's where I bit myself!" He stalked off to bed in gloomydignity.
Half an hour later Johnny called softly:
"Jeff!"
Jeff grunted sulkily.
"Camping party down near Mayhill. Lot o' girls. I saw one of 'em. Youngperson with eyes and hair."
Jeff grunted again. There was a long silence.
"Nice bear!" There was no answer.
"_Good_ old bear!" said Johnny tearfully. No answer. "Mister Bear, if Igive you one nice, good, juicy bite----"
"_U--ugg--rrh!_" said Jeff.
"Then," said Johnny decidedly, "I'll sleep in the yard."
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