The Eagle's Heart

by Hamlin Garland

  CHAPTER XX

  A DARK DAY WITH A GLOWING SUNSET

  The clerk at the station window was not the kindly young man who hadreceived Harold's ticket for safe keeping. He knew nothing of it andpoked around for several minutes before finding it. After glancingkeenly at its date he threw it down and brusquely said:

  "Time's out on this, my friend."

  Harold looked at him sharply. "Oh, no, that can't be; it's a thirty-daytrip."

  The agent grew irritable. "I know it is; it was good to the fifteenth;this is the seventeenth; the ticket is worthless."

  Harold took up the slip of paper and stared at it in bewilderment. Theagent was right; he had overstayed the limit and was without fivedollars in his pocket. He turned weak with a sudden sense of hishelplessness and the desolation of his surroundings. He was like a manwhose horse fails him on a desert. Taking a seat on a bench in a darkcorner of the waiting room he gave himself up to a study of thesituation. To be alone in the Needle Range was nothing to worry about,but to be alone and without money in a city scared him.

  For two hours he sat there, his thoughts milling like a herd of restlesscattle, turning aimlessly around and around in their tracks. He hadfoolishly neglected his opportunity to escape, and the mountains becameeach moment more beautiful as they swiftly receded into unattainabledistance. He had expected to be riding back into the safe and splendidplains country, back to friends and familiar things, and had trusted tothe joy of his return to soften the despair of his second failure totake Mary back with him.

  It was a sorrowful thing to see the young eagle in somber dream, the manof unhesitating action becoming introspective. Floods of intent businessmen, gay young girls, and grizzled old farmers in groups of twos andthrees, streamed by, dimly shadowed in his reflective eyes. All thesepeople had purpose and reward in their lives; he alone was a stray, atramp, with no one but old Kintuck to draw him to any particular spot orkeep him there.

  "I am outside of everything," he bitterly thought. "There is nothing forme."

  Yes, there was Cora and there was little Pink--and then he thought ofMrs. Raimon, whose wealth and serenity of temper had a greater appealthan ever before. He knew perfectly well that a single word from himwould bring her and her money to his rescue at once. But something arosein him which made the utterance of such a word impossible. As for Coraand the little one, they brought up a different emotion, and the thoughtof them at last aroused him to action.

  "I'll get something to do and earn money enough to go back on," hefinally said to himself; "that's all I'm fit for, just to work by theday for some other man; that's my size. I've failed in everything elseI've ever undertaken. I've no business to interfere with a girl likeMary. She's too high class for a hobo like me; even if I had a ranch itwould be playing it low down on a singer like her to ask her to go outthere. It's no use; I'm worse than a failure--I'm in a hole, and thefirst thing I've got to do is to earn money enough to get out of it."

  He was ashamed to go back to the little hotel to which he had saidgood-by with so much relief. It was too expensive for him, anyhow, andso he set to work to find one near by which came within his changedcondition. He secured lodging at last in an old wooden shack on a sidestreet not far from the station, where rooms could be had for twentycents a night--in advance. It was a wretched place, filled withcockroaches and other insects, but it was at least a hole in which hecould den up for a few nights when sleep overcame him. Thus fortified,he wandered forth into the city, which was becoming each moment moreremorseless and more menacing in his eyes.

  Almost without knowing it, he found himself walking the broad pavementbefore the musical college wherein he found Mary. He had no definitehope of seeing her again, but that doorway was the one spot of light inall the weltering black chaos of the city, which now threatened him withhunger and cold. The awe and terror he felt were such as a city dwellerwould feel if left alone in a wild swamp filled with strange beasts andreptiles.

  After an hour's aimless walking to and fro, he returned to his bed eachnight, still revolving every conceivable plan for earning money. Histhought turned naturally to the handling of cattle at the stockyards,and one morning he set forth on his quest, only to meet with a greatsurprise. He found all the world changed to him when it became knownthat he was looking for a job. When he said to the office boys, "I wantto see the man who has charge of hiring the hands," they told him towait a while in a tone of voice which he had never before encountered.His blood flamed hot in an instant over their calm insolence. Eventuallyhe found his way into a room where a surly fat man sat writing. Helooked up over his shoulder and snarled out:

  "Well, what is it? What do you want?"

  Harold controlled himself and replied: "I want to get a job; I'm acattleman from Colorado, and I'd like----"

  "I don't care where you're from; we've got all the men we want. See Mr.White, don't come bothering me."

  Harold put his hand on the man's shoulder with the gesture of an angryleopard, and a yellow glare filled his eyes, from which the brutal bossshrank as if from a flame.

  With a powerful effort he pulled himself up short and said: "Treat thenext cattleman that comes your way a little more decent or you'll get apart of your lung carried away. Good day."

  He walked out with the old familiar numbness in his body and the redflashes wavering before his eyes. His brain was in tumult. The free manof the mountain had come in contact with "the tyrant of labor," and itwas well for the big beast that Harold was for the moment without hisgun.

  Going back to his room he took out his revolver and loaded everychamber. In the set of his lips was menace to the next employer whodared to insult and degrade him.

  In the days that followed he wandered over the city, with eyes that tooknote of every group of workmen. He could not bring himself to go back tothe stockyards, there was danger of his becoming a murderer if he did;and as he approached the various bosses of the gangs of men in thestreet, he found himself again and again without the resolution to touchhis hat and ask for a job. Once or twice he saw others quite as brutallyrebuffed as he had been, and it was only by turning away that he kepthimself from taking a hand in an encounter. Once or twice, when theoverseer happened to be a decent and sociable fellow, Harold, edgingnear, caught his eye and was able to address him on terms of equality;but in each case the talk which followed brought out the fact that menwere swarming for every place; indeed Harold could see this for himself.Ultimately he fell into the ranks of poor, shivering, hollow-cheekedfellows who stood around wistfully watching the excavation of cellars orhanging with pathetic intentness above the handling of great iron beamsor pile drivers.

  Work came to be a wonderful thing to possess. To put hand to a beam or ashovel seemed now a most desirable favor, for it meant not only warmfood and security and shelter, but in his case it promised a return tothe mountains which came each hour to seem the one desirable andsplendid country in the world--so secure, so joyous, so shining, hisheart ached with wistful love of it.

  Each night he walked over to the Lake shore, past the college and up theviaduct, till he could look out over the mysterious, dim expanse ofwater. It reminded him of the plains, and helped him with its lonelysweep and its serene majesty of reflected stars. At night he dreamed ofthe cattle and of his old companions on the trail; once he was ridingwith Talfeather and his band in the West Elk Mountains; once he wasriding up the looping, splendid incline of the Trout Lake Trail, seeingthe clouds gather around old Lizard Head. At other times he was back atthe Reynolds ranch taking supper while the cattle bawled, and throughthe open door the light of the setting sun fell.

  He had written to Reynolds, asking him to buy his saddle and bridle (hecouldn't bring himself to sell Kintuck) and each day he hoped for areply. He had not stated his urgent need of money, but Reynolds wouldknow. One by one every little trinket which he possessed went to pay hislandlord for his room. He had a small nugget, which he had carried as agood-luck pocket-piece for many months; this he sold, and at l
ast hisrevolvers went, and then he seemed helpless.

  No word from Reynolds came, and the worst of it was, if the money didcome it would not now be enough to carry him back. If he had been ableto put it with the money from his nugget and revolvers it would at leasthave taken him to Denver. But now it was too late.

  At last there came a day when he was at his last resource. He could findno work to do in the streets, and so, setting his teeth on his pride, heonce more sought the stockyards and "Mr. White." It was a cold, rainyday, and he walked the entire distance. Weak as he was from insufficientfood, bad air, and his depression, he could not afford to spend one centfor car fare.

  White turned out to be a very decent fellow, who knew nothing whateverof Harold's encounter with the other man. He had no work for him,however. He seemed genuinely regretful, and said:

  "As a matter of fact, I'm laying off men just now; you see the rush ispretty well over with."

  Harold went over to the Great Western Hotel and hung about the barroom,hoping to meet some one he knew, even though there was a certain risk ofbeing recognized as Black Mose. Swarms of cattlemen filled the hotel,but they were mainly from Texas and Oklahoma, and no familiar face methis searching eyes. He was now so desperately homesick that he meditatedstriking one of these prosperous-looking fellows for a pass back to thecattle country. But each time his pride stood in the way. It would benecessary to tell his story and yet conceal his name--which was a verydifficult thing to do even if he had had nothing to cover up.

  Late in the evening, faint with hunger, he started for his wretched bunkas a starving wolf returns, after an unsuccessful hunt, to his cold andcheerless den. His money was again reduced to a few coppers, and for aweek he had allowed himself only a small roll three times a day. "MyGod! if I was only among the In-jins," he said savagely; "_they_wouldn't see a man starve, not while they had a sliver of meat to sharewith him; but these Easterners don't care; I'm no more to them than asnake or a horned toad."

  The knowledge that Mary's heart would bleed with sorrow if she knew ofhis condition nerved him to make another desperate trial. "I'll tryagain to-morrow," he said through his set teeth.

  On the way home his curious fatalism took a sudden turn, and a feelingthat Reynolds' letter surely awaited him made his heart glow. It wasimpossible that he should actually be without a cent of money, and thethought filled his brain with an irrational exaltation which made himforget the slime in which his feet slipped. He planned to start on thelimited train. "I'll go as far from this cursed hole of a city as Ican," he said; "I'll get out where men don't eat each other to keepalive. He'll certainly send me twenty dollars. The silver on the bridleis worth that alone. Mebbe he'll understand I'm broke, and send mefifty."

  He became so sure of this at last that he stepped into a saloon andbought a big glass of brandy to ward off a chill which he felt comingupon him, and helped himself to a lunch at the counter. When he arosehis limbs felt weak and a singular numbness had spread over his wholebody. He had never been drunk in his life--but he knew the brandy hadproduced this effect.

  "I shouldn't have taken it on an empty stomach," he muttered to himselfas he dragged his heavy limbs out of the door.

  When he came fairly to his senses again he was lying in his little roomand the slatternly chambermaid was looking in at him.

  "You aind seek alretty?" she asked.

  "Go away," he said with a scowl; "you've bothered me too much."

  "You peen trinken--aind it. Chim help you up de stairs last nide."

  "What time is it?" he asked, with an effort to recall where he had been.

  "Tweluf o'clock," she replied, still looking at him keenly, genuinelyconcerned about him.

  "Go away. I must get up." As she went toward the door he sat up for amoment, but a terrible throbbing pain just back of his eyes threw himback upon his pillow as if he had met the blow of a fist. "Oh, I'm usedup--I can't do it," he groaned, pressing his palms to his temples. "I'mburning up with fever."

  The girl came back. "Dat's vat I tought. You dond look ride. Your muddervouldn't known you since you gome here. Pedder you send for your folksalretty."

  "Oh, go out--let me alone. Yes, I'll do it. I'll get up soon."

  When the girl returned with the proprietor of the hotel Harold was farpast rational speech. He was pounding furiously on the door, shouting,"Let me out!" When they tried to open the door they found it locked. Theproprietor, a burly German, set his weight against it and tore the lockoff.

  Harold was dangerously quiet as he said: "You'd better let me out o'here. Them greasers are stampeding the cattle. It's a little trick oftheirs."

  "Dot's all right; you go back to bed; I'll look out for dot greaserpisness," said the landlord, who thought him drunk.

  "You let me out or I'll break you in two," the determined man replied,and a tremendous struggle took place.

  Ultimately Harold was vanquished, and Schmidt, piling his huge bulk onthe worn-out body of the young man, held him until his notion changed.

  "Did you ever have a tree burn up in your head?" he asked.

  "Pring a policeman," whispered Schmidt to the girl, "and a doctor. Deman is grazy mit fevers; he aindt trunk."

  When the officer came in Harold looked at him with sternly steady eyes."See here, cap, don't you try any funny business with me. I won't standit; I'll shoot with you for dollars or doughnuts."

  "What's the matter--jim-jams?" asked the officer indifferently.

  "No," replied Schmidt, "I tondt pelief it--he's got some fever ontohim."

  The policeman felt his pulse. "He's certainly hot enough. Who is he?"

  "Hank Jones."

  "That's a lie--I'm 'Black Mose,'" said Harold.

  The policeman smiled. "'Black Mose' was killed in San Juan last summer."

  Harold received this news gravely. "Sorry for him, but I'm the man.You'll find my name on my revolver, the big one--not the little one. I'mall the 'Black Mose' there is. If you'll give me a chance I'll rope asteer with you for blood or whisky; I'm thirsty."

  "Well now," said the policeman, "you be quiet till the doctor comes, andI'll go through your valise." After a hasty examination he said: "Damnedlittle here, and no revolvers of any kind. Does he eat here?"

  "No, he only hires this room."

  "Mebbe he don't eat anywhere; he looks to me like a hungry man."

  "Dot's what I think," said the maid. "I'll go pring him some soup."

  The prisoner calmly said: "Too late now; my stomach is all dried up."

  "Haven't you any folks?" the policeman asked.

  Harold seemed to pause for thought. "I believe I have, but I can'tthink. Mary could tell you."

  "Who's Mary?"

  "What's that to you. Bring me some water--I'm burning dry."

  "Now keep quiet," said the policeman; "you're sick as a horse."

  When the doctor came the policeman turned Harold over to him. "This is acase for St. Luke's Hospital, I guess," he said as he went out.

  The doctor briskly administered a narcotic as being the easiest andsimplest way to handle a patient who seemed friendless and penniless."The man is simply delirious with fever. He looks like a man emaciatedfrom lack of food. What do you know about him?"

  The landlord confessed he knew but little.

  The doctor resumed: "Of course you can't attend to him here. I'll informthe hospital authorities at once. Meanwhile, communicate with hisfriends if you can. He'll be all right for the present."

  This valuable man was hardly gone before a lively young fellow with asmoothly shaven, smiling face slipped in. He went through every pocketof Harold's clothing, and found a torn envelope with the name "Excell"written on it, and a small photo of a little girl with the words, "ToMose from Cora." The young man's smile became a chuckle as he saw thesethings, and he said to himself: "Nothing here to identify him, eh?"Then to the landlord he said; "I'm from The Star office. If anything newturns up I wish you'd call up Harriman, that's me, and let me in on it."

  The hospit
al authorities were not informed, or paid no attention to thesummons, and Harold was left to the care of the chambermaid, who did herpoor best to serve him.

  The Star next morning contained two columns of closely printed matterunder the caption, "Black Mose, the Famous Dead Shot, Dying in a WestSide Hotel. After Years of Adventure on the Trail, the Famous DesperadoSuccumbs to Old John Barley Corn." The article recounted all the deedswhich had been ascribed to Harold and added a few entirely new ones. Hismarvelous skill with the revolver was referred to, and his defense ofthe red men and others in distress was touched upon so eloquently thatthe dying man was lifted to a romantic height of hardihood andgallantry. A fancy picture of him took nearly a quarter of a page andwas surrounded by a corona of revolvers each spouting flame.

  Mrs. Raimon seated at breakfast in the lofty dining room of her hotel,languidly unfolded The Star, gave one glance, and opened the paper soquickly and nervously her cup and saucer fell to the floor.

  "My God! Can that be true? I must see him." As she read the article shecarried on a rapid thinking. "How can I find him? I must see thatreporter; he will know." She was a woman of decision. She arose quicklyand returned to her room. "Call a carriage for me, quick!" she said tothe bell boy who answered to her call. "No name is given to the hotel,but The Star will know. Good Heavens! if he should die!" Her florid facewas set and white as she took her seat in the cab. "To The Staroffice--quick!" she said to the driver, and there was command in theslam of the door.

  To the city editor she abruptly said: "I want to find the man who wrotethis article on 'Black Mose.' I want to find the hotel where he is."

  The editor was enormously interested at once. "Harriman is on the nightforce and at home how, but I'll see what I can do." By punching variousbells and speaking into mysteriously ramifying tubes he was finally ableto say: "The man is at a little hotel just across the river. I think itis called the St. Nicholas. It isn't a nice place; you'd better takesome one with you. Mind you, I don't vouch for the truth of thatarticle; the boy may be mistaken about it."

  Mrs. Raimon turned on her heel and vanished. She had her information andacted upon it. She was never finer than when she knelt at Harold'sbedside and laid her hand gently on his forehead. She could not speakfor a moment, and when her eyes cleared of their tears and she felt thewide, dry eyes of the man searching her, a spasm of pain contracted herheart.

  "He don't know me!" she cried to the slatternly maid, who stood watchingthe scene with deep sympathy.

  Harold spoke petulantly: "Go away and tell Mary I want her. It costs toomuch for her to sing, or else she'd come. These people won't let me getup, but Reynolds will be here soon and then something will rip wideopen. They took my guns and my saddle. If I had old Kintuck here I couldride to Mary. She said she'd sing for me every Sunday. Look here, I wantice on my head. This pillow has been heated. I don't want a hotpillow--and I don't want my arms covered. Say, I wish you'd send word toold Jack. I don't know where he is, but he'd come--so will Reynolds.These policemen will have a hot time keeping me here after they come.It's too low here, I must take Mary away--it's healthier in themountains. It ain't so hot----"

  Out of this stream of loosely uttered words the princess caught and heldlittle more than the names "Jack" and "Mary."

  "Who is Jack?" she softly asked.

  Harold laughed. "Don't you know old freckle-faced Jack? Why, I'd knowJack in the dark of a cave. He's my friend--my old chum. He didn'tforget me when they sent me to jail. Neither did Mary. She sung for me."

  "Can't you tell me Mary's name?"

  "Why, it's just Mary, Mary Yardwell."

  "Where does she live?"

  "Oh, don't bother me," he replied irritably. "What do you want to knowfor?"

  The princess softly persisted, and he said: "She lives in the East. InChicago. It's too far off to find her. It takes five days to get downthere on a cattle train, and then you have to look her up in adirectory, and then trail her down. I couldn't find her."

  The princess took down Mary's name and sent a messenger to try to findthe address of this woman who was more to the delirious man than all therest of the world.

  As he tossed and muttered she took possession of the house. "Is this theworst room you have? Get the best bed in the house ready. I want thisman to have the cleanest room you have. Hurry! Telephone to the WesternPalace and ask Doctor Sanborn to come at once--tell him Mrs. Raimonwants him."

  Under her vigorous action one of the larger rooms was cleared out andmade ready, and when the doctor came Harold was moved, under hispersonal supervision. "I shall stay here till he is out of danger," shesaid to the doctor as he was leaving, "and please ask my maid to go outand get some clean bed linen and bring it down here at once--and tellher to send Mr. Doris here, won't you?"

  The doctor promised to attend to these matters at once.

  She sat by the bedside of the sufferer bathing his hands and face as ifhe were a child, talking to him gently with a mother's grave cadences.He was now too weak to resist any command, and took his medicine at agulp like a young robin.

  * * * * *

  Late in the afternoon as Mrs. Raimon returned from an errand to thestreet she was amazed to find a tall and handsome girl sitting besidethe sick man's bed holding his two cold white hands in both of hers.There was a singular and thrilling serenity in the stranger's face--acomposure that was exaltation, while Harold, with half-closed eyelids,lay as if in awe, gazing up into the woman's face.

  Mrs. Raimon waited until Harold's eyes closed like a sleepy child's andthe watcher arose--then she drew near and timidly asked:

  "Are you Mary?"

  "Yes," was the simple reply.

  The elder woman's voice trembled. "I am glad you've come. He has calledfor you incessantly. You must let me help you--I am Mrs. Raimon, ofWagon Wheel--I knew him there."

  Mary understood the woman's humble attitude, but she did not encourage acaress. She coldly replied: "I shall be very grateful. He is very ill,and I shall not leave him till his friends come."

  She thought immediately of Jack, and sent a telegram saying: "Harold ishere ill--come at once." She did not know where to reach Mr. Excell, socould only wait to consult Jack.

  Mrs. Raimon remained with her and was so unobtrusively ready to do goodthat Mary's heart softened toward her--though she did not like herflorid beauty and her display of jewels.

  A telegram from Jack came during the evening: "Do all you can forHarold. Will reach him to-night."

  He came in at eleven o'clock, his face knotted into anxious lines. Theysmoothed out as his eyes fell upon Mary, who met him in the hall.

  "Oh, I'm glad to see you here," he said brokenly. "How is he--is thereany hope?"

  In his presence Mary's composure gave way. "O Jack! If he should dienow----" She laid her head against his sturdy shoulder and for a momentshook with nervous weakness. Almost before he could speak she recoveredherself. "He only knew me for a few moments. He's delirious again. Thedoctor is with him--oh, I can't bear to hear him rave! It is awful! Hecalls for me, and yet does not know me. O Jack, it makes my heart acheso, he is so weak! He came to see me--and then went away--I didn't knowwhere he had gone. And all the time he was starving here. O God! Itwould be too dreadful--if he should die!"

  "We won't let him die!" he stoutly replied. "I'm going in to see him."

  Together they went in. The doctor, intently studying his patient, satmotionless and silent. He was a young man with a serious face, but hismovements were quick, silent, and full of decision. He looked up andmade a motion, stopping them where they were.

  Out of a low mutter at last Harold's words grew distinct: "I don'tcare--but the water is cold as ice--I wouldn't put a cayuse into it--letalone Kintuck. Should be a bridge here somewhere."

  "Oh, he's on the trail again!" said Mary. "Harold, don't you know me?"She bent over to him again and put forth the utmost intensity of herwill to recall him. "I am here, Harold, don't you see me?"

  His head
ceased to roll and he looked at her with eyes that made herheart grow sick--then a slow, faint smile came to his lips. "Yes--I knowyou, Mary--but the river is between us, and it's swift and cold, andKintuck is thin and hungry--I can't cross now!"

  "Doctor," said Jack, as the physician was leaving, "what are thechances?"

  The doctor's voice carried conviction: "Oh, he'll pull through--he hasone of the finest bodies I ever saw." He smiled. "He'll cross the riverall right--and land on our side."

  Two days later Mr. Excell, big and brown, his brow also knotted withanxiety, entered the room, and fell on his knees and threw his long armover the helpless figure beneath the coverlet. "Harry! My boy, do youknow me?"

  Harold looked up at him with big staring eyes and slowly put out hishand. "Sure thing! And I'm not dead yet, father. I'll soon be all right.I've got Mary with me. She can cure me--if the doctor can't."

  He spoke slowly, but there was will behind the voice. His wasted facehad a gentleness that was most moving to the father. He could not lookat the pitiful wreck of his once proud and fearless boy without weeping,and being mindful of Harold's prejudice against sentiment, he left theroom to regain his composure. To Mary Mr. Excell said: "I don't knowyou--but you are a noble woman. I give you a father's gratitude. Won'tyou tell me who you are?"

  "I am Mary Yardwell," she replied in her peculiarly succinct speech. "Myhome was in Marmion, but I attended school in your village. I sang inyour church for a little while."

  His face lighted up. "I remember you--a pale, serious little girl. Didyou know my son there?"

  She looked away for a moment. "I sang for him--when he was in jail," shereplied. "I belonged to the Rescue Band."

  A shadow fell again upon the father's face.

  "I did not know it," he said, feeling something mysterioushere--something which lay outside his grasp. "Have you seen himmeanwhile? I suppose you must have done so."

  "Once, in Marmion, some four years ago."

  "Ah! Now I understand his visit to Marmion," said Mr. Excell, with asudden smile. "I thought he came to see Jack and me. He really came tosee you. Am I right?"

  "Yes," she replied. "He wanted me to go back with him, butI--I--couldn't do so."

  "I know--I know," he replied hastily. "He had no right to ask it ofyou--poor boy."

  "It seems now as though I had no right to refuse. I might have helpedhim. If he should die now there would be an incurable ache here"--shelifted her hand to her throat; "so long as I lived I should not forgivemyself."