The Westerners

by Stewart Edward White

  XVIII

  TIRED WINGS

  In spite of the fact that she had laughed at Graham's blindness infalling into her trap, Molly Lafond felt enough curiosity to induce herto enter into several conversations with him during the course of thatafternoon. He sat by the door whistling. Out in the sun the men cutlogs, notched ends, heaved and pushed. The girl alternated betweenpersonal encouragement of the workers, and a curious examination of theidler.

  Graham interested her because he puzzled her. The young man no longerheld to the quizzical and cynical attitude he had assumed in themorning, but neither did he at once manifest that personal interestwhich she had imagined inevitable. He caught at her statement that shehad done nothing but "read, read, read." In the course of twentyminutes he had made her most keenly aware of her deficiencies, and thatwithout the display of any other motive than a frank desire to discussthe extent of her knowledge. He opened to her fields whose existenceshe had never suspected; he showed her that she had but superficiallyexamined those she had entered. Authors she had much admired hedisposed of cavalierly, and in their stead substituted others of whomshe had never heard.

  "I like Bulwer," she remarked, secure in her classic because it hadbeen the only one of Sweeney's collection to come in a set and bound inbrown leather.

  "Bulwer, yes," said Graham, pulling his little moustache, and speaking,as his habit sometimes was, more to himself than to his companion. "Weall go through that stage, but we get over it after awhile. You see,he's superficial and awfully pedantic. There is much beauty in it,too. I remember in one of his novels--I forget which--there is apicture of a child tossing her ball skyward, with eyes turned upward tothe skies, that is worth a good deal."

  "It's in _What Will He Do with It?_" cried Molly, aglow at being ableto interpolate correctly.

  "Yes," assented Graham, indifferently. "It has something to do withyouth, I think. Before our critical judgment grows up and finds himout, there is a peculiar elevation about Bulwer's themes and treatment.His world is blown; but it is big, and his figures have a certainscornful nobility about them. If I were to compete with the gentlemanunder discussion," he concluded, with a slight laugh, "I would say thathe throws upon the true gold of youthful ideals, hopes, and dreams, thelight of his own tinsel."

  Molly was subdued, humbled. She was deprived at a stroke of all herweapons. For the first time she found herself looking up to a man, andwondering whether she could ever meet him on terms of equality. Shecaught herself covertly scrutinizing Graham to see if he too realizedhis advantage. He was genuinely interested; that was all. He seemedto take it for granted that she was already on his level. Thisencouraged her somewhat.

  Whenever she again joined the group of sweating men at work on herhouse, she felt subtly that she was returning from a far country. Shehad brought back with her something new. The nature of theconversation had lifted her to the contemplation of fresh possibilitiesof human intercourse. With a defiant toss of the head she indulgedherself to the extent of imagining several Bulwer-like conversations,in which she dealt out brilliant generalities to the universalapplause. It was the first flight her wings had essayed; the firstcharm not merely physical that she had experienced with one of theother sex. She felt she was going to like this man Graham.

  And yet that very elation was one of the reasons why, after dinner inthe "hotel," she walked with Billy Knapp, although Graham was plainlywaiting for her. It had been her first flight; her wings were tired.The reaction had come.

  The dinner itself, and its manner, had much to do with bringing this toher consciousness. Entering at one end of the hotel dining-room, shefirst became aware of the cook stove at the other, and, behind it,tins. Down the centre extended the three bench-flanked board tables,polished smooth by the combined influences of spilled grease and muchrubbing. At certain short intervals had been stationed tin plates,over each of which were stacked, pyramid fashion, an iron knife, forkand spoon. Tin cups spaced the plates. Down the centre of each tablewere distributed thick white china receptacles containing sugar, lumpyand brown with coffee; salt; and butter on the point of melting. Atdinner-time the cook placed between these receptacles capacious tins,steaming respectively, with fried and boiled pork, boiled potatoes,cornmeal mush, and canned tomatoes; besides corn bread, soda biscuits,and a small quantity of milk for the coffee. Then, wiping hisglistening face on the red-checked little towel that hung at his waist,he entered the "office" and, seizing a huge bell, clanged forth, now tothe right, now to the left, that his meal was ready.

  The men ate in their shirt sleeves, those farthest half obscured by theclouds of steam from the uncovered dishes. The cook stove, the dishes,and the men heated the low unventilated room almost to suffocation.They gobbled their food rapidly, taking noisy swigs of the coffee fromthe tin cups. As each finished, he wiped his plate clean with the softinside of a soda biscuit, drew his knife across the bread once ortwice, swallowed the gravy-laden biscuit at one mouthful, and departedwithout further ceremony into the outer air.

  It was all thoroughly Western, thoroughly material, thoroughly restfulto tired wings.

  As the meal progressed, the exaltation faded slowly. Molly receivedthe assiduous attentions of everybody. After dinner, as has been said,she and the wonderful Billy Knapp disappeared into the twilight,leaving the disconsolate miners to find their way to the Little Nuggetwhen it pleased them to do so.

  Billy talked. He poured out his confidences. He told how great wasBilly, how bright were Billy's prospects, how important were Billy'sresponsibilities. He was glad to show this young girl the town; it wasBilly's town. He was pleased to tell her the names of the hillshereabouts; these hills concealed within their depths the veins ofBilly's lodes. He delighted in giving the history of the men they met;for these men looked up to Billy as the architect of their futureforties. He spoke enthusiastically of the prospects.

  "Thar is a lode," said he earnestly, "over on the J.G. fraction that'sshore th' purtiest bit of quartz lead you ever see. The walls is allof slate, running jest's slick side by side, with a clear vein between'em, and she'll run 'way up, free millin'. I tell you what, MissMolly, thar's big money in it, thar shorely is! When I get thoseEaste'n capitalists interested, and ready to put a little _salt_ in,and git up a few mills and necessary buildin's, you'll jest see thingshummin' in this yar kentry."

  Out of the darkness a silent little figure glided and fell in step withthe girl.

  "Hullo, bub," said Billy indifferently, and went on to tell what he wasgoing to do. Billy had great plans.

  Molly said nothing to the new member of their party, but she reachedout her hand and patted the little cotton-covered shoulder. She lookedabout at the dark town and the hills, and drew a deep breath. This wasreal, tangible. She felt at home in it, and she was adequate to allthat its conditions might bring forth. Above all, she was confidenthere. Graham and his ideas seemed to her at the moment quite nebulousand phantom-like.

  "Let's go to the Little Nugget," she suggested suddenly.

  They turned to retrace their steps. As they passed an open doorway, abig man darted out with unnatural agility and seized the Kid by thescruff of the neck.

  "I beg your pardon, miss, whom I am overjoyed to meet. Standing as Ido _in loco parentis_, the claims of the rising generation constrain meto postpone that more intimate acquaintance which your attractionsdemand of my desire. Come along here, you!" and he dragged the Kid,struggling and crying out, into the dark cabin.

  "Ain't he great?" cried Billy, with real enthusiasm. "Ain't he just?They ain't a man in th' whole Northwest as can sling the langwidge thatman can when he tries. You just ought to see him when he cuts loose,you just ought."

  "Who is he?" asked Molly.

  "Him? What, him? He's Moroney!"

  His tone denied the need of further question. They entered the saloon.

  The first half hour of Molly's evening in the Little Nugget wasconstrained. Up to this point she had met
the men of the camp underextraordinary circumstances. Now she was called upon to face them intheir time of relaxation and accustomed comfort. Such moments ofleisure crystallize for us men everywhere our opinions of people.Anybody is welcome to sail with us, hunt with us, fish with us, ridewith us, work with us, provided he is personally agreeable andunderstands the game. We are not so undiscriminating when it comes toa study fire and an easy chair. Translate the study fire and the easychair to the Little Nugget and a quiet game, and you will see onereason for the constraint. No unkindness was intended. The situationwas merely, but inevitably, awkward for everybody.

  In such emergencies as this, where a creature of coarser fibre wouldfail, Molly's hereditary fineness of instinct stood her in good stead.She saw intuitively the attitude she should take. In the first place,she held herself in the background, left the lead to others, behaved asif she suspected herself of being an intruder; so that the men suddenlyfelt themselves very paternal and adoptive.

  In the second place, she encouraged them to show off; which they didwith the utmost heartiness. The first embarrassment wore away beforelong, and Molly took her place in the corner of the bar with the tacitapproval of every man in the room.

  The remainder of the evening was enjoyable. Some features of it wouldscarcely have impressed a refined Easterner favorably, for these wererough men, with crude tastes and passions. Once having accepted thegirl as one of themselves, they lapsed to some extent, though notentirely, into their accustomed manner. It is a little difficultsometimes to interpret the West in terms of the East. An act which inthe older country would be significant of too licensed freedom, on thefrontier is a matter of course. Everything depends on the point ofview and the attitude of mind.

  Around Molly Lafond seethed a constantly changing group of men. Theyjoked boisterously at one another and at her. The standard of wit wasthe saying of insulting things with a laugh that showed that the remarkheld in itself something of facetious sarcasm. Through thinner skinsit would have bitten cruelly. Behind this lively group sat another,more silent, smoking the amused pipe of contemplation, all alert to thechances of conversational battle, ready to jump up and enter the listswhenever a bright idea suggested itself. In the corner just behind thebar, lurked Black Mike, keeping a sinister eye on Frosty'sdispensations. The faro dealer called his cards imperturbably over hisscantily patronized game. Occasionally someone, glowing with thegood-natured excitement of jesting, would break away from the laughinggroup, and, standing the while, would stake a few red chips on a turnor so of the cards.

  Peter, obsessed of some sudden and doggish affection, ceased hisrestless wanderings. He took up his position, resting on one hip, bothhind legs to one side, directly beneath Molly's feet. There his shaggyhead was of such a height that the girl could just reach it with thepoint of her shoe. From time to time, when the exigency demanded sucha pose, she looked down prettily, and stirred the animal's button earswith her little foot. On such occasions Peter gravely rolled his eyesupward and wriggled his stump of a tail.

  A young fellow by the name of Dave Kelly stood nearest her. He was ahandsome young fellow, with a laughing boyish face. As time went on,he became more and more elated and sure of himself. Occasionally, whenthe press of men behind would push him forward, he would reach acrossthe girl to regain his balance. Once he put his hand lightly on thepoint of her shoulder. He paused, with a strange delicious thrill atthe feel of the round young arm under the loose stuff of the gown,which slipped beneath his grasp to emphasize the smoothness of theskin. Aware of the touch, she looked toward him for a minute,laughing. Somehow it gave him a strange feeling of intimacy with her,inexplicable, subtle. Without knowing why he did so, he felt his ownshoulder underneath his loose flannel shirt. It gave the sameimpression, only rougher, coarser.

  There suddenly sprang into his mind a sense of physical kinship betweenhimself and her. He took frequent opportunities of repeating thecontact, always lightly, always with the same delicious thrill. Ateach touch the girl turned to him for a vaguely smiling instant. Shewas absorbed in the men about her. The youth at her side had fallensilent, but her good nature extended to everybody.

  Late in the evening somebody suggested that Frosty had been singularlyunemployed. Glasses were filled. Molly's was handed to her.

  "I don't want any," said she.

  "It'll do y' good," "Try her," "Aw, come on!" urged a dozen voices.

  She sipped a little. It tasted to her like liquid fire, with a strangegagging property as it reached the region of the epiglottis. Shesputtered and choked.

  "Ugh!" she shuddered. "Ugh! I couldn't get a glass of that stuff downif it killed me." She shut her eyes and shivered with a prettydisgust. "I simply can't," she repeated.

  "Ain't ye got anything else, Frosty?" they cried reproachfully. "Thatstuff's purty rank fer a lady, that's right. Skirmish around thar, an'see what y' kin discover."

  Frosty skirmished around, and finally bobbed up, red-faced, with abottle of some light wine. Molly drank this slowly, with little moresatisfaction. Some people never care for the taste of anything withalcohol in it, and the cheap wine had more than the suspicion of a wireedge. But she liked the warm glow that followed, and she found that ina moment or so she was much pleased with herself.

  "Give me another of those," she smiled to Frosty, holding out the emptyglass. The men chuckled. This was something like.

  Molly drank the other glass. In a few minutes she felt sleepy. "I'mgoing to turn in," she said abruptly, and slid down on the unsuspectingPeter. They disentangled the trouble with merriment. Molly consoledPeter. The room was full of noise and light.

  "May I take you over?" Kelly was asking in her ear. She nodded assent.The other men looked chagrined. It had not occurred to them.

  Dave Kelly and Molly stepped gayly from the heated, garish saloon intothe still night. The contrast made them feel yet gayer. They remarkedon the stars and the moon, to do which it became necessary to lookupward and slacken their steps. He was very close to her. He slippedhis arm about her waist, his great hand resting firmly beneath hersmall bust, and they stumbled on together in breathless silence. Hefelt very bold and elated and happy.

  Suddenly she looked down with an air of mock surprise. "What is this?"she cried, lifting one of Dave's fingers and letting it fall. "Why, itlooks like your hand!"

  "That's so!" grinned Dave.

  "I wonder how that could have got there!"

  Dave, finding himself unequal to persiflage, made no reply. Shenestled up to him a little and sighed. She liked it. She had not theslightest idea that there was anything out of the way in it. Whyshould she? Morals, as we understand them, she had never been taught.They slowly approached the wagon, which during the day had been draggedto a less conspicuous but more distant locality.

  Ah, Molly, Molly, those wings are very tired!

  At the moment when Kelly first pressed the girl to him, he experienceda sudden lessening of her charm. It was not that she was lessfeminine, or that, in his eyes, she had lost any moral excellence byher easy surrender. Dave had probably as rudimentary ideas of thefiner moralities as Molly herself. But one very definite element ofher attraction had been given up--that of mystery, of remoteness, ofdifference between herself and him. She was no longer a creature of awonderful and other sphere; she had become the female of his species.

  All this was subtle and slight and quite unappreciated and unanalyzedby Dave himself. But the keen intuition of the girl discovered it.She felt the difference. Suddenly she became aware of the fact thatwhatever a woman gives to a man takes something from her attraction,and adds something to his. With the discovery, she resolutely put hishand away.

  "That's enough of that," she said in the sensible voice which somewomen use so effectually.

  Dave, unwilling to let the sensation go before he had drained it,attempted to seize her by force. She slipped away and ran like a deerto her wagon, gleaming white through the darkn
ess. Dave sprang inpursuit. At the instant Peter, who had followed unperceived, leapedwith a growl and fastened his teeth into Dave's cowhide boot. Theminer paused a moment undecided, and then, his natural good naturecoming to his rescue, he laughed. An answering laugh echoed from thedirection of the wagon.

  "That's a pretty trick," he called, trying to disengage Peter's jaws.Peter shook his head savagely and growled.

  "You ought to learn to run," came the voice from the safety of thewagon.

  "Run!" laughed Dave. "Run with a dawg hangin' to you? Call him andsee if you can get him to leave go."

  "Dog?" repeated the voice in puzzled tones.

  "Yes, dog--this yere Peter. He seems to have took up with you-all.He's got me by th' laig!"

  Molly reappeared cautiously. Then she saw Peter, and advanced boldly.The two young people looked at the eager and determined little dog, andlaughed with great good nature. Their crisis had passed, fortunatelywithout harm to either. Molly took Peter by the collar. Peter at oncelet go.

  "Good night," said Molly decidedly to Dave.

  "Good night," said Dave, and turned back.

  Molly walked on to the wagon, closely followed by Peter. As sheclimbed in, she turned and caught sight of the little animal, eyeingher wistfully.

  "Want to come in?" said she.

  Peter jumped to the whiffletree, then upon the seat, then into thewagon. Molly followed.

  "Peter," said she, "we won't do that any more. I don't believe it's agood scheme. What do you think, dog?"

  Peter wagged his stump of a tail, but as it was quite dark, thisexpression of approval was lost. "I hope he won't say anything aboutit," she went on reflectively. "But if he does"--she tossed herhead--"much good may it do any of them!" Then, after some time,"Peter, let's go to sleep."

  Peter whined with content.