by Bret Harte
with the full pitch of hervoice.
Suddenly she stopped.
There was a faint and unmistakable rapping on the floor beneath her.It was distinct, but cautiously given, as if intended to be audible toher alone. For a moment she stood upright, her feet still bare andglistening, on the otter skin that served as a rug. There were twodoors to the room, one from which her brother had disappeared, whichled to the steps, the other giving on the back gallery, looking inland.With a quick instinct she caught up her gun and ran to that one, butnot before a rapid scramble near the railing was followed by a cautiousopening of the door. She was just in time to shut it on the extendedarm and light blue sleeve of an army overcoat that protruded throughthe opening, and for a moment threw her whole weight against it.
"A dhrop of whiskey, Miss, for the love of God."
She retained her hold, cocked her weapon, and stepped back a pace fromthe door. The blue sleeve was followed by the rest of the overcoat,and a blue cap with the infantry blazoning, and the letter H on itspeak. They were for the moment more distinguishable than the manbeneath them--grimed and blackened with the slime of the Marsh. Butwhat could be seen of his mud-stained face was more grotesque thanterrifying. A combination of weakness and audacity, insinuation andtimidity struggled through the dirt for expression. His small blueeyes were not ill-natured, and even the intruding arm trembled morefrom exhaustion than passion.
"On'y a dhrop, Miss," he repeated piteously, "and av ye pleeze, quick!afore I'm stharved with the cold entoirely."
She looked at him intently--without lowering her gun.
"Who are you?"
"Thin, it's the truth I'll tell ye, Miss--whisth then!" he said in ahalf-whisper; "I'm a desarter!"
"Then it was YOU that was doggin' us on the Marsh?"
"It was the sarjint I was lavin', Miss."
She looked at him hesitatingly.
"Stay outside there; if you move a step into the room, I'll blow youout of it."
He stepped back on the gallery. She closed the door, bolted it, andstill holding the gun, opened a cupboard, poured out a glass ofwhiskey, and returning to the door, opened it and handed him the liquor.
She watched him drain it eagerly, saw the fiery stimulant put life intohis shivering frame, trembling hands, and kindle his dulleye--and--quietly raised her gun again.
"Ah, put it down, Miss, put it down! Fwhot's the use? Sure thebullets yee carry in them oiyes of yours is more deadly! It's out hereoi'll sthand, glory be to God, all night, without movin' a fut till thesarjint comes to take me, av ye won't levil them oiyes at me like that.Ah, whirra! look at that now! but it's a gooddess she is--the livin'Jaynus of warr, standin' there like a statoo, wid her alybaster fut putforward."
In her pride and conscious superiority, any suggestion of shame at thusappearing before a common man and a mendicant was as impossible to hernature as it would have been to a queen or the goddess of his simile.His presence and his compliment alike passed her calm modestyunchallenged. The wretched scamp recognized the fact and felt itspower, and it was with a superstitious reverence asserting itselfthrough his native extravagance that he raised his grimy hand to hiscap in military salute and became respectfully rigid.
"Then the sodgers were huntin' YOU?" she said thoughtfully, loweringher weapon.
"Thrue for you, Miss--they worr, and it's meself that was lyin' flat inthe ditch wid me faytures makin' an illigant cast in the mud--morebetoken, as ye see even now--and the sarjint and his daytail thrampin'round me. It was thin that the mortial cold sthruck thro' me mouth,and made me wake for the whiskey that would resthore me."
"What did you desert fer?"
"Ah, list to that now! Fwhat did I desart fer? Shure ev there was theghost of an inemy round, it's meself that would be in the front now!But it was the letthers from me ould mother, Miss, that is sthruck wida mortial illness--long life to her!--in County Clare, and me sisthersin Ninth Avenue in New York, fornint the daypo, that is brekken theirharruts over me listin' in the Fourth Infanthry to do duty in a haythenwilderness. Av it was the cavalry--and it's me own father that was inthe Innishkillen Dthragoons, Miss--oi wouldn't moind. Wid a horsebetune me legs, it's on parade oi'd be now, Miss, and not wandheringover the bare flure of the Marsh, stharved wid the cold, the thirst,and hunger, wid the mud and the moire thick on me; facin' an illigantyoung leddy as is the ekal ov a Fayld Marshal's darter--not to sphakeov Kernal Preston's--ez couldn't hold a candle to her."
Brought up on the Spanish frontier, Maggie Culpepper was one of the fewAmerican girls who was not familiar with the Irish race. The raresmile that momentarily lit up her petulant mouth seemed to justify theintruder's praise. But it passed quickly, and she returned dryly:
"That means you want more drink, suthin' to eat, and clothes. Supposemy brother comes back and ketches you here?"
"Shure, Miss, he's just now hunten me, along wid his two haythenDiggers, beyond the laygoon there. It worr the yellar one thatsphotted me lyin' there in the ditch; it worr only your own oiyes,Miss--more power to their beauty for that!--that saw me folly himunbeknownst here; and that desaved them, ye see!"
The young girl remained for an instant silent and thoughtful.
"We're no friends of the Fort," she said finally, "but I don't reckonfor that reason my brother will cotton to YOU. Stay out thar where yeare, till I come to ye. If you hear me singin' again, you'll know he'scome back, and ye'd better scoot with what you've already got, and bethankful."
She shut the door again and locked it, went into the dining-room,returned with some provisions wrapped in paper, took a common wickerflask from the wall, passed into her brother's bedroom, and came outwith a flannel shirt, overalls, and a coarse Indian blanket, and,reopening the door, placed them before the astonished and delightedvagabond. His eye glistened; he began, "Glory be to God," but for oncehis habitual extravagance failed him. Nature triumphed with a moreeloquent silence over his well-worn art. He hurriedly wiped hisbegrimed face and eyes with the shirt she had given him, and catchingthe sleeve of her rough pea-jacket in his dirty hand, raised it to hislips.
"Go!" she said imperiously. "Get away while you can."
"Av it vas me last words--it's speechless oi am," he stammered, anddisappeared over the railing.
She remained for a moment holding the door half open, and gazing intothe darkness that seemed to flow in like a tide. Then she shut it, andgoing into her bedroom resumed her interrupted toilette. When sheemerged again she was smartly stockinged and slippered, and even theblue serge skirt was exchanged for a bright print, with a white fichutied around her throat. An attempt to subdue her rebellious curls hadresulted in the construction from their ruins of a low Norman archacross her forehead with pillared abutments of ringlets. When herbrother returned a few moments later she did not look up, but remained,perhaps a little ostentatiously, bending over the fire.
"Bob allowed that the Fort boat was huntin' MEN--deserters, I reckon,"said Jim aggrievedly. "Wanted me to believe that he SAW one on theMarsh hidin'. On'y an Injin lie, I reckon, to git a little extrafire-water, for toting me out to the bresh on a fool's errand."
"Oh, THAT'S where you went!" said Maggie, addressing the fire. "Sincewhen hev you tuk partnership with the Guv'nment and Kernel Preston tohunt up and take keer of their property?"
"Well, I ain't goin' to hev such wreckage as they pick up and enlistset adrift on our marshes, Mag," said Jim decidedly.
"What would you hev done had you ketched him?" said Maggie, lookingsuddenly into her brother's face.
"Given him a dose of snipe-shot that he'd remember, and be thankful itwasn't slugs," said Jim promptly. Observing a deeper seriousness inher attitude, he added, "Why, if it was in war-time he'd get a BALLfrom them sodgers on sight."
"Yes; but YOU ain't got no call to interfere," said Maggie.
"Ain't I? Why, he's no better than an outlaw. I ain't sure that hehasn't been stealin' or killin' somebody over theer."
"Not that man!" said Maggie impuls
ively.
"Not what man?" said her brother, facing her quickly.
"Why," returned Maggie, repairing her indiscretion with femininedexterity, "not ANY man who might have knocked you and me over on themarshes in the dusk, and grabbed our guns."
"Wish he'd hev tried it," said the brother, with a superior smile, buta quickly rising color. "Where d'ye suppose I'D hev been all thewhile?"
Maggie saw her mistake, and for the first time in her life resolved tokeep