CHAPTER XVIII
HER BAD PENNY
Nan reached her room in a fever of excitement, angry at de Spain,bitterly angry at Gale, angry with the mountains, the world, andresentfully fighting the pillow on which she cried herself to sleep.
In the morning every nerve was on edge. When her Uncle Duke, with hischopping utterance, said something short to her at their very earlybreakfast he was surprised by an answer equally short. Her uncleretorted sharply. A second curt answer greeted his rebuff, and whilehe stared at her, Nan left the table and the room.
Duke, taking two of the men, started that morning for Sleepy Cat witha bunch of cattle. He rode a fractious horse, as he always did, andthis time the horse, infuriated as his horses frequently were by hisbrutal treatment, bolted in a moment unguarded by his master, andflung Duke on his back in a strip of lava rocks.
The old man--in the mountains a man is called old after he passesforty--was heavy, and the fall a serious one. He picked himself upwhile the men were recovering his horse, knocked the horse over witha piece of jagged rock when the frightened beast was brought back,climbed into the saddle again, and rode all the way into town.
But when his business was done, Duke, too, was done. He could neithersit a horse, nor sit in a wagon. Doctor Torpy, after an examination,told him he was booked for the hospital. A stream of profane protestmade no difference with his adviser, and, after many threats and hardwords, to the hospital the hard-shelled mountaineer was taken. SleepyCat was stirred at the news, and that the man who had defied everybodyin the mountains for twenty years should have been laid low and sentto the hospital by a mere bronco was the topic of many comments.
The men that had driven the cattle with Duke, having been paid off,were now past getting home, and there were no telephones in the Gap.De Spain, who was at Calabasas, knew Nan would not be alarmed shouldher uncle not return that night. But early in the morning a messengerfrom McAlpin rode to her with a note, telling her of the accident.
Whatever his vices, Duke had been a good protector to his deadbrother's child. He had sent her to good schools and tried to revivein her, despite her untoward surroundings, the better traditions ofthe family as it had once flourished in Kentucky. Nan took the saddlefor Sleepy Cat in haste and alarm. When she reached her uncle'sbedside she understood how seriously he had been hurt, and thedoctor's warnings were not needed to convince her he must have care.
Duke refused to let her leave him, in any case, and Nan relieved thenurse, and what was of equal moment, made herself custodian of thecash in hand before Duke's town companions could get hold of it.Occasional trips to the Gap were necessary as the weeks passed and heruncle could not be moved. These Nan had feared as threatening anencounter either by accident, or on his part designed, with de Spain.But the impending encounter never took place. De Spain, attendingclosely to his own business, managed to keep accurate track of herwhereabouts without getting in her way. She had come to Sleepy Catdreading to meet him and fearing his influence over her, but thisapprehension, with the passing of a curiously brief period, dissolvedinto a confidence in her ability to withstand further interference, onany one's part, with her feelings.
Gale Morgan rode into town frequently, and Nan at first painfullyapprehended hearing some time of a deadly duel between her truculentGap admirer and her persistent town courtier--who was moreconsiderate and better-mannered, but no less dogged and, in fact, agood deal more difficult to handle.
As to the boisterous mountain-man, his resolute little cousin made nosecret of her detestation of him. She denied and defied him as openlyas a girl could and heard his threats with continued indifference. Shewas quite alone, too, in her fear of any fatal meeting between the twomen who seemed determined to pursue her.
The truth was that after Calabasas, de Spain, from Thief River toSleepy Cat, was a marked man. None sought to cross his path or hispurposes. Every one agreed he would yet be killed, but not thehardiest of the men left to attack him cared to undertake the jobthemselves. The streets of the towns and the trails of the mountainswere free as the wind to de Spain. And neither the town haunts ofCalabasas men nor those of their Morgan Gap sympathizers had anychampion disposed to follow too closely the alert Medicine Bendrailroader.
In and about the hospital, and in the town itself, Nan found the chiefobstacle to her peace of mind in the talk she could not always avoidhearing about de Spain. Convalescents in the corridors, practicallyall of them men, never gathered in sunny corners or at the tables inthe dining-room without de Spain's name coming in some way into thetalk, to be followed with varying circumstantial accounts of whatreally had happened that day at Calabasas.
And with all the known escapades in which he had figured, exhausted astopics, by long-winded commentators, more or less hazy stories of hisearlier experiences at Medicine Bend in the company of WhisperingSmith were dragged into the talk. One convalescent stage-guard at thehospital told a story one night at supper about him that chilled Nanagain with strange fears, for she knew it to be true. He had had itfrom McAlpin himself, so the guard said, that de Spain's father hadlong ago been shot down from ambush by a cattleman and that Henry deSpain had sworn to find that man and kill him. And it was hintedpretty strongly that de Spain had information when he consented tocome to Sleepy Cat that the assassin still lived, and lived somewherearound the head of the Sinks.
That night, Nan dreamed. She dreamed of a sinister mark on a face thatshe had never before seen--a face going into bronzed young manhoodwith quick brown eyes looking eagerly at her. And before her wonderinglook it faded, dreamlike, into a soft mist, and where it had been, aman lay, lifting himself on one arm from the ground--his sleevetattered, his collar torn, his eyes half-living, half-dead, his hairclotted, his lips stiffened and distended, his face drawn. And all ofthis dissolved into an image of de Spain on horseback, sudden, alert,threatening, looking through the mist at an enemy. Then Nan heard thesharp report of a rifle and saw him whirl half around--struck--in hissaddle, and fall. But he fell into her arms, and she woke sobbingviolently.
She was upset for the whole day, moody and apprehensive, with apremonition that she should soon see de Spain--and, perhaps, hurtagain. The dream unnerved her every time she thought of him. Thatevening the doctor came late. When he walked in he asked her if sheknew it was Frontier Day, and reminded her that just a year ago shehad shot against Henry de Spain and beaten the most dangerous man andthe deadliest shot on the mountain divide in her rifle match. How hehad grown in the imagination of Sleepy Cat and Music Mountain, shesaid to herself--while the doctor talked to her uncle--since that daya year ago! Then he was no more than an unknown and discomfitedmarksman from Medicine Bend, beaten by a mountain girl: now the mosttalked-of man in the high country. And the suspicion would sometimesobtrude itself with pride into her mind, that she who never mentionedhis name when it was discussed before her, really knew and understoodhim better than any of those that talked so much--that she had atleast one great secret with him alone.
When leaving, the doctor wished to send over from his office medicinefor her uncle. Nan offered to go with him, but the doctor said it waspretty late and Main Street pretty noisy: he preferred to find amessenger.
Nan was sitting in the sick-room a little later--B-19 in the old wingof the hospital, facing the mountains--when there came a rap on thehalf-open door. She went forward to take the medicine from themessenger and saw, standing before her in the hall, de Spain.
She shrank back as if struck. She tried to speak. Her tongue refusedits office. De Spain held a package out in his hand. "Doctor Torpyasked me to give you this."
"Doctor Torpy? What is it?"
"I really don't know--I suppose it is medicine." She heard her uncleturn in his bed at the sound of voices. Thinking only that he must notat any cost see de Spain, Nan stepped quickly into the hall and facedthe messenger. "I was over at the doctor's office just now," continuedher visitor evenly, "he asked me to bring this down for your uncle."She took the package with an incoherent
acknowledgment. Withoutletting her eyes meet his, she was conscious of how fresh and cleanand strong he looked, dressed in a livelier manner than usual--apartly cowboy effect, with a broader Stetson and a gayer tie than heordinarily affected. De Spain kept on speaking: "The telephone girl inthe office down-stairs told me to come right up. How is your uncle?"
She regarded him wonderingly: "He has a good deal of pain," sheanswered quietly.
"Too bad he should have been hurt in such a way. Are you pretty well,Nan?" She thanked him.
"Have you got over being mad at me?" he asked.
"No," she averred resolutely.
"I'm glad you're not," he returned, "I'm not over being mad at myself.Haven't seen you for a long time. Stay here a good deal, do you?"
"All the time."
"I'll bet you don't know what day this is?"
Nan looked up the corridor, but she answered to the point: "You'dlose."
"It's our anniversary." She darted a look of indignant disclaimer athim. But in doing so she met his eyes. "Have you seen the decorationsin Main Street?" he asked indifferently. "Come out for a minute andlook at them."
She shook her head: "I don't care to," she answered, lookingrestlessly, this time, down the corridor.
"Come to the door just a minute and see the way they've lighted thearches." She knew just the expression of his eyes that went with thattone. She looked vexedly at him to confirm her suspicion. Sure enoughthere in the brown part and in the lids, it was, the most troublesomepossible kind of an expression--hard to be resolute against. Her eyesfell away, but some damage had been done. He did not say another word.None seemed necessary. He just kept still and something--no one couldhave said just what--seemed to talk for him to poor defenseless Nan.She hesitated helplessly: "I can't leave uncle," she objected atlast.
"Ask him to come along."
Her eyes fluttered about the dimly lighted hall: de Spain gazed on heras steadily as a charmer. "I ought not to leave even for a minute,"she protested weakly.
"I'll stay here at the door while you go."
Irresolute, she let her eyes rest again for a fraction of a second onhis eyes; when she drew a breath after that pause everything was over."I'd better give him his medicine first," she said, looking toward thesick-room door.
His monosyllabic answer was calm: "Do." Then as she laid her hand onthe knob of the door to enter the room: "Can I help any?"
"Oh, no!" she cried indignantly.
He laughed silently: "I'll stay here."
Nan disappeared. Lounging against the window-sill opposite the door,he waited. After a long time the door was stealthily reopened. Nantiptoed out. She closed it softly behind her: "I waited for him to goto sleep," she explained as she started down the corridor with deSpain. "He's had so much pain to-day: I hope he will sleep."
"I hope so, too," exclaimed de Spain fervently.
Nan ignored the implication. She looked straight ahead. She hadnothing to say. De Spain, walking beside her, devoured her with hiseyes; listened to her footfalls; tried to make talk; but Nan wassilent.
Standing on the wide veranda outside the front door, she assented tothe beauty of the distant illumination but not enthusiastically. DeSpain declared it could be seen very much better from the streetbelow. Nan thought she could see very well where they stood. But bythis time she was answering questions--dryly, it is true and inmonosyllables, but answering. De Spain leading the way a step or twoforward at a time, coaxed her down the driveway.
She stood again irresolute, he drinking in the fragrance of herpresence after the long separation and playing her reluctanceguardedly. "Do you know," she exclaimed with sudden resentment, "youmake it awfully hard to be mean to you?"
With a laugh he caught her hand and made her walk down the hospitalsteps. "You may be as mean as you like," he answered indifferently."Only, never ask me to be mean to you."
"I wish to heaven you would be," she retorted.
"Do you remember," he asked, "what we were doing a year ago to-day?"
"No." Before he could speak again she changed her answer: "Yes, I doremember. If I said 'no' you'd be sure to remind me of what we weredoing. We can't see as well here as we could from the steps."
"But from here, you have the best view in Sleepy Cat of MusicMountain."
"We didn't come out here to see Music Mountain."
"I come here often to look at it. You won't let me see you--what can Ido but look at where you live? How long are you going to keep me awayfrom you?"
Nan did not answer. He urged her to speak. "You know very well it ismy people that will never be friendly with you," she replied. "How canI be?"
They were passing a lawn settee. He sat down. She would not follow.She stood in a sort of protest at his side, but he did not release herhand. "I'll tell you how you can be," he returned. "Make me one ofyour people."
"That never can be," she declared stubbornly. "You know it as well asI do. Why do you say such things?" she demanded, drawing away herhand.
"Do you want to know?"
"No."
"It's because I love you."
She strove to command herself: "Whether you do or not can't make anydifference," she returned steadily. "We are separated by everything.There's a gulf between us. It never can be crossed. We should both ofus be wretched if it ever were crossed."
He had risen from the bench and caught her hand: "It's because wehaven't crossed it we're wretched," he said determinedly. "Cross itwith me now!" He caught her in his arms. She struggled to escape. Sheknew what was coming and fought to keep her face from him. Withresistless strength and yet carefully as a mother with an obstinatechild, he held her slight body against his breast, relentlesslydrawing her head closer. "Let me go!" she panted, twisting her avertedhead from the hollow of his arm. Drinking in the wine of herfrightened breath, he bent over her in the darkness until his pulsingeagerness linked her warm lips to his own. She had surrendered to hisfirst kiss.
He spoke. "The gulf's crossed. Are you so awfully wretched?"
They sank together down on the bench. "What," she faltered, "willbecome of me now?"
"You are better off now than you ever were, Nan. You've gained thismoment a big brother, a lover you can drag around the world after youwith a piece of thread."
"You act as if I could!"
"I mean it: it's true. I'm pledged to you forever--you, to me,forever. We'll keep our secret till we can manage things; and we_will_ manage them. Everything will come right, Nan, becauseeverything must come right."
"I only hope you are not wrong," she murmured, her eyes turned towardthe sombre mountains.
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