The Eagles Heart

by Garland, Hamlin

  While still pondering over his letter he heard the rustle of a woman's dress and turned to face the princess, in magnificent attire, her gloved hand extended toward him, her face radiant with pleasure.

  "Why, my dear boy, where have you been?"

  Mose shook hands, his letter to Mary (still unsealed) in his left hand. "Been down on the range," he mumbled in profound embarrassment.

  She assumed a girlish part. "But you promised to come and see me."

  He turned away to seal his letter and she studied him with admiring eyes. He was so interesting in his boyish confusion—graceful in spite of his irrelevant movements, for he was as supple, as properly poised, and as sinewy as a panther.

  "You're a great boy," she said to him when he came back. "I like you, I want to do something for you. Get into my carriage, and let me tell you of some plans."

  He looked down at his faded woolen shirt and lifted his hand to his greasy sombrero. "Oh, no! I can't do that."

  She laughed. "You ought to be able to stand it if I can. I'd be rather proud of having 'Black Mose' in my carriage."

  "I guess not," he said. There was a cadence in these three words to which she bowed her head. She surrendered her notion quickly.

  "Come down to the Palace with me."

  "All right, I'll do that," he replied without interest.

  "Meet me there in half an hour."

  "All right."

  "Good-by till then."

  He did not reply but took her extended hand, while the young fellow in the postal cage grinned with profound appreciation. After the princess went out this clerk said, "Pard, you've struck it rich."

  Mose turned and his eyebrows lowered dangerously. "Keep to your letter punchin', young feller, and you'll enjoy better health."

  Those who happened to be standing in the room held their breath, for in that menacing, steady glare they recognized battle.

  The clerk gasped and stammered, "I didn't mean anything."

  "That's all right. You're lately from the East, or you wouldn't get gay with strangers in this country. See if there is any mail for Mose Harding—or Harry Excell."

  "Sorry, sir—nothing for Mr. Harding, nothing for Mr. Excell."

  Mose turned back to the desk and scrawled a short letter to Jack Burns asking him to let him know at once where Mary was, and whether it would be safe for him to visit her.

  As he went out in the street to mount his horse the marshal met him again, and Mose, irritated and hungry, said sharply:

  "See here, pardner, you act most cussedly like a man keeping watch on me."

  The marshal hastened to say, "Nothing of the kind. I like you, that's all. I want to talk with you—in fact I'm under orders from the princess to help you get a job if you want one. I've got an offer now. The Express Company want you to act as guard between here and Cañon City. Pay is one hundred dollars a month, ammunition furnished."

  Mose threw out his hand. "I'll do it—take it all back."

  The marshal shook hands without resentment, considering the apology ample, and together they sauntered down the street.

  "Now, pardner, let me tell you how I size up the princess. She's a good-hearted woman as ever lived, but she's a little off color with the women who run the church socials here. She's a rippin' good business woman, and her luck beats h—l. Why last week she bought a feller's claim in fer ten thousand dollars and yesterday they tapped a vein of eighty dollar ore, runnin' three feet wide. She don't haff to live here—she's worth a half million dollars—but she likes mining and she likes men. She knows how to handle 'em too—as you'll find out. She's hail-fellow with us all—but I tell ye she's got to like a feller all through before he sees the inside of her parlor. She's stuck on you. We're good friends—she come to call on my wife yesterday, and she talked about you pretty much the hull time. I never saw her worse bent up over a man. I believe she'd marry you, Mose, I do."

  "Takes two for a bargain of that kind," said Mose.

  The marshal turned. "But, my boy, that means making you a half owner of all she has—why that last mine may go to a million within six months."

  "That's all right," Mose replied, feeling the intended good will of the older man. "But I expect to find or earn my own money. I can't marry a woman fifteen years older'n I am for her money. It ain't right and it ain't decent, and you'll oblige me by shutting up all such talk."

  The sheriff humbly sighed. "She is a good deal older, that's a fact—but she's took care of herself. Still, as you say, it's none o' my business. If she can't persuade you, I can't. Come in, and I'll introduce you to the managers of the National——"

  "Can't now, I will later."

  "All right, so long! Come in any time."

  Mose stepped into a barber shop to brush up a little, for he had acquired a higher estimate of the princess, and when he entered the dining room of the Palace he made a handsome figure. Whatever he wore acquired distinction from his beauty. His hat, no matter how stained, possessed charm. His dark shirt displayed the splendid shape of his shoulders, and his cartridge belt slanted across his hip at just the right angle.

  The woman waiting for him smiled with an exultant glint in her half-concealed eyes.

  "Sit there," she commanded, pointing at a chair. "Two beers," she said to the waiter.

  Mose took the chair opposite and looked at her smilelessly. He waited for her to move.

  "Ever been East—Chicago, Washington?"

  "No."

  "Want to go?"

  "No."

  She smiled again. "Know anything about mining?"

  "Not a thing."

  She looked at him with a musing, admiring glance. "I've got a big cattle ranch—will you superintend it for me?"

  "Where is it?"

  She laughed and stammered a little. "Well—I mean I've been thinking of buying one. I'm kind o' tired of these mining towns; I believe I'd like to live on a ranch, with you to superintend it."

  His face darkened again, and she hastened to say, "The cattle business is going to boom again soon. They're all dropping out of it fast, but now is the time to get in and buy."

  The beer came and interrupted her. "Here's to good luck," she said. They drank, and as she daintily touched her lips with her handkerchief she lifted her eyes to him again—strange eyes with lovely green and yellow and pink lights in them not unlike some semi-precious stones.

  "You don't like me," she said. "Why won't you let me help you?"

  "You want a square-toed answer?" he asked grimly, looking her steadily in the eyes.

  She paled a little. "Yes."

  "There is a girl in Iowa—I make it my business to work for her."

  Her eyes fell and her right hand slowly turned the mug around and around. When she looked up she seemed older and her eyes were sadder. "That need make no difference."

  "But it does," he said slowly. "It makes all the difference there is."

  She became suddenly very humble. "You misunderstand me—I mean, I'll help you both. How do you expect to live?"

  His eyes fell now. He flushed and shifted uneasily in his chair. "I don't know." Then he unbent a little in saying, "That's what's bothering me right now."

  She pursued her advantage. "If you marry you've got to quit all this trail business."

  "Dead sure thing! And that scares me too. I don't know how I'd stand being tied down to a stake."

  She laid a hand on his arm. "Now see here, Mose, you let me help you. You know all about cattle and the trail, you can shoot and throw a rope, but you're a babe at lots of other things. You've got to get to work at something, settle right down, and dig up some dust. Now isn't that so?"

  "I reckon that's the size of it."

  It was singular how friendly she now seemed in his eyes. There was something so frank and gentle in her voice (though her eyes remained sinister) that he began almost to trust her.

  "Well, now, I tell you what you can do. You take the job I got for you with the Express Company and I'll look around and c
orral something else for you."

  He could not refuse to take her hand upon this compact. Then she said with an attempt to be careless, "Have you a picture of this girl? I'd like to see how she looks."

  His face darkened again. "No," he said shortly, "I never had one of her."

  She recognized his unwillingness to say more.

  "Well, good-by, come and see me."

  He parted from her with a sense of having been unnecessarily harsh with a woman who wished to be his good friend.

  He was hungry and that made him think of his horse which he returned to at once. After watering and feeding his tired beast he turned in at a coffeehouse and bought a lunch—not being able to afford a meal. Everywhere he went men pointed a timid or admiring thumb at him. They were unobtrusive about it, but it annoyed him at the moment. His mind was too entirely filled with perplexities to welcome strangers' greetings. "I must earn some money," was the thought which brought with it each time the offer of the Express Company. He determined each time to take it although it involved riding the same trail over and over again, which made him shudder to think of. But it was three times the pay of a cowboy and a single month of it would enable him to make his trip to the East.

  After his luncheon he turned in at the office and sullenly accepted the job. "You're just the man we need," said the manager. "We've had two or three hold-ups here, but with you on the seat I shall feel entirely at ease. Marshal Haney has recommended you—and I know your record as a daring man. Can you go out to-morrow morning?"

  "Quicker the better."

  "I'd like to have you sleep here in the office. I'll see that you have a good bed."

  "Anywhere."

  After Mose went out the manager winked at the marshal and said:

  "It's a good thing to have him retained on our side. He'd make a bad man on the hold-up side."

  "Sure thing!" replied Haney.

  While loitering on a street corner still busy with his problems Mose saw a tall man on a fine black horse coming down the street. The rider slouched in his saddle like a tired man but with the grace of a true horseman. On his bushy head sat a wide soft hat creased in the middle. His suit was brown corduroy.

  Mose thought, "If that bushy head was not so white I should say it was father's. It is father!"

  He let him pass, staring in astonishment at the transformation in the minister. "Well, well! the old man has woke up. He looks the real thing, sure."

  A drum struck up suddenly and the broncho (never too tired to shy) gave a frenzied leap. The rider went with him, reins in hand, heels set well in, knees grasping the saddle.

  Mose smiled with genuine pleasure. "I didn't know he could ride like that," and he turned to follow with a genuine interest.

  He came up to Mr. Excell just as the marshal stepped out of the crowd and accosted him. For the first time in his life Mose was moved to joke his father.

  "Marshal, that man is a dangerous character. I know him; put him out."

  The father turned and a smile lit his darkly tanned face. "Harry——"

  Mose made a swift sign, "Old man, how are ye?" The minister's manner pleased his son. He grasped his father's hand with a heartiness that checked speech for the moment, then he said, "I was looking for you. Where you from?"

  "I've got a summer camp between here and the Springs. I saw the notice of you in yesterday's paper. I've been watching the newspapers for a long time, hoping to get some word of you. I seized the first chance and came on."

  Mose turned. "Marshal, I'll vouch for this man; he's an old neighbor of mine."

  Mr. Excell slipped to the ground and Mose took the rein on his arm. "Come, let's put the horse with mine." They walked away, elbow to elbow. A wonderful change had swept over Mr. Excell. He was brown, alert, and vigorous—but more than all, his eyes were keen and cheerful and his smile ready and manly.

  "You're looking well," said the son.

  "I am well. Since I struck the high altitudes I'm a new man. I don't wonder you love this life."

  "Are you preaching?"

  "Yes, I speak once a week in the Springs. I ride down the trail from my cabin and back again the same day. The fact is I stayed in Rock River till I was nearly broken. I lost my health, and became morbid, trying to preach to the needs of the old men and women of my congregation. Now I am free. I am back to the wild country. Of course, so long as my wife lived I couldn't break away, but now I have no one but myself and my needs are small. I am happier than I have been for years."

  As they walked and talked together the two men approached an understanding. Mr. Excell felt sure of his son's interest, for the first time in many years, and avoided all terms of affection. In his return to the more primitive, bolder life he unconsciously left behind him all the "soft phrases" which had disgusted his son. He struck the right note almost without knowing it, and the son, precisely as he perceived in his father a return to rugged manliness, opened his hand to him.

  Together they took care of the horse, together they walked the streets. They sat at supper together and the father's joy was very great when at night they camped together and Mose so far unbent as to tell of his adventures. He did not confide his feeling for Mary—his love was far too deep for that. A strange woman had reached it by craft, a father's affection failed of it.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE EAGLE GUARDS THE SHEEP

  Mose did not enter upon his duties as guard with joy. It seemed like small business and not exactly creditable employment for a trailer and cow puncher. It was in his judgment a foolish expenditure of money; but as there was nothing better to do and his need of funds was imperative, he accepted it.

  The papers made a great deal of it, complimenting the company upon its shrewdness, and freely predicted that no more hold-ups would take place along that route. Mose rode out of town on the seat with the driver, a Winchester between his knees and a belt of cartridges for both rifle and revolvers showing beneath his coat. He left the stable each morning at four A. M. and rode to the halfway house, where he slept over night, returning the following day. From the halfway house to the Springs there were settlers and less danger.

  He was conscious of being an object of curious inquiry. Meeting stage coaches was equivalent to being fired at by fifty pistols. Low words echoed from lip to lip: "Black Mose," "bad man," "graveyard of his own," "good fellow when sober," etc. Sometimes, irritated and reckless, he lived up to his sinister reputation, and when some Eastern gentleman in brown corduroy timidly approached to say, "Fine weather," Mose turned upon him a baleful glare under which the questioner shriveled, to the delight of the driver, who vastly admired the new guard.

  At times he was unnecessarily savage. Well-meaning men who knew nothing about him, except that he was a guard, were rebuffed in quite the same way. He was indeed becoming self-conscious, as if on exhibition, somehow—and this feeling deepened as the days passed, for nothing happened. No lurking forms showed in the shadow of the pines. No voice called "Halt!" It became more and more like a stage play.

  He was much disturbed by Jack's letter which was waiting for him one night when he returned to Wagon Wheel.

  "DEAR HARRY: I went up to see Mary a few weeks ago and found she had gone to Chicago. Her father died over a year ago and she decided soon after to go to the city and go on with her music. She's in some conservatory there. I don't know which one. I tried hard to keep her on my own account but she wouldn't listen to me. Well, yes, she listened but she shook her head. She dropped King soon after your visit—whether you had anything to do with that or not I don't know—I think you did, but as you didn't write she gave you up as a bad job. She always used to talk of you and wonder where you were, and every time I called she used to sing If I Were a Voice. She never said she was singing it for you, but there were tears in her eyes—and in mine, too, old man. You oughtn't to be throwing yourself away in that wild, God-forsaken country. We discussed you most of the time. Once in a while she'd see a little note in the pap
er about you, and cut it out and send it to me. I did the same. We heard of you at Flagstaff, Arizona. Then that row you had with the Mormons was the next we knew, but we couldn't write. She said it was pretty tough to hear of you only in some scrape, but I told her your side hadn't been heard from and that gave her a lot of comfort. The set-to you had about the Indians' right to hunt pleased us both. That was a straight case. She said it was like a knight of the olden time.

  "She was uneasy about you, and once she said, 'I wish I could reach him. That rough life terrifies me. He's in constant danger.' I think she was afraid you'd take to drinking, and I own up, old man, that worries me. If you only had somebody to look after you—somebody to work for—like I have. I'm going to be married in September. You know her—only she was a little girl when you lived here. Her name is Lily Blanchard.

  "I wish I could help you about Mary. I'm going to write to one or two parties who may know her address. If she's in Chicago you could visit her without any trouble. They wouldn't get on to you there at all. If you go, be sure and come this way. Your father went to Denver from here—have you heard from him?"

  There was deep commotion in the trailer's brain that night. The hope he had was too sacredly sweet to put into words—the hope that she still thought of him and longed for him. If Jack were right, then she had waited and watched for him through all those years of wandering, while he, bitter and unrelenting, and believing that she was King's wife, had refused to listen for her voice on Sunday evenings. If she had kept her promise, then on the trail, in cañons dark and deathly still, on the moonlit sand of the Painted Desert, on the high divides of the Needle Range, her thought had been winged toward him in song—and he had not listened.

  His thought turned now, for the first time, toward the great city, which was to him a savage jungle of unknown things, a web of wire, a maze of streets, a swirling flood of human beings, of interest now merely and solely because Mary had gone to live therein. "I'm due to make another trip East," he said to himself with a grim straightening of the lips.