by Zane Grey
“Vain thing!” giggled Beryl, and as he rushed away toward the door: “But you are handsome.”
Downstairs Keven found a number of men in the lobby, none of whom he recognized. He lounged about, apparently with casual interest, when inside he was bursting with excitement and glee. He walked out to the street corner and stood there marveling. There seemed to be a glamour over the whole world this day. Then he returned to the lobby. Beryl would be prompt and he did not want to miss her. Presently she entered and he was hard put to it to contain himself. Fine feathers did make fine birds. But he was unprepared for her blushing, adoring reception of his approach. At Portland she had been reserved, almost shy. Here she was a bride, wholly oblivious of anyone save him. It gave Keven a shock, but he liked it.
On the way into the dining room he whispered: “You look like a million dollars.”
“If I do you’re the millionaire.”
All through a delightful breakfast they talked after that fashion. Then Keven said: “Gosh, let’s get down to brass tacks. What’ll we do now?”
“You’ll go to your father at once.”
“Yes, but oughtn’t you come, too?”
“No. You see him first. Don’t forget you said you were supposed to be dead…. Kev, I’ve an idea. Show me where to find your friend Minton. I’ll go in and ask to see fishing tackle. He’ll not know me from Adam.”
“That’d be great. Gosh, I’d like to see you.”
“It’ll be all the better after I work him up, so to speak. I’ll say, very loftily, ‘I wish to purchase some fine tackle for my husband. He is a poor fisherman, but it’s my wish that he possess a splendid outfit. Have you any really good tackle? Leonard rods, you know, and English reels, lines, leaders. He doesn’t care for common things.’”
“Oh, that’s rich!” gurgled Keven. “It’ll be immense. Minton is crazy about pretty women anyway. Then, just when he’s fallen, I’ll bob in and chirp: ‘Howdy, Mint, old geezer?’ And he’ll shout, ‘My Gawd—is it a ghost? By thunder, it’s Kev Bell! We thought you dead!’ … And I’ll say, Terribly exaggerated, Minton. I’m fine…. Meet my wife.’”
“I don’t know,” replied Beryl dubiously. “That about his being crazy about women! Is he very bold?”
“Bold? He’s the mildest and kindest man you ever met.”
“Very well, then, let’s go,” said Beryl, once more reassured. “You see your Dad…. Oh, I hope he’s well. Then I’ll meet you at Minton’s. After that we’ll buy our furniture.”
“Okay. But see here, honey, you’ll need some money to buy the tackle from Minton,” rejoined Keven, his hand going to his pocket. “But I’ll not give you much.”
Beryl waved this offer aside. “Thanks. I’ve got some money left. Anyway you’d never give me enough.”
“You’ve got some left!” he ejaculated.
“Sure.”
“Beryl!”
“Kev!” she imitated impertinently. “Come, we’re wasting time.”
“See here, this—this is too much,” declared Keven doggedly.
“What is—my little dab of money?”
“No, not the money itself. But your having it…. Beryl, I’m going to get angry presently. I’ll be thinking I married you for your money.”
“All because for nearly five years you had a loving, faithful, saving sweetheart—who’s now your wife…. I declare men are funny.”
They were now out on the street. Keven surrendered in despair. Then he pointed out Minton’s store across the street. “I’ll meet you there in a half hour,” he said and fled.
He was so thoughtful that he did not look to see if he met anyone who knew him, and before he realized how far he had gone he was down the side street almost to his father’s home. The drab little house had not changed; nothing had except the leaves of the vine that trailed over the porch, and they were dyed the russet hue of autumn. No one answered his knock, and the door was locked. Keven went around to the back. Then he heard hammering in the shop. Approaching he was able to reach the open door without being seen. His father, apparently not a day older, was at work on a boat.
“Hello, Dad,” he shouted, stepping in. “How’s tricks?”
Bell had his back to the door. He stiffened. The hammer fell. Slowly he wheeled, calling “Kev!” even before he espied his visitor. Then his gray old head jerked up, his eyes lightened. “My son! My son! … I never believed you dead.”
The moment ensuing was more poignant than Keven had expected, and it was he who showed the most emotion.
“You’re changed—well—a new man! … Why, Keven, what does this mean? An’ the prosperous look of you! Son, I’d have thanked God to see you back home anyhow or any way, but——”
“Dad, take a peer at my new jaw,” interrupted Keven, drawing down his lip. “Gold and platinum—porcelain teeth! Some class, eh? And look at my bad eye. I’ll bet you can’t tell which was the bad one.”
“My boy, I can’t, indeed.”
“I’ve gained forty-eight pounds. Can you see it on me?”
“That didn’t strike me, Kev. But now I do … An’ dressed in the height of fashion! For heaven’s sake, explain.”
“It’s a long story, Dad. I’ll save it for some other time. Enough to say, when I was down and out—a lost wretch ready to—well, never mind what—I met someone who changed me, body and soul.”
“A woman!” gasped Bell.
“A girl. She’s the loveliest—the noblest—Oh, wait till you see her…. I’m well! I’m happy! I’m married! I’ve a job!”
The older man sat down quite suddenly upon the boat he was building, overcome by Keven’s wild utterances, and the manifest proof of some of them, at least.
“Dad, I’ll get back my good name, too,” added Keven triumphantly.
That stirred the old man.
“Son, you’ve got it back,” he replied ringingly. “Garry Lord saw to that, God bless him!”
“Garry Lord! … Dad, what’re you saying? … I saw Garry drown. With my own eyes I saw him.”
“You thought so. But you didn’t. Garry’s alive.”
“Alive!” cried Keven huskily. “Are you sure? It would be hideous—if—if——”
“Son, he was here last night,” announced the father, his tone carrying absolute conviction.
Keven threw up his hands to send his hat flying. His face was beaded with clammy drops.
“More to thank God for! More! Where will it end? I’m—just—knocked—flat.”
“Listen,” said Bell, with the hurry of a man keen to give joy. “Garry didn’t drown. The skiff floated out to sea. Next day it was sighted by a woman—daughter of a fisherman named Coombs, on his way to Crescent City. They picked Garry up, took your net an’ let the skiff go. Garry had a bad knock on his head, but he recovered. He married the young woman, Mary Coombs. But that was afterward. As Garry told it he knew you were dead, murdered by a fisherman named Mulligan. Meanwhile, Mulligan’s body was found, with your knife sticking in his throat. Then Garry knew you had stabbed Mulligan in that fight. He swore he would clear your name. But he laid low at first, working it out. Atwell went to Gold Beach—openly accused you of murder, an’ sought to lay the stealin’ of fish upon you. After a time Garry got proof of where that net came from an’ who sold it to Mulligan. He even got proof about the eight-inch mesh at the top of the net, which Mulligan had added to it. Garry went back to Gold Beach an’ stole another such net. He laid a trap for those crooked market fishermen. He had that Gold Beach sheriff hide on shore an’ watch an’ listen. Garry led the fishermen ashore, where, in the midst of the fight, the sheriff pounced down on them. One of them was Mulligan’s pardner. The sheriff arrested him, made him confess to crooked nettin’…. Well, Garry an’ the sheriff came here to Grant’s Pass an’ laid the facts before Judge Parsons an’ the new chief of police. Garry told his story. It was believed. It went all over town. It cleared your name an’ it cast a dark shadow on that of the man who has hounded you—who implica
ted you in that infamous Carstone scandal…. Kev, it is significant that Atwell is no longer associated with Brandeth—nor engaged to Rosamond.”
“The world is coming to an end!” raved Keven, pacing the shop, tearing at his hair. “Oh, Garry! … What a man! … I see the hand of God in all this…. Where is Garry—where can I find him?”
“He runs a little fish market here, three days a week an’ another three days in Crescent City. Coombs supplies the fish, Garry sells them. They’re doin’ well. He’ll be at his place on Thursday, this week. I told you he married Coombs’ daughter, didn’t I? She’s a rosy-cheeked buxom girl, an’ she manages Garry, believe me. She told me she allowed him only one spree a month.”
Keven shouted his mingled mirth and joy. Then suddenly he remembered Beryl.
“Dad, I gotta beat it. I’ll see you again today. I’ll fetch Her around.” Then he rushed out and down the path to the street. And only when he saw that pedestrians were remarking his singular actions did he correct them. By the time he arrived at Minton’s store he had gained some semblance of outward composure, nevertheless his mind was full of wild, whirling thoughts.
Keven peeped in before entering. Beryl stood in the center of the store, whipping a trout rod with no uncertain hand. Minton wore a most extraordinary expression upon his genial face. He was certainly fascinated by this new and lovely customer.
“This rod is no good,” Beryl was saying. “It’s too pudgy. My husband——”
“Pardon, lady,” replied Minton, “that rod is good. It’s a Leonard. There’s no better made.”
“I like the Grangers better,” replied Beryl, laying the rod on the counter, where a pile of disordered tackle gave evidence of the condition of Minton’s mind. “I’m sorry you have only two. They’ll last my husband about two days.”
“What kind of a—er—fisherman is he?” asked the dealer. “Is he an expert?”
“He thinks he is. But I can beat him. Of course I know the river.”
“What river, Madam, may I ask? Rivers are different, and your river——”
“The Rogue.”
“You know the Rogue?” queried Minton, beaming in spite of his astonishment. Manifestly he was learning that he did not know all about the famous river.
“I was born on it. I know every stone from Winkle Bar to Illahe.”
Keven thought it was about time to enter, even if he could have waited longer. So he rushed in like the wind.
“Hey, Mint, old boy, how are you?” he yelped happily.
Minton turned pale. His eyes popped out. His jaw dropped.
“My God! … Who’re you?”
“Well, I like that! Don’t know me! My feelings are hurt.”
“It can’t be—Kev Bell.”
“Why can’t it, I’d like to know?”
“But—he’s dead.”
“Dead nothing. Do I look dead?” retorted Keven.
Minton whooped and knocked everything off the counter getting at Keven.
“You ole fishin’ son of a gun! Come back to life! … Oh, boy! … Kev, I never was so glad in my born days. And just look at you!”
“Well, I reckon I’ll have to forgive you, since you are so glad,” replied Keven, touched at the warmth of Minton’s welcome.
Then the tackle dealer remembered his waiting customer, who stood there, far from calm, if he had not been too excited to notice.
“Excuse me, Madam,” he apologized. “This gentleman is an old friend. He was reported dead. Naturally I was somewhat upset to have him drop out of the clouds, as it were…. Now, if you please, we’ll get back to——”
“Hey, stop flirting with my wife,” bellowed Keven fiercely.
Minton halted as if he had been lassoed. He was thunderstruck. Keven’s ferocious aspect and Beryl’s blushes caused him to sag in his tracks.
“Oh, Kev,” murmured Beryl.
Keven laughed till his face was convulsed. When he recovered he espied the paralyzed Minton leaning against the counter for support.
“Beryl, this is my good friend, Minton, whom you have heard me speak of often…. Mint, old top, meet my wife.”
“I’m very happy to meet you, Mr. Minton,” replied Beryl, overcoming her confusion.
“Wife—husband! … Say, you put up a job on me,” burst out Minton. “Of all the surprises! … Mrs. Bell, I am delighted to make your acquaintance…. Kev, you old wizard, you’re about the luckiest man on earth. How’d you do it? You get chased out of Grant’s Pass under a cloud. You get pinched at Gold Beach. Then you’re drowned. Then your home town clears your reputation. Now you bob up well, handsome, prosperous-looking, with a queen for a wife!”
“Gosh, it is a fairy story, Mint,” declared Keven. “But no wonder. Look at my fairy!”
“I’ve been looking.”
Between Minton and Keven they gave Beryl a very flattering if embarrassing few moments. Then Keven remembered his great news.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Beryl, I’ve got the most wonderful news. Dad is well and fine. I sure surprised him, but he said he’d never believed I was dead. And listen to this. Garry Lord is alive! Some girl saved his life. He married her. If that doesn’t beat me…. Beryl, Dad says Garry cleared my name here in Grant’s Pass.”
“Bless him!” exclaimed Beryl.
“Mint, has Dad got that straight?” went on Keven anxiously.
“You just bet he has,” declared Minton emphatically. “It’s late in the day, Kev, but the old town has made amends. You’ll be a lion. And when they see your wife—good night!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
KEVEN and Beryl spent most of the rest of that day in the stores of Grant’s Pass. Beryl did the buying, while Keven accompanied her, a silent partner. If she had wanted to purchase the moon he would have made no objection and would have believed in her ability to get it. She bought furniture, utensils, and other household articles, a host of little things to make a cabin comfortable, and groceries, canned fruit, and vegetables. Then she spent as much time in a bookstore as she had at Minton’s, and considerably more money. But at last she turned to Keven with a relieved and happy smile.
“Kev, now I am broke. But oh, wasn’t it fun? I’ve had this in mind for years. Won’t we have a dandy cabin? Won’t we have a happy time this winter?”
“Well, Beryl, if we don’t it’ll not be for lack of work on my part, and prayers, and devotion to you,” he said fervently.
“I’ll have it all shipped to West Fork at once, so it’ll be ready to pack when we get there. I’d say about ten pack horses, Kev. Won’t Dad whoop when he sees them bobbing down the trail?”
“Dad won’t be the only one who’ll whoop.”
“I’m sure we’ve forgotten something…. Oh, yes, your rifle.”
“So we have. I’ll need that. And some shells. A pair of heavy boots—a raincoat. Rubber boots, too, and gloves…. Beryl, you’ve made me careless with money. Gosh, when I think——”
“Don’t think,” she interrupted sweetly. “Just be gay. You’re so—so nice then. You run along. I’ll leave instructions here about packing and shipping our goods. Then I’ll go back to the hotel.”
Keven hurried back down Main Street towards Minton’s. It was late in the afternoon, with the weather perfect. The sidewalks were thronged. A string of automobiles flashed down the street. Keven expected to meet someone he knew, but he did not. He noted, however, that he was observed by many people, quite curiously, it seemed. He was glad to escape into the comparative safety of Minton’s store.
“Say, Mint, I forgot a rifle, ammunition, gloves, boots, and what not,” he announced gaily.
“Suppose I just sell you the store,” replied his friend beamingly.
“Doggone if you oughtn’t. Isn’t Beryl a wonder?”
“Kev, she surely is, and she is shrewd, too. She’s a good sport, but don’t you get an idea anybody can trim her.”
While they were selecting Keven’s concluding purchases the telephone rang. Minton answer
ed the call: “Hello…. Who? … Yes, he’s here.”
He returned to Keven with a bright face. “Call for you, Kev. That’s the tenth person who’s rung me up to ask if you were really alive and in town. Men have run in here, too, asking the same. The news of your return has spread like wildfire. But nobody seems to ask about your wife. Gee, this is immense.”
“Call for me? Wonder who,” returned Keven, and walking across the store he took up the receiver and said, “Hello.”
“Is this Mr, Keven Bell?” asked a woman’s voice, rather low.
“Yes, I’m Mr. Bell. Who is this calling?”
“Kev—don’t you—know my voice?” came the query, in unmistakable agitation.
A queer shock ran through Keven.
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t,” he replied hesitatingly. “Still your voice seems familiar.”
“Oh, it should be—you fickle soldier…. Guess.”
“I—I’m not good at guessing.”
“Rosamond!”
Keven nearly dropped the receiver. He looked up wildly, to see Minton waving his hands in the most ridiculous manner.
“Rosamond! … Not Rosamond Brandeth?” he ejaculated weakly.
“Yes, indeed it is…. Oh, Kev, I’m half crazy. I was in a car just a few minutes ago—when I saw you. I nearly fainted. You know—don’t you? We thought you dead. You don’t know, of course, that that nearly broke my heart…. Kev, I—I made a mistake. I found it out—only too late, I thought. But surely it isn’t, now you’ve come to life…. I broke with your old Major here long ago. He’s a flat tire, Kev…. But heavens, I can’t go on like this over the phone. I must see you—to tell you everything. May I run down there in my car and pick you up?”
“Aw—I—we—thanks awfully, Rosamond,” floundered Keven. “But I was just leaving. I’m in a rush. Tomorrow maybe——”
“Oh, so! I get you, Keven…. In a rush, eh? Didn’t I see you with a girl?”
“I surely walked down the street with one. You might have seen me.”