by Zane Grey
But when she passed the hot wave of the school-room, and the sharp air of the night struck her face, consciousness seemed to turn and come back into her again; for there over her head was the wideness of the vast, starry Arizona night, and there, before her, in Nick Bottom’s somber costume, eating one of the chicken sandwiches that Mrs. Tanner had sent down to her, stood Gardley! He was pale and shaken from his recent experience; but he was undaunted, and when he saw Margaret coming toward him through the doorway with her soul in her eyes and her spirit all aflame with joy and relief, he came to meet her under the stars, and, forgetting everything else, just folded her gently in his arms!
It was a most astonishing thing to do, of course, right there outside the dressing-room door, with the curtain just about to rise on the scene and Gardley’s wig was not on yet. He had not even asked nor obtained permission. But the soul sometimes grows impatient waiting for the lips to speak, and Margaret felt her trust had been justified and her heart had found its home. Right there behind the school-house, out in the great wide night, while the crowded, clamoring audience waited for them, and the young actors grew frantic, they plighted their troth, his lips upon hers, and with not a word spoken.
Voices from the dressing-room roused them. “Come in quick, Mr. Gardley; it’s time for the curtain to rise, and everybody is ready. Where on earth has Miss Earle vanished? Miss Earle! Oh, Miss Earle!”
There was a rush to the dressing-room to find the missing ones; but Bud, as ever, present where was the most need, stood with his back to the outside world in the door of the dressing-room and called loudly:
“They’re comin’, all right. Go on! Get to your places. Miss Earle says to get to your places.”
The two in the darkness groped for each other’s hands as they stood suddenly apart, and with one quick pressure and a glance hurried in. There was not any need for words. They understood, these two, and trusted.
With her cheeks glowing now, and her eyes like two stars, Margaret fled across the stage and took her place at the piano again, just as the curtain began to be drawn; and Forsythe, who had been slightly uneasy at the look on her face as she left them, wondered now and leaned forward to tell her how well she was looking.
He kept his honeyed phrase to himself, however, for she was not heeding him. Her eyes were on the rising curtain, and Forsythe suddenly remembered that this was the scene in which Jed was to have appeared—and Jed had a broken leg! What had Margaret done about it? It was scarcely a part that could be left out. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner and offered to take it? He could have bluffed it out somehow—he had heard it so much—made up words where he couldn’t remember them all, and it would have been a splendid opportunity to do some real love-making with Rosa. Why hadn’t he thought of it? Why hadn’t Rosa? Perhaps she hadn’t heard about Jed soon enough to suggest it.
The curtain was fully open now, and Bud’s voice as Peter Quince, a trifle high and cracked with excitement, broke the stillness, while the awed audience gazed upon this new, strange world presented to them.
“Is all our company here?” lilted out Bud, excitedly, and Nick Bottom replied with Gardley’s voice:
“You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrip.”
Forsythe turned deadly white. Jasper Kemp, whose keen eye was upon him, saw it through the tan, saw his lips go pale and purple points of fear start in his eyes, as he looked and looked again, and could not believe his senses.
Furtively he darted a glance around, like one about to steal away; then, seeing Jasper Kemp’s eyes upon him, settled back with a strained look upon his face. Once he stole a look at Margaret and caught her face all transfigured with great joy; looked again and felt rebuked somehow by the pureness of her maiden joy and trust.
Not once had she turned her eyes to his. He was forgotten, and somehow he knew the look he would get if she should see him. It would be contempt and scorn that would burn his very soul. It is only a maid now and then to whom it is given thus to pierce and bruise the soul of a man who plays with love and trust and womanhood for selfishness. Such a woman never knows her power. She punishes all unconscious to herself. It was so that Margaret Earle, without being herself aware, and by her very indifference and contempt, showed the little soul of this puppet man to himself.
He stole away at last when he thought no one was looking, and reached the back of the school-house at the open door of the girls’ dressing-room, where he knew Titania would be posing in between the acts. He beckoned her to his side and began to question her in quick, eager, almost angry tones, as if the failure of their plans were her fault. Had her father been at home all day? Had anything happened—any one been there? Did Gardley come? Had there been any report from the men? Had that short, thick-set Scotchman with the ugly grin been there? She must remember that she was the one to suggest the scheme in the first place, and it was her business to keep a watch. There was no telling now what might happen. He turned, and there stood Jasper Kemp close to his elbow, his short stature drawn to its full, his thick-set shoulders squaring themselves, his ugly grin standing out in bold relief, menacingly, in the night.
The young man let forth some words not in a gentleman’s code, and turned to leave the frightened girl, who by this time was almost crying; but Jasper Kemp kept pace with Forsythe as he walked.
“Was you addressing me?” he asked, politely; “because I could tell you a few things a sight more appropriate for you than what you just handed to me.”
Forsythe hurried around to the front of the school-house, making no reply.
“Nice, pleasant evening to be free,” went on Jasper Kemp, looking up at the stars. “Rather onpleasant for some folks that have to be shut up in jail.”
Forsythe wheeled upon him. “What do you mean?” he demanded, angrily, albeit he was white with fear.
“Oh, nothing much,” drawled Jasper, affably. “I was just thinking how much pleasanter it was to be a free man than shut up in prison on a night like this. It’s so much healthier, you know.”
Forsythe looked at him a moment, a kind of panic of intelligence growing in his face; then he turned and went toward the back of the school-house, where he had left his horse some hours before.
“Where are you going?” demanded Jasper. “It’s ’most time you went back to your fiddling, ain’t it?”
But Forsythe answered him not a word. He was mounting his horse hurriedly—his horse, which, all unknown to him, had been many miles since he last rode him.
“You think you have to go, then?” said Jasper, deprecatingly. “Well, now, that’s a pity, seeing you was fiddling so nice an’ all. Shall I tell them you’ve gone for your health?”
Thus recalled, Forsythe stared at his tormentor wildly for a second. “Tell her—tell her”—he muttered, hoarsely—“tell her I’ve been taken suddenly ill.” And he was off on a wild gallop toward the fort.
“I’ll tell her you’ve gone for your health!” called Jasper Kemp, with his hands to his mouth like a megaphone. “I reckon he won’t return again very soon, either,” he chuckled. “This country’s better off without such pests as him an’ that measley parson.” Then, turning, he beheld Titania, the queen of the fairies, white and frightened, staring wildly into the starry darkness after the departed rider. “Poor little fool!” he muttered under his breath as he looked at the girl and turned away. “Poor, pretty little fool!” Suddenly he stepped up to her side and touched her white-clad shoulder gently. “Don’t you go for to care, lassie,” he said in a tender tone. “He ain’t worth a tear from your pretty eye. He ain’t fit to wipe your feet on—your pretty wee feet!”
But Rosa turned angrily and stamped her foot.
“Go away! You bad old man!” she shrieked. “Go away! I shall tell my father!” And she flouted herself into the school-house.
Jasper stood looking ruefu
lly after her, shaking his head. “The little de’il!” he said aloud; “the poor, pretty little de’il. She’ll get her dues aplenty afore she’s done.” And Jasper went back to the play.
Meantime, inside the school-house, the play went gloriously on to the finish, and Gardley as Nick Bottom took the house by storm. Poor absent Jed’s father, sent by the sufferer to report it all, stood at the back of the house while tears of pride and disappointment rolled down his cheeks—pride that Jed had been so well represented, disappointment that it couldn’t have been his son up there play-acting like that.
The hour was late when the play was over, and Margaret stood at last in front of the stage to receive the congratulations of the entire countryside, while the young actors posed and laughed and chattered excitedly, then went away by two and threes, their tired, happy voices sounding back along the road. The people from the fort had been the first to surge around Margaret with their eager congratulations and gushing sentiments: “So sweet, my dear! So perfectly wonderful! You really have got some dandy actors!” And, “Why don’t you try something lighter—something simpler, don’t you know. Something really popular that these poor people could understand and appreciate? A little farce! I could help you pick one out!”
And all the while they gushed Jasper Kemp and his men, grim and forbidding, stood like a cordon drawn about her to protect her, with Gardley in the center, just behind her, as though he had a right there and meant to stay; till at last the fort people hurried away and the school-house grew suddenly empty with just those two and the eight men behind; and by the door Bud, talking to Pop and Mom Wallis in the buckboard outside.
Amid this admiring bodyguard at last Gardley took Margaret home. Perhaps she wondered a little that they all went along, but she laid it to their pride in the play and their desire to talk it over.
They had sent Mom and Pop Wallis home horseback, after all, and put Margaret and Gardley in the buckboard, Margaret never dreaming that it was because Gardley was not fit to walk. Indeed, he did not realize himself why they all stuck so closely to him. He had lived through so much since Jasper and his men had burst into his prison and freed him, bringing him in hot haste to the school-house, with Bud wildly riding ahead. But it was enough for him to sit beside Margaret in the sweet night and remember how she had come out to him under the stars. Her hand lay beside him on the seat, and without intending it his own brushed it. Then he laid his gently, reverently, down upon hers with a quiet pressure, and her smaller fingers thrilled and nestled in his grasp.
In the shadow of a big tree beside the house he bade her good-by, the men busying themselves with turning about the buckboard noisily, and Bud discreetly taking himself to the back door to get one of the men a drink of water.
“You have been suffering in some way,” said Margaret, with sudden intuition, as she looked up into Gardley’s face. “You have been in peril, somehow—”
“A little,” he answered, lightly. “I’ll tell you about it to-morrow. I mustn’t keep the men waiting now. I shall have a great deal to tell you to-morrow—if you will let me. Good night, Margaret!” Their hands lingered in a clasp, and then he rode away with his bodyguard.
But Margaret did not have to wait until the morrow to hear the story, for Bud was just fairly bursting.
Mrs. Tanner had prepared a nice little supper—more cold chicken, pie, doughnuts, coffee, some of her famous marble cake, and preserves—and she insisted on Margaret’s coming into the dining-room and eating it, though the girl would much rather have gone with her happy heart up to her own room by herself.
Bud did not wait on ceremony. He began at once when Margaret was seated, even before his mother could get her properly waited on.
“Well, we had some ride, we sure did! The Kid’s a great old scout.”
Margaret perceived that this was a leader. “Why, that’s so, what became of you, William? I hunted everywhere for you. Things were pretty strenuous there for a while, and I needed you dreadfully.”
“Well, I know,” Bud apologized. “I’d oughta let you know before I went, but there wasn’t time. You see, I had to pinch that guy’s horse to go, and I knew it was just a chance if we could get back, anyway; but I had to take it. You see, if I could ’a’ gone right to the cabin it would have been a dead cinch, but I had to ride to camp for the men, and then, taking the short trail across, it was some ride to Ouida’s Cabin!”
Mrs. Tanner stepped aghast as she was cutting a piece of dried-apple pie for Margaret. “Now, Buddie—mother’s boy—you don’t mean to tell me you went to Ouida’s Cabin? Why, sonnie, that’s an awful place! Don’t you know your pa told you he’d whip you if you ever went on that trail?”
“I should worry, Ma! I had to go. They had Mr. Gardley tied up there, and we had to go and get him rescued.”
“You had to go, Buddie—now what could you do in that awful place?” Mrs. Tanner was almost reduced to tears. She saw her offspring at the edge of perdition at once.
But Bud ignored his mother and went on with his tale. “You jest oughta seen Jap Kemp’s face when I told him what that guy said to you! Some face, b’lieve me! He saw right through the whole thing, too. I could see that! He ner the men hadn’t had a bite o’ supper yet; they’d just got back from somewheres. They thought the Kid was over here all day helping you. He said yesterday when he left ’em here’s where he’s a-comin’”—Bud’s mouth was so full he could hardly articulate—“an’ when I told ’em, he jest blew his little whistle—like what they all carry—three times, and those men every one jest stopped right where they was, whatever they was doin’. Long Bill had the comb in the air gettin’ ready to comb his hair, an’ he left it there and come away, and Big Jim never stopped to wipe his face on the roller-towel, he just let the wind dry it; and they all hustled on their horses fast as ever they could and beat it after Jap Kemp. Jap, he rode alongside o’ me and asked me questions. He made me tell all what the guy from the fort said over again, three or four times, and then he ast what time he got to the school-house, and whether the Kid had been there at all yest’iday ur t’day; and a lot of other questions, and then he rode alongside each man and told him in just a few words where we was goin’ and what the guy from the fort had said. Gee! but you’d oughta heard what the men said when he told ’em! Gee! but they was some mad! Bimeby we came to the woods round the cabin, and Jap Kemp made me stick alongside Long Bill, and he sent the men off in different directions all in a big circle, and waited till each man was in his place, and then we all rode hard as we could and came softly up round that cabin just as the sun was goin’ down. Gee! but you’d oughta seen the scairt look on them women’s faces; there was two of ’em—an old un an’ a skinny-looking long-drink-o’-pump-water. I guess she was a girl. I don’t know. Her eyes looked real old. There was only three men in the cabin; the rest was off somewheres. They wasn’t looking for anybody to come that time o’ day, I guess. One of the men was sick on a bunk in the corner. He had his head tied up, and his arm, like he’d been shot, and the other two men came jumping up to the door with their guns, but when they saw how many men we had they looked awful scairt. We all had our guns out, too!—Jap Kemp gave me one to carry—” Bud tried not to swagger as he told this, but it was almost too much for him. “Two of our men held the horses, and all the rest of us got down and went into the cabin. Jap Kemp, sounded his whistle and all our men done the same just as they went in the door—some kind of signals they have for the Lone Fox Camp! The two men in the doorway aimed straight at Jap Kemp and fired, but Jap was onto ’em and jumped one side and our men fired, too, and we soon had ’em tied up and went in—that is, Jap and me and Long Bill went in, the rest stayed by the door—and it wasn’t long ’fore their other men came riding back hot haste; they’d heard the shots, you know—and some more of our men—why, most twenty or thirty there was, I guess, altogether; some from Lone Fox Camp that was watching off in the woods came and
when we got outside again there they all were, like a big army. Most of the men belonging to the cabin was tied and harmless by that time, for our men took ’em one at a time as they came riding in. Two of ’em got away, but Jap Kemp said they couldn’t go far without being caught, ’cause there was a watch out for ’em—they’d been stealing cattle long back something terrible. Well, so Jap Kemp and Long Bill and I went into the cabin after the two men that shot was tied with ropes we’d brung along, and handcuffs, and we went hunting for the Kid. At first we couldn’t find him at all. Gee! It was something fierce! And the old woman kep’ a-crying and saying we’d kill her sick son, and she didn’t know nothing about the man we was hunting for. But pretty soon I spied the Kid’s foot stickin’ out from under the cot where the sick man was, and when I told Jap Kemp that sick man pulled out a gun he had under the blanket and aimed it right at me!”
“Oh, mother’s little Buddie!” whimpered Mrs. Tanner, with her apron to her eyes.
“Aw, Ma, cut it out! he didn’t hurt me! The gun just went off crooked, and grazed Jap Kemp’s hand a little, not much. Jap knocked it out of the sick man’s hand just as he was pullin’ the trigger. Say, Ma, ain’t you got any more of those cucumber pickles? It makes a man mighty hungry to do all that riding and shooting. Well, it certainly was something fierce—Say, Miss Earle, you take that last piece o’ pie. Oh, g’wan! Take it! You worked hard. No, I don’t want it, really! Well, if you won’t take it anyway, I might eat it just to save it. Got any more coffee, Ma?”