by Elmer Kelton
Red Moffet had, first of all, searched wildly through Billman to find the owner of that rope. But it was said that Mr. Holman heard that he was wanted and decided to look the other way. He slipped out from the village into the trackless desert. Mr. Moffet started in pursuit in the indicated direction, but straightaway the desert became truly trackless, for a brisk wind rose, whipped the sands level, and effaced all signs.
Red Moffet came back to Billman, and the first place he went to was out to the cemetery, carrying the hangman’s rope with him. He visited the most newly made grave and sat for a long time beside it. He himself had paid for the digging of that grave and for the headstone, which stood at one end of it, engraved in roughly chiseled letters:
‘Here lies Chuck Lane. He was a good fellow that never played in luck!’
Men said that the inscription was Red’s contribution also.
Whatever were the thoughts that passed through Moffet’s mind as he sat there alone in the graveyard, Billman did not have the slightest hesitation in describing them as fluently as though Red had confided his ideas to the world in general.
‘If you know what he was thinking, tell me’ suggested the young minister to Astrid.
‘Oh, of course. Red was swearing that he would never give up the trail until he had Ben Holman’s scalp.’
‘Does he intend to murder that man for being one of the mob?’ asked the minister.
‘Murder?’ echoed Astrid. ‘Well, it isn’t murder when you stick by a pal, is it?’
‘This pal, as you call him, is already dead. And though the means used were illegal, I must say that it seems to me young Lane was not worthy of much better treatment than he received.’
At this, Astrid, who was sitting lightly on the back of a chair, swinging one leg to and fro, frowned.
‘I don’t follow that,’ said she. ‘You’ve got to stick by things, I suppose. Death doesn’t matter, really’
‘But, Astrid—’
‘I wonder,’ broke in this irreverent girl, ‘what folks would say if they heard me call you Reginald, or Reggie, say!’
‘Why do you laugh, Astrid?’
‘Why, Reggie is really a sort of a flossy name, isn’t it?’
‘It never occurred to me,’ said that serious young man. ‘But to return to what you say—about death not mattering—’
‘Between a man and his pal, I mean,’ said Astrid. ‘Why, you live after death, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Ingram. ‘Of course.’
‘Then,’ said she triumphantly, ‘you see the point. Even after a pal is dead, you’d want to do for him just what you’d do if he were living. That’s pretty simple, it seems to me!’
‘My dear child!’ exclaimed he. ‘What service is Red performing to Chuck Lane by chasing Ben Holman out of Billman and murdering him if he can?’
‘Why, Reggie,’ said the girl, ‘how would you serve a friend, anyway? Suppose you’re a friend of mine and you want music for your church. Well, I’d sing in your church, wouldn’t I?’ And she wrinkled her nose a little and smiled at him. ‘Or suppose that I was a friend and that you wanted a new wing built on the church, I’d build it for you if I could, wouldn’t I? Same in everything. You serve a friend by doing what he would do for himself if he could, but which he can’t—’
‘I don’t exactly see how you relate this to Red’s murderous pursuit of Holman.’
‘You don’t? You’re queer about some things, Reggie. Suppose that Chuck Lane could come back to earth, what would he want to do except turn loose and chase down the boys that strung him up? And first of all he’d want to get the fellow who loaned his rope to do the job. I think that’s pretty clear!’
‘Astrid, Astrid,’ said Ingram, ‘do you excuse a murder with a murder?’
‘But it isn’t murder, Reggie! Don’t be silly! It’s just revenge!’
‘“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord!”’
‘Oh!’ said she. ‘Well, wait till the time comes, and I’ll see how long you’d sit still and let a partner be downed by thugs or yeggs or something! You’d fight pretty quick, I guess!’
‘No,’ said he. ‘Lift a hand against the life of a fellow? Astrid, we expressly are commanded to turn the other cheek!’
‘Sure,’ said Astrid. ‘That’s all right. But you can’t let people walk over you, you know. Isn’t good for’em. Would make’em bullies. You got to trip’em up for their own sakes, don’t you?’
‘My dear Astrid, you are quite a little sophist!’
‘And what does that mean?’
‘A sophist is one who has a clever tongue and can make the worse way appear the better, or the better appear the worse.’
She grew excited.
‘Suppose, Reggie, that you were to stand right here—you see? And a gun in your hand—’
‘I never carry a gun,’ said the minister mildly.
‘Oh, bother! Just suppose! You’re standing right here with a gun in your hand, and your best friend is standing in the doorway of the church, and you see a greaser come sneaking in behind him with a knife—tell me, Reggie—would you let the greaser stick that knife into his back, or would you shoot the sneak—the low-down, yellow—’
‘Such a thing could never happen here in the house of God,’ said Ingram.
‘Oh, but just supposin’! Just supposin’! Can’t you even do a little supposin’, Reggie? You make me tired, sometimes! I pretty nearly believe that you haven’t got any real pals! Tell me!’
‘Pals?’ He echoed the word very gravely. And then his face grew a bit stern with pain.
‘Hold on!’ cried Astrid. ‘I didn’t mean to step on your toes like that. I see that you have got’em, and—’
‘No’ said he. ‘There was a time when I had a good many friends. They were very dear to me, Astrid; but when I took up this new work, why, they drifted away from me. So many years—a very closed life—books—study—a bit of devotion. No, I’m afraid that I haven’t a single friend left to me!’
‘That’s terrible hard!’ said the girl, sighing. ‘But I’ll bet you have, though. Look here, it makes you feel pretty bad, doesn’t it, I mean the thought of having lost’em?’
‘I trust that I have no regrets for the small sacrifices which I may have made in a great cause which is worthy of more than I could ever—’
‘Stop!’ cried Astrid. ‘Oh, stop, stop! When you get humble like that, I always want to either cry—or beat you! I want to beat you just now! I say, you feel terrible bad because you’ve lost all those old friends. Then you can be sure that they feel bad to have lost you. So they still are your friends, and they would come jumping if you just gave them a chance! Tell me about them, Reggie.’
He shook his head.
‘It is a little sad,’ said he, ‘to think of all the men who’ve been—well, I think I prefer to let it drop.’
‘But I want to know. Look! I’ve told you everything about myself. And I don’t know a thing about you. That’s not fair. But the whole point is, that any real man would go to hell and back for the sake of a friend. Now wouldn’t he?’
The minister was silent.
Astrid went on, innocent of having given offense: ‘I’ll tell you how it is, then, with Red. He and Chuck were old pals. Chuck’s lynched. Well, Red wouldn’t be a man worth dropping over a cliff if he wouldn’t try to do something for his old partner. Isn’t that clear and straight? I want to make you admit it.’
‘I can’t admit that,’ said the minister slowly.
‘By jiminy!’ said the girl. ‘I do believe that you’ve never really had a hundred-percent friend—the kind that they raise in this part of the country, I mean. A fellow who would ride five hundred miles for a look at you. Never write you a letter, most likely. But fight for you, die for you, swear by you, love you dead or livin’, Reggie. That’s the kind of a friend that I mean!’
The minister had bowed his head. He was silent; perhaps the torrent of words from that excited, small, round throat was bringing before his eyes all
the men he had ever known.
‘What are you seeing?’ she asked suddenly.
‘I’m seeing everything from the stubble field where the path ran to the swimming pool,’ said Ingram sadly, ‘to the empty lot behind the school where we used to have our fights; and the schoolrooms; and the men at college. Boys, I should say. They weren’t men. They can’t be men until they’ve learned how to endure pain!’
‘Look here!’ she snapped. ‘Does a fellow have to suffer in order to be the right sort?’
‘Would you trust something that looked like steel,’ asked he, ‘unless you knew it had been tempered by going through the fire?’
‘Now you’re getting a little highflown for me,’ said the girl. ‘It isn’t only the men that have been your friends. But suppose I were to say that a girl you’ve known was in danger—the very one that you liked the most—suppose that she were standing there in the doorway, and a sneak of a Mexican was coming up behind—what would you do? Would you shoot?’
‘No, I would simply call: “Astrid, jump!”’
‘I—’ began Astrid.
Then the full meaning of this speech took her breath away and left her crimson. Ingram himself suddenly realised what he had said, and he stared at her in a sort of horror.
‘Good gad!’ said the Reverend Reginald Ingram. ‘What have I said!’
‘You’ve made me all d-d-dizzy!’ said Astrid.
‘I—as a matter of fact, the words—er—were not thought out, Astrid!’
‘Of course you didn’t mean—’ began Astrid.
‘I hope you’ll forgive me!’ said Ingram.
‘For what?’ she said.
‘For blurting out such a—’
‘Such a what?’ she persisted.
‘You’re making it hard for me to apologize.’
‘But I don’t want you to apologize.’
‘My dear Astrid—’
‘I wish you’d stop talking so far down to me!’
‘I see you’re offended and angry’
‘I could be something else, if you’d let me’ said she.
‘I don’t understand’ said Ingram miserably.
‘I could be terribly happy if you meant what you said.’
He looked hopelessly about him. A daring blue jay had lighted on the sill of the open window. Its bright, satanic eyes seemed to be laughing at him.
‘You see—Astrid—’
‘Don’t!’ cried she and stamped her little foot.
‘Don’t what?’ he asked, more embarrassed than ever.
‘Don’t look so stunned. I’m not going to propose to you.’
‘My dear child—the friendship which I feel—which—so beautiful—most extraordinary—fact is that—I don’t seem to find words, Astrid.’
‘Talking is your business’ said the girl. ‘You’ve got to find words.’
‘Do I?’ asked Ingram, wiping his hot brow.
‘You can’t leave me floundering like this, unless it’s because you have some sort of a doubt about me. I want to know. Tell me, Reggie!’
‘What?’ asked he, very desperate.
‘You make me so angry—I could cry!’
‘For heaven’s sake, don’t! Not in the church, when—’
‘Is that all you think about—your silly old church? Reginald Oliver Ingram!’
‘Yes, Astrid!’
‘Do I have to tell you that I love you?’
Mr. Ingram sat down so suddenly and heavily that the chair creaked beneath his weight.
‘Stand up!’ ordered Astrid.
He stood up.
‘You don’t really care!’ she cried.
‘Astrid—I’m a bit upset.’
‘Are you sick?’
‘I’m a bit groggy’
‘Reggie, cross your heart and tell me—have you ever been in love?’
‘Not to my knowledge.’
‘Never really been in love?’
‘No.’
‘Are you a little giddy and foolish and—’
‘Yes.’
‘You are in love!’ said she.
‘Do you think so?’
‘Have you never proposed?’
‘Never!’
‘Never in your whole life—to any girl?’
‘No!’
‘Then you’d better begin right now.’
‘Astrid, the thing is impossible!’
‘What is?’
‘To marry. You understand? I’m a minister. A poor man. Nothing but my salary—’
‘Bother the silly salary! Do you want me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Honestly?’
‘Yes.’
‘More’n all the world?’
‘Yes.’
‘More’n all your old friends—almost as much as your church and your work?’
‘I think so’ said he.
‘You’d better sit down’ suggested Astrid.
She took the chair beside him, and leaned her shining head against his shoulder.
‘Heavens!’ said Astrid.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘How terribly happy I am! Why Reggie, you’re all trembling!’
‘Because I’m trying to keep from touching you.’
‘Why try?’
‘We sit here in the house of God and in His presence, Astrid.’
‘He would have to know some time’ said she. ‘Gracious!’
‘What, dear?’
‘How hard you made me work!’
VII
They Didn’t Need Him
The ideas of Astrid about the practical problems of the future were extremely simple and to the point. They could easily live on his salary How? All she wanted would be some horses for riding, and a few Mexican servants—
‘I have just enough’ said he, ‘to support one person on the plainest of fare, with no servant at all.’
‘Oof!’ said Astrid.
But after a little thought she arrived at another solution. She would simply tell her father that she needed enough money to marry on. And, of course, her father would give it to her.
‘I couldn’t marry you on another man’s money’ said Ingram.
‘But he isn’t another man. He’s my father.’
For answer, Ingram raised her hand to his lips, and felt it quiver as he touched it.
‘I can see,’ said Astrid, ‘that I’ll never be able to call my soul my own in our house! You’re going to be a bully, Reggie!’
He smiled.
‘But what shall we do?’ she asked.
‘Work—and wait—and I’ll hope,’ he began.
But she broke in: ‘Of course it’ll be arranged. You could go up in the hills and discover a mine or two, the way that Father did. Reggie, that’s a glorious idea! Because I’d really like to be rich. Wouldn’t you? You could build such a wonderful big church then!’
Ingram studied her, half in awe and half in amusement, for heedless child and wise woman blended so oddly and unexpectedly in her that he never knew just how to take her.
However, having suggested that he take a flying trip to the mountains to make himself rich, she next felt that it might be Better if no word of their engagement were given out for the moment.
‘Chiefly because of Dad,’ said the girl. ‘The minute you showed up, he said that I would throw over Red and marry you if I could. The silly old thing!’
‘Has Red a claim on you?’ asked Ingram.
‘Red? Not a bit!’
‘But you spoke of throwing him over?’
‘Oh, right after the rodeo, you know. When Red had the prize both for riding and roping. Well, just about that time I saw a good deal of him, and I said that I’d marry him, some day, maybe!’
‘As a matter of fact, you were definitely engaged to him?’ asked Ingram sternly.
She turned and stared at him.
‘What terrible rows we’re going to have!’ said Astrid Vasa. ‘I hope we’ll love each other enough to get through them safely. Sure—m
aybe you can say that I was engaged to him.’
‘But you said before that he didn’t have a whit of claim on you!’
‘Oh, Reggie, don’t pin me down. It’s not fair, is it? You’d never doubt that I love you, Reggie? What did any other man matter to me after I once saw you?’
‘Did you break your engagement with him?’ asked the minister, clinging grimly to the point.
‘You’re going to be mean, I see,’ sighed Astrid.
‘Did you?’
‘Of course, it’s broken to tiny bits!’
‘Before today?’
Her eyes were wide open, like the eyes of a child.
‘Reggie—don’t!’ she begged.
‘Then I’ll go to tell him myself,’ said Ingram.
‘No!’ screamed Astrid.
‘No?’
‘Don’t go near him! He’d—he’d kill you, Reggie!’
‘Would he murder me if I told him that you had become—’
‘Don’t even speak about it! It makes me see you lyin’ dead! He told me he’d do it!’
‘Told you that he’d do what?’
‘He told me that he’d kill the other man, if I ever turned him down after once being engaged to him!’
‘Did he actually tell you that—the ruffian?’
‘Before he even proposed to me!’ said Astrid.
‘Ah?’
‘He told me to think things over. Because he was going to ask me to marry him. He knew that I’d been engaged to other boys. He said that he wasn’t a boy but a man. And that he didn’t expect to fall in and out with the girl he hoped to marry. It was to be all of him or none of him. And he said that if I ever drifted away from him, he’d stop me by putting a bullet into the gent that I was drifting toward. You understand, Reggie? Don’t go near him, because he’s a terrible fighter!’
Ingram made no promise. He watched Astrid walk down the street from the church, and he heard her gay voice sing out to a friend as she passed.
It left him to grave reflections. Old Vasa’s first suggestion had utterly stunned him; but this denouement, following so suddenly and unexpectedly, seemed to him most mysterious. It had been a matter of the moment. There was no reflection or planning. Words had burst from his lips of their own accord. And now he had placed himself in the hands of a little bright-haired girl of the desert, the daughter of a rude blacksmith and a simple household drudge.