by Zane Grey
Before the dinner was half finished, Mrs. Hempstead, suffering from horror and shock, had to be escorted from the dining room.
“How’m I doin’, Kay?” quoth Phil gaily. “Did you get a peep at your old lady as they were packing her off?”
“Yes, I saw her, and I’m divided between joy and sorrow,” replied Kay. “You’re doing fine. In fact, you’re very natural. You’re not over-acting at all. Don’t drink any more champagne.”
“All right. We’ve shot the works. Let’s dance once more . . . then go back to our hogan.”
“Hogan?” queried Kay, as she rose.
“Darling, a hogan is Indian for domicile, wigwam, shack, cabin, home, or what have you.”
“You show your Indian tonight, Phil, more than in language. But as Polly would say . . . ‘I think you’re just grand!’ Oh, where will this end?”
“Don’t lose your nerve,” returned Phil sternly. “You’re the spirit of this deal. We’re in it. We got it half won now. Let’s cut the dance. My God, get a look at my mother’s face.”
V
Every morning Kay drove out into the desert with Phil, where they could be themselves for a few hours. Kay forgot her mother, then, and addressed herself to her own increasing problem, which confronted her in each thoughtful hour. If this stark and rugged Nevada affected her so powerfully, what would golden California be like, and especially puiple-saged, cañon-walled Arizona? Kay could only guess at it and revel in her intention to see for herself. At the least, she meant to stay a very good while out West, and if she still maintained a home in New York, on which question she was dubious, she would come back West again and again, for long stays, always.
That much was settled. Still, it did not seem to solve her problem. And it did not, because Phil Cameron had become her problem. At this stage of pondering she always threw up her hands. To give him up was unthinkable, even if she wanted to, which was, indeed, very far from her desires. That part did not perplex Kay. She thought she was waiting for this Reno situation to end, when she was actually waiting for herself. What was the true state of her heart? As she dreaded to search it, as she put off and off the inevitable, she drifted further and further with Phil, the sweetness of their companionship when alone equaling the audacity and thrill of their appalling rôle before the Reno crowd.
In mid-May the desert was abloom with spring flowers, the fragrance and color of which enraptured Kay. She had been quick to grasp that the desert intensified everything. Nowhere else had she seen the vividness that burned in desert flowers, in desert colors.
This particular morning Phil sat in the car, with a sheaf of unanswered reports and letters from his California ranch on his lap, and, instead of attending to them, he watched Kay. She was aware of it. When she was far enough away not to see the yearning, the tragedy in his eyes, the havoc in his lean pale face—for his tan had long gone—she found pleasure in his watching her. But on occasions like this, when she came back to him, she always fell prey to a wild unconsidered impulse to tell him there might not really be any reason to dread the future. She had a secret that she had not yet divulged to herself. If she voiced it, made it tangible, then she would have to reckon with it, to try to explain it to an overwhelmed young man. And Kay was not ready for that.
Kay resisted a strong desire to steal away on the desert to a lonely spot far from the road, and there, under the white sun, look out to the wasteland for an answer to her problem. The rocks, the sage, the flowers, the cacti, the flint ridges and the dry arroyos, the wide heat-veiled stretch leading to the encompassing mountains, spear-pointed and aloof against the sky—all these called her, almost availingly. How splendid and incomprehensible that such a solitude, such a lifeless area, could be pregnant with spirit. Kay felt it, and almost understood it, and feared it because it spoke to her of the uselessness and barrenness of her life. Should she flee from it as from a pestilence or embrace it with all her soul?
“Phil,” she said, as she returned to him and the car with her hands full of desert wildflowers, “I’ve had some beautiful thoughts that no one at home would believe could dwell in Kay Homestead’s head, and that time-killing, divorce-waiting crowd back in Reno could not credit to Hilda Wales, mysterious adventuress and notorious woman.”
“Yeah. I’m about fed up on that outfit, Kay,” he replied gloomily. “When I know you’re as good as you’re lovely. I damn’ near told Mom the whole story the other night when she called me a low-down bum that the toughest cowboys would scorn . . . and you a rich hussy.”
“Phil, it hurts you, I know,” returned Kay earnestly. “Because you’re a man. But somehow it doesn’t bother me in the least. I forget it the moment we get away together.”
“But, how can you?” queried Phil desperately.
“I know that it’s not true, not one word of all the rotten gossip we have created. I know that our debauchery, as Mother called it, does not exist. I know that the game has been in a good cause, which we’ve almost won.”
“Uhn-huh. . . . Well, I’ve had a couple of thoughts, too. Not very beautiful. If you don’t care a damn whether or not this shame follows you, then you’ve got it beat. What people think cain’t hurt you if you don’t let it. And that’s that. . . . But how about me?”
“Phil!” she flashed, turning to him.
“Yes, Phil! You knew I wouldn’t give a whoop for gossip. I could go to my ranch, or back to the Arizona range and never heah a word of it again. What misery I’ve had has been solely that you have been dishonored in the eyes of this cheap Reno crowd.”
“Then why ask ‘how about me?’ ”
“Kay, in some way you’re not understandable. You’re ice and flint. But, God, you’ve been wonderful to me. Only I’ve been thinking what’s to become of me? Could any man, much less a Western fellow like me who never had serious love affairs, live with the loveliest girl in the world, be seen everywhere with her by hungry-eyed jealous hombres, dance and eat and gamble and play with her, and come out to the quiet desert with her, where she’s her true self . . . could any man do that and get over it? You’ve kissed me, Lord knows, seldom enough, but you have. . . and you’ve lain in my arms like that night in the moonlight, and, most terrible of all, you haven’t had any conscience or modesty or anything, about how you let me see you, all but undressed . . . you’ve stayed under the same roof with me day and night. After this . . . this is over, which’ll be soon now, do you think I can live without all that?”
Kay put a hand on his strong brown one, as it clenched the wheel, and she looked straight ahead and across the desert, which would have answered this very question for her, if she had had the courage to ask.
“Phil, it didn’t seem so terrible . . . the aftermath . . . when we undertook this thing,” replied Kay gravely. “I was so obsessed I wouldn’t face the cost. But now I begin to see the wrong I’ve done you.”
“No, no,” he interrupted. “I cain’t see any wrong to me. I’m no child. My eyes were wide open. But it’ll seem like being thrust out of heaven. . . . Aw, Kay, don’t cry. I’ll take my medicine.”
“But I’m the one that should have to take it,” replied Kay, as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “And despite everything, we must not weaken on the main issue.”
When they returned to town there was a message for Kay. Victor Brelsford had arrived from New York and desired an interview with her.
“Brelsford is here, Phil,” explained Kay, and handed him the message. “Mother sent for him. It’s a complication that will be a boomerang for her.”
“Yeah. Mister Victor Brelsford, the swell hombre who’s going to marry you,” returned Phil in his cool drawl. But his eyes were on fire with jealousy.
“He is not. I told you, Phil. I’ll tell him instantly, if he broaches that old subject. Does that satisfy you?”
“Aw, I believe you . . . trust you, Kay,” he rejoined. “I’ll bet my soul you’re on the level But I cain’t be satisfied.”
“You’ve been happy, for t
he most part. What would satisfy you?”
“Kay, I’ve concealed it from you,” he said hoarsely. “But since that night in the moonlight I’ve . . . I’ve been mad for your kisses.”
“Is that all? Why didn’t you take them, then?” she retorted, with a bewildering smile. “I confess to a hankering for yours.”
Phil stared with starting eyes, his face turned red, and then went pale.
“We’ll have a long while to . . . to enjoy each other’s kisses. Let’s forget that, too, for the present. Brelsford’s coming will upset Mother terribly. Because I’ll refuse him finally, irrevocably. She has wanted me to marry into the Brelsford family more than she ever wanted anything. I’ll change my clothes and meet him for luncheon. You call for me, say in an hour. Look and be your Western self, darling. We can’t fool a Brelsford.”
A little later Katherine met Brelsford in the lobby of the Reno. His faultless correctness and his fair blasé face brought back New York vividly. That first reaction of Kay’s was a comparison, not greatly favorable to her own class. After the greeting, she led him to the drawing room, to a secluded corner.
“Mother sent for you?”
“Yes. A frantic appeal for help, it seemed to me. I had my doubts, but, of course, I came.”
“I’m glad, Victor. After all, you are a friend of the family. Mother precipitated the mess, and I’ve made it worse. Have you seen her?”
“I was with her for two hours. An ordeal, by Jove! She’s a wreck, Kay. She poured out a long dissertation on your primrose path to degradation. And the epitome of it was that I rescue you before you sank into the gutter.”
“By the sacrifice of your good sense and position, I presume,” replied Kay with sarcasm.
“Kay, I didn’t believe all that trash. Besides, if it were true, I’d still repeat the proposal I’ve made you so often.”
“Thank you, Vic. You’re loyal and fine. I wish I could accept it. But since I came West I am . . . well, on the trail of my real self. Once more, and definitely, Vic, with infinite regret and appreciation of the honor, I must say no.”
Flushing, he bowed silently to that decree.
“You can still be my friend without betraying Mother. I hope you will be.”
“Always, Kay.”
“That increases my regrets. But, Vic, tell me what do you make of this situation?”
“I’m puzzled and bewildered. Disgusted with your mother, of course, as everybody is. Amazed at you . . . and, frankly, now I’ve seen you, up in the air.”
“Have you seen Leroyd?”
“No. And don’t desire to.”
“What have you heard about me?”
“Oh, gossip, here and there,” he replied evasively. “There seems to be a confliction between Kay Hempstead and an actress, Hilda Wales. That you were masquerading under her name, going Hollywood, and a lot of rot. You may be sure it never affected any of your friends who know you.”
“Vic, I have to confess some of that gossip has foundation. I’m going to trust you now and tell you the truth.”
Whereupon Kay related in detail her plot to frighten her mother into abandoning her desertion of the family, and also what relation Phil Cameron and his mother bore to the situation.
“By Jove! It’d take Kay Hempstead to invent such a scheme and to carry it out,” declared Brelsford, both intrigued and astounded. “Very clever of you. Then, as I suspected, all this . . . this rotten talk about you . . . your flagrant immorality, you know, is just what you worked for, and has no true grounds?”
“Precisely, Victor. It is a colossal bluff, and it is going to succeed.”
“Kay, I don’t blame you. I uphold you. What do you want me to do?” he rejoined warmly.
“Go to Mother. Be utterly shocked and heartbroken over my depravity. Assure her that you would not marry me now if I threw myself at your feet. Convince her that she is to blame for my revulsion against mothers, husbands, homes, and that, if she does not come to me and promise to give up these divorce proceedings, you are absolutely certain that I will be utterly lost, damned forever.”
Brelsford laughed. “What a beautiful devil you are, Kay! I’ll do it. I’ll give her the damnedest raking over on my own score. And then do your bidding to the top of my bent.”
“Vic, what a good sport you are!” exclaimed Kay radiantly. “I’ll be everlastingly in your debt. . . . Come now, let’s hie ourselves to luncheon. I’m famished.”
“Kay, wait a minute. In the dynamic whirl of your presence, I forgot the young man, Phil Cameron. What of him? What kind of a fellow?”
The keen intuition of a jealous and vanquished lover became obvious to Kay.
“He’s Western. Comes from good old pioneer stock. He rode the range for years, before going to California with his father, where they have large holdings in vineyards and orchards. He’s twenty-six years old, a stunning-looking boy, the finest and cleanest I ever knew.”
“Well! You are enthusiastic . . . and for once you eulogize a member of my sex. I’d like to meet Cameron. If he’s all you claim, Kay, then you are playing him a rotten trick.”
Hot blood leaped stingingly to Katherine’s very temples. The truth, spoken and not without a hint of contempt, by a gentleman, and one of her class, found the mark.
“Rotten! Why so unpleasant a word, Victor?”
“You can’t tell me this boy is not in love with you,” declared Brelsford. “I wouldn’t believe you if you did. For I know what it means to be with you. And if you’re living with Cameron . . . in a cottage . . . alone. . . . Whew!”
“Please elucidate the whew, Victor,” demanded Kay coldly, with a level glance at him. “I made you my confidant. I didn’t lie about Phil or our intimacy.”
“Forgive me,” he returned hastily. “I didn’t insinuate that you lied. The blood just went to my head. That explains the whew. But see here, Kay Hempstead, you should be told things. You have the old Helen beauty that is enough in itself. To see you is to worship. But to see you in all your outrageous shameless lack of modesty . . . that would be too much for any man. You simply should be torn to pieces.”
The language of compliment was always wine to Kay’s senses.
“Why, Victor, do you imagine I disrobed before Phil as Aphrodite did before Paris?” she asked gaily.
“If you felt like it . . . and the flowers in the grass enhanced the color of your skin . . . you would”
“Oh, Victor. I don’t think I’d ever go to such lengths to satisfy my vanity. . . . Still, I confess my immodest failing and will be careful to inhibit it in the future.”
They went in to luncheon, where, when they had nearly finished, Phil found them. The introduction must have been trying to both men, but to Kay’s surprise and pleasure the Westerner had a cool courteous poise that became him mightily. He was on his metde, aware that in Brelsford he confronted all of Kay’s alien and antagonistic world. Contrary to what might have been expected, Cameron’s simplicity and the elder man’s perspicuity and thoroughbred genuineness quickly brought the two into sympathy.
Kay grasped the opportune moment, and, pleading a little shopping to do, she left them together. But from the store she went directly to her cottage, and, changing to pajamas, she lay down on her bed to rest and think. The gambling dens would save money that afternoon, she reflected, with a smile. There was much to ponder upon, but Kay did not get very far with it, before she fell asleep.
Phil awakened her, coming in at five o’clock. He appeared excited and enthusiastic, and sat down beside her on the bed, something he had not done before.
“Say, Kay, this old flame of yours is some swell guy,” declared Phil. “He’s shore a regular fellow. I like him to beat the band. We’ve been all over town, playing faro, monte, roulette. I won a lot. It shore tickles me when I beat these Reno games.”
Kay sat up to give him a little pull toward her and a searching look.
“You’ve been drinking champagne, Phil,” she said severely. “I forbade tha
t, you know.”
“But, honey, only one bottle, and Brelsford ordered it.”
“You should have confined yourself to one glass. We’re to dine with Victor tonight, and that means more champagne.”
“Aw, don’t worry about me. I can hold my liquor Doggone it, Kay, I feel great. Somehow, without saying so outright, your friend made me feel the bigness of my responsibility for you . . . the . . . the privilege I had . . . and that, since you had to pull such an awful stunt, I was the man to trust.”
“You are, Phil. And Brelsford saw it and was man enough to convey it without flattering you. Oh, I’m glad he came . . . glad you like him. . . . Right now he’ll be giving Mother the unhappiest hour of her life.”
“I’ll say he will. I was there when they met, in the lobby, just now. Would you believe it, Brelsford had the nerve to introduce me to her? ‘Kay’s cowboy friend,’ he said. And if looks could slay, I’d be daid now.”
“Vic said that? Oh, delicious! Funny how life works out. Mother always hated cowboys because I loved to read about them . . . preferred Western heroes to dukes and fairy princes.”
“Sounds like poetic justice to me . . . Kay Hempstead falling for a cowpuncher who’s far from a hero.”
“Oh! So she’s fallen for you, has she?” rejoined Kay demurely. The boy was out of his head. “Don’t tell it outside the family or it’ll be front page news for our campaign.”
“Kay, I gotta tell you the rest,” he burst out joyously. “I met Mom, too, and she’s licked. Aw, but I wanted to hug her. She said she’d go back to Dad and forgive him . . . forget it all . . . if I’d only give up that beautiful half-naked glory-eyed vampire I was traveling around with!”