by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER XXIII
THE GREAT HAPPINESS
The town was rapidly losing sharpness of detail, for the stragglingbuildings were becoming more and more blurred and were growing into sharpsilhouettes in the increasing dusk, and the sickly yellow lights weregrowing more numerous in the scattered windows.
Helen moved about the dining-room engaged in setting the table andshe had just placed fresh flowers in the vase, when she suddenly stoppedand listened. Faintly to her ears came the pounding hoofbeats of agalloping horse on the well-packed street, growing rapidly nearer withportentous speed. It could not be Miss Ritchie, for there was a vastdifference between the comparatively lazy gallop of her horse and thepulse-stirring tattoo which she now heard. The hoofbeats passed thecorner without slackening pace, and whirled up the street, stopping infront of the house with a suddenness which she had long since learnedto attribute to cowboys. She stood still, afraid to go to the door,numbed with a nameless fear--something terrible must have happened,perhaps to The Orphan. The rider ran up the path, his spurs jinglingsharply, leaped to the porch, and the door was dashed open to show himstanding before her, sombrero in hand, his quirt dangling from his leftwrist. He was dusty and tired, but the expression on his face terrifiedher, held her speechless.
"Helen!" he cried hoarsely, driving her fear deeper into her heart byhis altered voice. "Helen!" She trembled, and he made a gesture ofhopelessness and involuntarily stepped toward her, letting the door swingshut behind him. He stood just within the room, rigidly erect, his eyesmeeting hers in the silence of strong emotion. Breathlessly she retreatedas he advanced, as if instinct warned her of what he had to tell her,until the table was between them; and a spasm of pain flickered acrosshis face as he noticed it, leaving him hard and stern again, but inhis eyes was a look of despair, a keen misery which softened her anddrew her toward him even while she feared him.
The silence became unbearable and at last she could endure it no longer."What is it?" she breathed, tensely. "What have you to tell me?"
His eyes never wavered from her face, fascinated in despair of what hemust read there, much as he dreaded it, and he answered her from betweenset lips, much as a man would pronounce his own death sentence. "I havebroken my word," he said, harshly.
"Broken your word--to me?" she asked.
"Yes."
Her face brightened and was softened by a child-like wonder, for she feltrelieved in a degree, and unconsciously she moved nearer to him. "What isit--what have you done?"
He regarded her without appraising the change in her expression and hisreply was as harsh and stern as his first statement, accompanied by noexcuses nor words of extenuation. "I have killed a man," he said.
A shiver passed over her and her eyes went closed for a moment. Thegreat choice was at hand now, and in her heart a fierce, short battleraged; on one side was arrayed her early training, all her teachings, allregard for the ideas of law and order which she had absorbed in the East,where human life was safeguarded as the first necessity; and on theother was the Unwritten Law of the range as exemplified by The Orphan.Blood, and human blood, was precious, and her early environment foughtbitterly against this regime of direct justice, so startlingly driveninto her mind by his bold, cold admission. And then, he had sinned inthis way again after he had promised her not to do so. The last thoughtdominated her and she opened her eyes and looked at him hopefully.
"Perhaps," she said, eagerly, "perhaps you could not avoid it--perhaps youwere forced to do it."
"No."
"Oh!" she cried. "You did not--you did not shoot him down without warning!I _know_ you didn't!"
"No, not that," he said slowly. "And, besides, this was his third offense.Twice I have given him his life, and I would have done so again but forwhat I discovered after I faced him." He paused for a moment and thencontinued, with more feeling in his voice, a ring of victory and anirrepressible elation. "I found that he was the man for whom I havebeen looking for fifteen years, and whom I had sworn to kill. He killedmy father, killed him like a dog and without a chance for life, hunghim to a tree on his own land. And when I learned that, when he hadconfessed to me, I forgot the new game, I forgot everything but thewatch in my hand slowly ticking away his life, the time I had given himto make his peace with God--and I hated the slow seconds, I begrudgedhim every movement of the hands. Then I shot him, and I was glad, soglad--but oh, dear! If you--if you----"
His voice wavered and broke and he dropped to his knees before her withbowed head as she came slowly toward him and seized the hem of her gownin both hands, kissing it passionately, burying his face in its folds likea tired boy at his mother's knee.
Her eyes were filled with tears and they rimmed her lashes as she lookeddown on the man at her feet. Bending, she touched him and then placed herhands on his head, tenderly kissing the tangled hair in loving forgiveness.
"Dear, dear boy," she murmured softly. "Don't, dear heart. Don't, youmust not--oh, you must not! Please--come with me; get up, dear, and sitwith me over here in the corner; then you shall tell me all about it. Iam sure you have not done wrong--and if you have--don't you know I loveyou, boy? Don't you know I love you?"
He stirred slightly, as if awakening from a troubled sleep, and slowlyraised his head and looked at her with doubt in his eyes, for it was somuch like a dream--perhaps it was one. But he saw a light on her face,a light which a man sees only on the face of one woman and which blindshim against all other lights forever. Then it was true, all true--he hadheard aright! "Helen!" he cried, "Helen!" and the ring in his voicebrought new tears to her eyes. He sprang to his feet, tense, eager, allhis nerves tingling, and his quirt hissed through the air and snapped adefiance, a warning to the world as he clasped her to him. "I _knew_,I _knew!_" he cried passionately. "In my heart I _knew_ you were athoroughbred!"
He tilted her head back, but she laughed low with delight and eluded him,leading him to a chair, the chair he had occupied on the occasion of hisfirst visit, and then drew a low, rough footrest beside him and seatedherself at his feet, her elbows resting on his knees and her chin in herhands. He looked down into the upturned face and then glanced swiftlyabout the homelike room and back to her face again. She snuggled tightlyagainst his knees and waited patiently for his story.
He sighed contentedly and touched her cheek reverently and then told herall of the story of Tex Williard, from the very beginning to the very end,from the time he had seen Tex bending over one of his father's cows tothe last scene in the thicket. When he had finished, Helen took his headbetween her hands, pressing it warmly as she nodded wisely to show thatshe understood. He looked deep into her eyes and then suddenly benthis head until his lips touched her ear: "Helen, darling," he whispered,"how long must I wait?"
"Why, you scamp!" she exclaimed, teasingly, threatening to draw away fromhim. "You haven't even told me that you love me!"
He pressed her hands tightly and laughed aloud, joyously, filled with anelated, effervescent gladness which surged over him in waves of delight:"Haven't I? Oh, but you know better, dear. Many and many times I havetold you that, and in many ways, and you knew it and understood. Younever doubted it, and I hope," he added seriously, "that you never will."
"I never will, dear."
They did not hear Grace Ritchie in the kitchen, did not hear her quietstep as it crossed the threshold and stopped, and then tiptoed to therear door and sped lightly around the house to the street, and down itto where Mrs. Shields and Mary were walking toward the house. They did notknow that half an hour had passed since the coming of the quiet step andthe three women, and that the supper was hopelessly ruined. They knewnothing--and Everything: they had learned the Great Happiness.
THE END