The Barrier

by Beach, Rex Ellingwood

  "Your foolish head is full of romance," she burst out. "You think you're doing me a favor, but you're not. Why, there's Runnion—he wants me so much that he'd 'even marry me'!" Her wild laughter stabbed the man. "Was ever a girl in such a fix! I've been made love to ever since I was half a woman, but at thought of a priest men seem to turn pale and run like whipped dogs. I'm only good enough for a bad man and a gambler, I suppose." She sank to a seat, flung out her arms hopelessly, and, bowing her head, began to weep uncontrollably. "If—if—I only had a woman to talk to—but they are all men—all men."

  Poleon waited patiently until her paroxysm of sobbing had passed, then gently raised her and led her out through the back door into the summer day, which an hour ago had been so bright and promising and was now so gray and dismal. He followed her with his eyes until she disappeared inside the log-house.

  "An' dat's de end of it all," he mused. "Five year I've wait—an' jus' for dis."

  Meade Burrell never knew how he gained his quarters, but when he had done so he locked his door behind him, then loosed his hold on things material. He raged about the room like a wild animal, and vented his spite on every inanimate thing that lay within reach. His voice was strange in his own ears, as was the destructive frenzy that possessed him. In time he grew quieter, as the physical energy of this brutal impulse spent itself; but there came no surcease of his mental disquiet. As yet his mind grasped but dully the fact that she was to marry another, but gradually this thought in turn took possession of him. She would be a wife in two days. That great, roistering, brown man would fold her to himself—she would yield to him every inch of her palpitant, passionate body. The thought drove the lover frantic, and he felt that madness lay that way if he dwelt on such fancies for long. Of a sudden he realized all that she meant to him, and cursed himself anew. While he had the power to possess her he had dallied and hesitated, but now that he had no voice in it, now that she was irretrievably beyond his reach, he vowed to snatch her and hold her against the world.

  As he grew calmer his reason began to dissect the scene that had taken place in the store, and he wondered whether she had been lying to him, after all. No doubt she had been engaged to the Frenchman, and had always planned to wed Poleon, for that was not out of reason; she might even have set out mischievously to amuse herself with him, but at the recollection of those rapturous hours they had spent together, he declared aloud that she had loved him, and him only. Every instinct in him shouted that she loved him, in spite of her cruel protestations.

  All that afternoon he stayed locked in his room, and during those solitary hours he came to know his own soul. He saw what life meant: what part love plays in it, how dwarfed and withered all things are when pitted against it.

  A man came with his supper, but he called to him to be gone. The night settled slowly, and with the darkness came such a feeling of despair and lonesomeness that Burrell lighted every lamp and candle in the place to dispel, in some measure, the gloom that had fallen upon him. There are those who believe that in passing from daylight to darkness a subtle transition occurs akin to the change from positive to negative in an electrical current, and that this intangible, untraceable atmospheric influence exerts a definite, psychical effect upon men and their modes of thought. Be this as it may, it is certain that as the night grew darker the Lieutenant's mood changed. He lost his fierce anger at the girl, and reasoned that he owed it to her to set himself right in her eyes; that in all justice to her he ought to prove his own sincerity, and assure her that whatever her own state of mind had been, she wronged him when she said he had made sport of her for his own pleasure. She might then dismiss him and proceed with her marriage, but first she must know this much of the truth at least. So he argued, insensible to the sophistry of his reasoning, which was in reality impelled by the hunger to see her and hear her voice again. He snatched his hat and bolted out, almost running in his eagerness.

  An up-river steamboat was just landing as he neared the trading-post—a freighter, as he noted by her lights. In the glare at the river-bank he saw Poleon and the trader, who had evidently returned from Lee's Creek, and without accosting them he hurried on to the store. Peering in from the darkness, he saw Alluna; no doubt Necia was alone in the house behind. So he stumbled around to the back to find the window of her room aglow behind its curtain, and, receiving no answer to his knock, he entered, for it was customary at Gale's to waive ceremony. Inside the big room he paused, then stepped swiftly across and rapped at her door, falling back a pace as she came out.

  Instead of speaking at once, as he had planned, to prevent her escaping, he was struck speechless, for the vision that met his eyes was that which he had seen one blithe spring morning three months before; but to-night there was no shawl to conceal her sweetly rounded neck and shoulders, whose whiteness was startling against the black of the ball-room gown. The slim gold chain hung around her neck and her hair was piled high, as before. He noted every smallest detail as she stood there waiting for him to speak, forgetful of everything else.

  She had put on the gown again to see if, perchance, there might be some mark of her blood or breed that had escaped her previous scrutiny, and, as there was no one to observe her, she had attired herself slowly, absorbed in her whimsy. Her wistful beauty dazed the young man and robbed him of the words he had rehearsed; but as she made to flee from him, with a pitiful gesture, towards her room, the fear of losing her aroused him and spurred his wit.

  "Don't go away! I have something I must tell you. I've thought it over, and you've got to listen, Necia."

  "I am listening," she answered, very quietly.

  "Understand me, I'm not whining, and I'm willing to take my medicine. I couldn't talk or think very straight this afternoon, but you were wrong."

  "Yes, I know now, I was wrong. It was most unlady-like, wasn't it? But you see, I am only a little savage."

  "I don't mean that; I mean you were wrong when you said I had played with you. In the sight of God, I swear you were mistaken. You have made me love you, Necia. Can't you see?"

  She made no sign.

  "If you can't, I owe it to you and to myself to set you right. I am not ashamed to acknowledge my love, and even when you are married to Poleon I want you to know that I shall love you always."

  Even yet she made no sign. Was he not merely repeating the same empty words with which he had so often beguiled her? There was no word of marriage: he still considered her unworthy, beneath him. The pain of it caused the girl to wince suddenly, and her sensitive face flinched, seeing which he broke out:

  "You do love me, Necia—you do; I see it in your eyes!" And he started towards her with open arms, but she shrank away from him.

  "No, no! Don't touch me!" she almost screamed.

  "My dear one," he breathed, "you must listen to me. You have nothing to fear, for I love you—love you—love you! You were made for me! You'll be my wife. Yes; you'll be married on Sunday, but to me, not to Poleon or any other man!"

  Did she hear aright? Was he, her soldier lover, asking her, the Indian girl—?

  "You do love me, don't you?" he pleaded. But still she could not speak, and he tried to read the answer in her swimming eyes.

  "You mean—you want to—marry me?" she murmured, at last, hesitating shyly at the word that had come to play so momentous a part in her little world.

  "Indeed I do!" he declared, with emphasis. "In spite of everything, anything. Nothing else matters."

  "Nothing?"

  "Nothing! I'll quit the army. I'll give up the Service, and my people, too. I'll put everything back of me, and we'll start out anew—just you and I."

  "Wait a moment," she said, retreating a little from his eager, out-stretched arms. "Why do you need to do all that?"

  "Never mind why; it's as good as done. You wouldn't understand—"

  "But I think I do understand now. Do I really mean all that to you?"

  "Yes, and more!"

  "Listen to me," said the girl, quietl
y. "I want you to talk slowly so I may not misunderstand. If you—marry me, must you forego all those great things you speak of—your profession, your family, your future?"

  "Don't let's talk about it, Necia; I've got you, and—"

  "Please answer me," she urged. "I thought I understood, but I'm afraid I don't. I thought it was my being a breed that stood in the way—"

  "There's nothing in the way—"

  "—that I wasn't good enough. I knew I could overcome that; I knew I could make myself grow to your level, but I didn't think my blood would fetter you and make this difference. I suppose I am putting it awkwardly, because I'm not sure that I quite understand it myself yet. Things seem different now, somehow, than they did before."

  "Nonsense!" exclaimed the soldier. "If they don't bother me, Necia, why should you worry?"

  "Would you really have to give up your family—your sister? Would those people you are so proud of and who are so proud of you—would they cut you off?"

  "There is no question of cutting off. I have no inheritance coming; I don't want any. I don't want anything except you, dear."

  "Won't you tell me?" she persisted. "You see, I am dull at these things."

  "Well, what if they do?" he conceded. "You more than make it up to me—you outweigh a thousand families."

  "And would your marriage to a—a—to me destroy your army career?"

  "Well, it will really be much easier for both of us if I resign from the Service," he finally admitted. "In fact, I've decided to do so at once."

  "No, no! You mustn't do that. To-night you think I am worth the price, but a day will come—"

  He leaned forward and caught her hands in his.

  "—Meade, I can't let you do it."

  "I'd like to see you help yourself," he said, banteringly.

  "I can and I will. You must not marry me, Meade—it's not right—it can't be." She suddenly realized what this renunciation would mean, and began to shiver. To think of losing him now, after he had come to her freely—it would be very hard! But to her, too, there had come the revelation that love means sacrifice, and she knew now that she loved her soldier too well to let her shadow darken his bright future, too well to ruin him.

  "It will be over before you know it," she heard him saying, in a lame attempt at levity. "Father Barnum is an expert, and the operation won't occupy him ten minutes."

  "Meade, you must listen to me now," she said, so earnestly that it sobered him. "Do you think a girl could be happy if she knew a good man had spoiled his life for her? I would rather die now than let you do such a thing. I couldn't bear to see myself a drag on you. Oh, I know it would be wonderful, this happiness of ours, for a time, and then—" She was finding it more and more difficult to continue. "A prisoner grows to hate the chains that bind him; when that day came for you, I should hate myself. No, no! Believe me, it can't be. You're not of my people, and I'm not of yours."

  At that moment they heard the voices of the trader and his squaw outside, approaching the house. The girl's breath caught in her throat, she flung herself recklessly upon her lover's breast and threw her arms around his neck in an agony of farewell.

  "Meade! Meade! my soldier!" she sobbed, "kiss me good-bye for the last time!"

  "No," he said roughly.

  But she dragged his face down to her burning lips.

  "Now you must go," she said, tearing herself away, "and, for my sake, don't see me again."

  "I will! I will! I'll ask your father for you to-night."

  "No, no! Don't; please don't! Wait till—till to-morrow—till I say the word! Promise me! On your love, promise!"

  Her eyes held such a painful entreaty that he nodded acquiescence as the door opened and her father and Alluna entered.

  CHAPTER XIII

  STARK TAKES A HAND IN THE GAME

  The old man greeted the Lieutenant affably, but as his glance fell on his daughter he stopped stock-still on the threshold.

  "I told you never to wear that dress again," he said, in a dry, harsh voice.

  The girl made no answer, for her heart was breaking, but turned and went into her room. Burrell had an irresistible desire to tell Gale that he wanted his daughter for his wife; it would be an unwonted pleasure to startle this iron-gray old man and the shawled and shambling mummy of red, with the unwinking eyes that always reminded him of two ox-heart cherries; but he had given Necia his promise. So he descended to the exchange of ordinary topics, and inquired for news of the creek.

  "Necia's ground is getting better every hour," the trader said. "Yesterday they found a sixty-dollar pan."

  "Have you struck pay on yours?"

  "No; Poleon and I seem to hold bad hands. Some of his laymen are quitting work. They've cross-cut in half a dozen places and can't find a color."

  "But surely they haven't fully prospected his claims yet; there must be plenty of room for a pay-streak somewhere, mustn't there?"

  "It looks like he had drawn three blanks," said Gale, "although we can't tell for sure. They're breaking most as bad for me, too; but I've got a new hunch, and I'm running up a dreen to catch bed-rock along the left rim. I've got twenty men at work, and I'll know before long. You heard about Runnion, of course?"

  "Yes; the usual story—the bad men get the good mines, and the good ones get the hungry spots. Well, I might have been one of the unfortunates if I had staked for myself; but I hardly think so, I'm pretty lucky." He laughingly bade them good-night, content with himself and at peace with the world.

  Gale went to Necia's door and called her, but when she appeared he was unprepared for the tragic face with which she greeted him.

  "Daughter," he said, "don't feel bad over what I said; I didn't mean to be cross with you, but—I don't like that dress."

  "Were you cross with me, daddy?" she said, dully. "I didn't hear. What did you say?"

  He looked at her in amazement. "Necia, little girl, what is the trouble?"

  She was staring past him, and her fingers were fumbling helplessly with the lace of her gown, but she began to show signs of collapse.

  "I sent him away—I—gave him up, when he wanted me—wanted me—Oh, daddy! he wants to marry me—and I sent him away."

  Alluna uttered a short, satisfied exclamation, and, looking at Gale meaningly, said:

  "It is good. It is good. He is a stranger."

  But the man disregarded her interruption.

  "He asked you to marry him in—in—in spite of who you are and what I am?"

  "Yes; he is ready to give up his ambition, his army, his future, his family, everything, for me—to sacrifice it all; and so, of course, I couldn't let him." She spoke simply, as if her father would surely understand and approve her action, while in her voice was a note of inevitable resignation. "You see, I never understood what my blood would mean to him until to-night. I've been selfish and thoughtless, I guess. I just wanted him, and wanted him to take me; but now that he is mine, I love him more than I thought. He is so dear to me that I can't drag him down—I can't—I can't!" She went to the open door and stood leaning against the casing, facing the cool outer darkness, her face hidden from them, her form sagging wearily, as if the struggle had sapped her whole strength.

  Alluna crept to the trader and looked up at him eagerly, whispering:

  "This will end in a little while, John. She is young. She can go back to the Mission to-morrow. She will soon forget."

  "Forget! Do you think she can forget?"

  "Any woman can forget. Only men remember."

  "It is the red blood in you—lying. You know you lie."

  "It is to save your life," she said.

  "I know; but it's no use." To Necia he said; "You needn't worry, little daughter." But her ears were deaf. "You needn't give him up, I say—this will end all right."

  Seeing that she gave no sign of heeding, he stepped closer, and swung her about till she faced him.

  "Can't you trust me this one time? You always have before, Necia. I say he'll marry you, an
d it will all come out right."

  She raised her hopeless eyes and strove gamely to meet his, then, failing, broke away, and turned back to the door. "I knew you couldn't understand. I—I—oh, God, I love him so!" With a cry like that of a wounded animal she fled out into the night, where she could give vent to her anguish unseen; for she had never wept before her father, but always crept away and hid herself until her grief was spent. Gale would have started after her, but Alluna dragged him back fiercely.

  "No, no! It means your life, John. Let the secret die, and she will forget. She is so young. Time will cure her—time cures everything. Don't tell her—don't tell any one—and, above all, don't tell that soldier! He would not believe, nor would she. Even I have doubted!"

  "You?"

  "Yes, John. And if I don't believe, what is a stranger to say? No man knowing you would believe the tale—without proof. Suppose she doubted—have you ever thought of that? Would you not rather have her die still loving you than live and disbelieve?"

  "Yes, yes! Of course, I—I've thought of that, but—Woman, you're worse than a rattlesnake!"

  "Even if he knew, he might not marry her. You at least are clean, and that other man was a devil. A brave man's life is too great a price to pay for a grief that will die in a year." Alluna was speaking swiftly in her own language, her body tense, her face ablaze, and no man seeing her could ever again have called her people stolid.

  "You think time will cure a love like that?" he said.

  "Yes, yes!"

  "That's all you know about it. Time may act that way perhaps in cities and such places, but out in the hills it is different. When you've got the breath of the forest in you, I say it is different. Time—why, I've lived fifteen years in the open with a living memory. Every night I've dreamed it over, every day I've lived it through; in every camp-fire I see a face, and every wind from the south brings a voice to me. Every stormy night a girl with eyes like Necia's calls to me, and I have to follow. Every patch of moonlight shows her smiling at me, just beyond, just in the shadow's edge. Love! Time! Why, Alluna, love is the only thing in the world that never dies, and time only makes it the more enduring."