by B. M. Bower
“’Course I’m sure.” Polycarp waggled his head solemnly. He was enjoying himself to the limit. He was the man on the inside, giving out information of the greatest importance, and an officer of the law was hanging anxiously upon his words. He spoke slowly, giving weight to every word. “I rode up to the house—Man’s house—somewhere close to noon, an’ there she was, layin’ on the kitchen floor. Didn’t know nothin’, an’ had the marks of somebody’s fingers on ’er throat; the rest of her neck’s so white they showed up, by granny, like—like—” Polycarp never could think of a simile. He always expectorated in such an emergency, and left his sentence unfinished. He did so now, and Fred cut in unfeelingly.
“Never mind that—you’ve gone over it half a dozen times. You say it was today, at noon, or thereabouts. Man must have done it when he found out she’d turned the calf loose—he wouldn’t unless he was pretty mad, and scared. He isn’t cold-blooded enough to wait till he’d barred out the brand, and then go home and choke his wife. He didn’t know about the calf till today, that’s a cinch.” He studied the matter with an air of grave importance.
“Polycarp,” he said abruptly, “I’m going to need you. We’ve got to find that bunch of cattle—it ought to be easy enough, and haze ’em down into Man’s field where his bunch of calves are—see? Any calf that’s been weaned in the last three weeks will be pretty likely to claim its mother; and if he’s got any calves branded that claim cows with some other brand—well—” He threw out his hands in a comprehensive gesture. “That’s the quickest way I know to get him,” he said. “I want a witness along, and some help. And you,” he eyed Polycarp keenly, “ain’t safe running around town loose. All your brains seem to leak out your mouth. So you come along with me.”
“Well—any time after to-morrer,” hedged Polycarp, offended by the implication that he talked too much. “I’ve got to drive the team home for Mis’ Fleetwood to-morrer, I tol’ her I would—”
“Well, you won’t. You’re going to hit the trail with me just as soon as I can find a horse for you to ride. We’ll sleep at the Double Diamond, and start from there in the morning. And if I catch you letting a word outa you about this deal, I’ll just about have to arrest you for—” He did not quite know what, but the very vagueness of the threat had its effect upon Polycarp.
He went without further argument, though first he went to the Hawley Hotel—with Fred close beside him as a precaution against imprudent gossip—and left word in the office that he would not be able to drive Mrs. Fleetwood home, the next morning, but would be back to take her out the day after that, if she did not mind staying in town. It was that message which Arline deliberately held back from Val until morning.
“You better stay here,” she advised then. “Polycarp an’ Fred’s up to some devilment, that’s a cinch; but whatever it is, you’re better off right here with me. S’posen you should drive out there and run into Man—what then?”
Val shivered. “I—that’s the only thing I can’t bear,” she admitted, as if the time for proud dignity and reserve had gone by. “If I could be sure I wouldn’t need to meet him, I’d rather go alone; really and truly, I would. You know the horses are perfectly safe—I’ve driven them to town fifty times if I have once. I had to, out there alone so much of the time. I’d rather not have Polycarp spying around. I’ve got to pack up—there are so many things of no value to—to him, things I brought out here with me. And there are all my manuscripts; I can’t leave them lying around, even if they aren’t worth anything; especially since they aren’t worth anything.” She pushed back her hair with a weary movement. “If I could only be sure—if I knew where he is,” she sighed.
“I’ll lend you my gun,” Arline offered in good faith. “If he comes around you and starts any funny business again, you can stand him off, even if you got some delicate feelin’s about blowin’ his brains out.”
“Oh, I couldn’t. I’m deadly afraid of guns.” Val shuddered.
“Well, then you can’t go atone. I’d go with you, if you could git packed up so as to come back today. I guess Min could make out to git two meals alone.”
“Oh, no. Really and truly, Arline, I’d just as soon go alone. I would rather, dear.”
Arline was not accustomed to being called “dear.” She surrendered with some confusion and a blush.
“Well, you better wait,” she admonished temporizingly. “Something may turn up.”
Presently something did turn up. She rushed breathlessly into Val’s room and caught her by the arm.
“Now’s your chancet, Val,” she hissed in a loud whisper. “Man jest now rode into town; he’s over in Pop’s place—I seen him go in. He’s good for the day, sure. I’ll have Hank hitch right up, an’ you can go down to the stable and start from there, so’st he won’t see you. An’ I’ll keep an eye out, ’n’ if he leaves town I won’t be fur behind, lemme tell you. He won’t, though; there ain’t one chancet in a hundred he’ll leave that saloon till he’s full—an’ if he tries t’ go then, I’ll have somebody lock ’im up in the ice house till you git back. You want to hurry up that packin’, an’ git in here quick’s you can.”
She went to the stable with Val, her apron thrown over her head for want of a hat. “When Val was settling herself in the seat, Arline caught at the wheel.
“Say! How’n time you goin’ to git your trunks loaded into the wagon?” she cried. “You can’t do it alone.” Val parsed her lips; she had not thought of that.
“But Polycarp will come, by the time I am ready,” she decided. “You couldn’t keep him away, Arline; he would be afraid he might miss something, because I suppose ours is the only ranch in the country where the wheels aren’t turning smoothly. Polycarp and I can manage.”
Hank, grinning under his ragged, brown mustache, handed her the lines. “I’ve got my orders,” he told her briefly. “I’ll watch out the trail’s kept clear.”
“Oh, thank you. I’ve so many good friends,” Val answered, giving him a smile to stir his sluggish blood. “Good-bye, Arline. Don’t worry about me, there’s a dear. I shall not be back before tomorrow night, probably.”
Both Arline and Hank stood where they were and watched her out of sight before they turned back to the sordid tasks which made up their lives.
“She’ll make it—she’s the proper stuff,” Hank remarked, and lighted his pipe. Arline, for a wonder, sighed and said nothing.
CHAPTER XXIII
CAUGHT!
After two nights and a day of torment unbearable, Kent bolted from his work, which would have taken him that day, as it had done the day before, in a direction opposite to that which his mind and his heart followed, and without apology or explanation to his foreman rode straight to Cold Spring Coulee. He had no very definite plan, except to see Val. He did not even know what he would say when he faced her.
Michael was steaming from nose to tail when he stopped at the yard gate, which shows how impatience had driven his master. Kent glanced quickly around the place as he walked up the narrow path to the house. Nothing was changed in the slightest particular, as far as he could see, and he realized then that he had been uneasy as well as anxious. Both doors were closed, so that he was obliged to knock before Val became visible. He had a fleeting impression of extreme caution in the way she opened the door and looked out, but he forgot it immediately in his joy at seeing her.
“Oh, it’s you. Come in, and—you won’t mind if I close the door? I’m afraid I’m the victim of nerves, today.”
“Why?” Kent was instantly solicitous. “Has anything happened since I was here?”
Val shook her head, smiling faintly. “Nothing that need to worry you, pal. I don’t want to talk about worries. I want to be cheered up; I haven’t laughed, Kent, for so long I’m afraid my facial muscles are getting stiff. Say something funny, can’t you?”
Kent pushed his hat far back on his head and sat down upon a corner of the table. “Such is life in the far West—and the farther West you go, the li
velier—” he began to declaim dutifully.
“The livelier it gets. Yes, I’ve heard that a million tunes, I believe. I can’t laugh at that; I never did think it funny.” She sighed, and twitched her shoulders impatiently because of it. “I see you brought back the glasses,” she remarked inanely. “You certainly weren’t in any great hurry, were you?”
“Oh, they had us riding over east of the home ranch, hazing in some outa the hills. I’m supposed to be over there right now—but I ain’t. I expect I’ll get the can, all right—”
“If you’re going away, what do you care?” she taunted.
“H’m—sure, what do I care?” He eyed her from under his brows while he bent to light a match upon the sole of his boot. Val had long ago settled his compunctions about smoking in her presence. “You seem to be all tore up, here,” he observed irrelevantly. “Cleaning house?”
“Yes—cleaning house.” Val smiled ambiguously.
“Hubby in town?”
“Yes—he went in yesterday, and hasn’t come back yet.”
Kent smoked for a moment meditatively. “I found that calf, all right,” he informed her at last. “It was too late to ride around this way and tell you that night. So you needn’t worry any more about that.”
“I’m not worrying about that.” Val stooped and picked up a hairpin from the floor, and twirled it absently in her fingers. “I don’t think it matters, any more. Yesterday afternoon Fred De Garmo and Polycarp Jenks came into the coulee with a bunch of cattle, and turned all the calves out of the river field with them; and, after a little, they drove the whole lot of them away somewhere—over that way.” She waved a slim hand to the west. “They let out the calves in the corral, too. I saw them from the window, but I didn’t ask them any questions. I really didn’t need to, did I?” She grazed him with a glance. “I thought perhaps you had failed to find that calf; I’m glad you did, though—so it wasn’t that started them hunting around here—Polycarp and Fred I mean.”
Kent looked at her queerly. Her voice was without any emotion whatever, as if the subject held no personal interest for her. He finished his cigarette and threw the stub out into the yard before either of them spoke another word. He closed the door again, stood there for a minute making up his mind, and went slowly over to where she was sitting listlessly in a chair, her hands folded loosely in her lap. He gripped with one hand the chairback and stared down at her high-piled, yellow hair.
“How long do you think I’m going to stand around and let you be dragged into trouble like this?” he began abruptly. “You know what I told you the other day—I could say the same thing over again, and a lot more; and I’d mean more than I could find words for. Maybe you can stand this sort of thing—I can’t. I’m not going to try. If you’re bound to stick to that—that gentleman, I’m going to get outa the country where I can’t see you killed by inches. Every time I come, you’re a little bit whiter, and a little bigger-eyed—I can’t stand it, I tell you!
“You weren’t made for a hell like you’re living. You were meant to be happy—and I was meant to make you happy. Every morning when I open my eyes—do you know what I think? I think it’s another day we oughta be happy in, you and me.” He took her suddenly by the shoulder and brought her up, facing him, where he could look into her eyes.
“We’ve only got just one life to live, Val!” he pleaded. “And we could be happy together—I’d stake my life on that. I can’t go on forever just being friends, and eating my heart out for you, and seeing you abused—and what for? Just because a preacher mumbled some words over you two! Only for that, you wouldn’t stay with him over-night, and you know it! Is that what ought to tie two human beings together—without love, or even friendship? You hate him; you can’t look me in the eyes and say you don’t. And he’s tired of you. Some other woman would please him better. And I could make you happy!”
Val broke away from his grasp, and retreated until the table was between them. Her listlessness was a thing forgotten. She was panting with the quick beating of her heart.
“Kent—don’t, pal! You mustn’t say those things—it’s wicked.”
“It’s true,” he cried hotly. “Can you look at me and say it ain’t the truth?”
“You’ve spoiled our friendship, Kent!” she accused, while she evaded his question. “It meant so much to me—just your dear, good friendship.”
“My love could mean a whole lot more,” he declared sturdily.
“But you mustn’t say those things—you mustn’t feel that way, Kent!”
“Oh!” He laughed grimly. “Mustn’t I? How are you going to stop me?” He stared hard at her, his face growing slowly rigid. “There’s just one way to stop me from saying such wicked things,” he told her. “You can tell me you don’t care anything about me, and never could, not even if that down-east conscience of yours didn’t butt into the game. You can tell me that, and swear it’s the truth, and I’ll leave the country. I’ll go so far you’ll newer see me again, so I’ll never bother you any more. I can’t promise I’ll stop loving you—but for my own sake I’ll sure try hard enough.” He set his teeth hard together and stood quiet, watching her.
Val tied to answer him. Evidently she could not manage her voice, for he saw her begin softly beating her lips with her fist, fighting to get back her self-control. Once or twice he had seen her do that, when, womanlike, the tears would come in spite of her.
“I don’t want you to go a-away,” she articulated at last, with a hint of stubbornness.
“Well, what do you want? I can’t stay, unless—” He did not attempt to finish the sentence. He knew there was no need; she understood well enough the alternative.
For long minutes she did not speak, because she could not. Like many women, she fought desperately against the tears which seemed a badge of her femininity. She sat down in a chair, dropped her face upon her folded arms, and bit her lips until they were sore. Kent took a step toward her, reconsidered, and went over to the window, where he stood staring moodily out until she began speaking. Even then, he did not turn immediately toward her.
“You needn’t go, Kent,” she said with some semblance of calm. “Because I’m going. I didn’t tell you—but I’m going home. I’m going to get free, by the same law that tied me to him. You are right—I have a ‘down-east’ conscience. I think I was born with it. It demands that I get my freedom honestly; I can’t steal it—pal. I couldn’t be happy if I did that, no matter how hard I might try—or you.”
He turned eagerly toward her then, but she stopped him with a gesture.
“No—stay where you are. I want to solve my problem and—and leave you out of it; you’re a complication, pal—when you talk like—like you’ve just been talking. It makes my conscience wonder whether I’m honest with myself. I’ve got to leave you out, don’t you see? And so, leaving you out, I don’t feel that any woman should be expected to go on like I’m doing. You don’t know—I couldn’t tell you just how—impossible—this marriage of mine has become. The day after—well, yesterday—no, the day before yesterday—he came home and found out—what I’d done. He—I couldn’t stay here, after that, so—”
“What did he do?” Kent demanded sharply. “He didn’t dare to lay his hands on you—did he? By—”
“Don’t swear, Kent—I hear so much of that from him!” Val smiled curiously. “He—he swore at me. I couldn’t stay with him, after that—could I, dear?” Whether she really meant to speak that last word or not, it set Kent’s blood dancing so that he forgot to urge his question farther. He took two eager steps toward her, and she retreated again behind the table.
“Kent, don’t! How can I tell you anything, if you won’t be good?” She waited until he was standing rather sulkily by the window again. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now what he has done. I am going to leave him. I’m going to get a divorce. Not even the strictest ‘down-east’ conscience could demand that I stay. I’m perfectly at ease upon that point. About this last trouble—with the cal
ves—if I could help him, I would, of course. But all I could say would only make matters worse—and I’m a wretched failure at lying. I can help him more, I think, by going away. I feel certain there’s going to be trouble over those calves. Fred De Garmo never would have come down here and driven them all away, would he, unless there was going to be trouble?”
“If he came in here and got the calves, it looks as if he meant business, all right.” Kent frowned absently at the white window curtain. “I’ve seen the time,” he added reflectively, “when I’d be all broke up to have Man get into trouble. We used to be pretty good friends!”
“A year ago it would have broken my heart,” Val sighed. “We do change so! I can’t quite understand Why I should feel so indifferent about it now; even the other day it was terrible. But when I felt his fingers—” she stopped guiltily. “He seems a stranger to me now. I don’t even hate him so very much. I don’t want to meet him, though.”
“Neither do I.” But there was a different meaning in Kent’s tone. “So you’re going to quit?” He looked at her thoughtfully—“You’ll leave your address, I hope!”
“Oh, yes.” Val’s voice betrayed some inward trepidation. “I’m not running away; I’m just going.”
“I see.” He sighed, impatient at the restraint she had put upon him. “That don’t mean you won’t ever come back, does it? Or that the trains are going to quit carrying passengers to your town? Because you can’t always keep me outa your ‘problem,’ let me tell you. Is it against the rules to ask when you’re going—and how?”
“Just as soon as I can get my trunks packed, and Polycarp—or somebody—comes to help me load them into the spring wagon. I promised Arline Hawley I would be in town tonight. I don’t know, though—I don’t seem to be making much progress with my packing.” She smiled at him more brightly. “Let’s wade ashore, pal, and get to work instead of talking about things better left alone. I know just exactly what you’re thinking—and I’m going to let you help me instead of Polycarp. I’m frightfully angry with him, anyway. He promised me, on his word of honor, that be wouldn’t mention a thing—and he must have actually hunted for a chance to tell! He didn’t have the nerve to come to the house yesterday, when he was here with Fred—perhaps he won’t come today, after all. So you’ll have to help me make my getaway, pal.”