by B. M. Bower
“I—see,” he assented, looking thoughtfully at the flushed face and big, shining eyes of Billy Louise. (I wonder if Seabeck was not thinking how he had known Billy Louise impersonally all her life and yet had never met the real Billy Louise until today!)
“And yet,” she added bitterly, “she’s going to protect him if it takes every cent she’s managed to rake together these last thirty years. You heard what she told you. She said she’d kill you if you hurt Charlie. She’d try it, too.”
“Hmm-mm, yes! My life has been threatened several times today.” Seabeck looked at her with eyes a-twinkle, and Billy Louise blushed to the crown of her Stetson hat. “Do you think, Miss MacDonald, she would feel like talking business for a few minutes?”
“Oh, yes; if she’s like me, she’ll want to get the agony over with.” Billy Louise turned with a twitch of the shoulders. She felt chilled, somehow. She had not quite expected that Seabeck would want to talk about his stolen stock at all. She had rather taken it for granted that he would let that subject lie quiet for awhile. Oh, well, he was a cattleman, after all.
Marthy did not attempt to rise when Seabeck followed Billy Louise into the sitting-room. She caught up her apron and wiped her eyes and her nose, however, and she also slid Charlie’s picture under the cheap cushion. After that she faced Seabeck with harsh composure and waited for the settlement.
“Hm-mm! I have been looking over the cattle,” he began, sitting on the edge of a chair and turning his black hat absently round and round by the brim. “You—mm-mm—you tell me there were seven head of grown stock—”
“That they shot and throwed in the river, with the brands cut out,” interpolated Marthy stolidly. “I heard ’em say that’s how they would git rid of ’em, an’ I heard ’em shootin’ down there.”
“Hmm-mm, yes! Do you know just what—”
“Five dry cows ’n’ two steers—long two-year-oles, I jedged ’em to be.” Marthy was certainly prompt enough and explicit enough. And her lips were grim, and her faded blue eyes hard and steady upon the face of Seabeck.
“Hmm-mm—yes! I find also,” he went on in his somewhat precise voice that had earned him the nickname of “Deacon” among his punchers, “that there are more young stock vented and rebranded than I—er—sold your nephew. Fourteen head, to be exact. With the cattle you tell me which were—mm-m—disposed of last night, that would make twenty-one head of stock for which—mm-mm—I take it you are willing to pay.”
“I ain’t got the money now,” Marthy stated, too apathetic to be either defiant or placating. “You c’n fix up the papers t’ suit yerself. I’ll sign anything yuh want.”
“Hmm-mm—yes! A note covering the amount, with legal rate of interest, will be—quite satisfactory, Mrs. Meilke. I shall make a lump sum at the going price for mixed stock. If you have a blank note, I—”
“You kin look in that desk over there,” permitted Marthy. “If yuh don’t find any there, there ain’t none nowhere.”
Seabeck did not find any blank notes. He found an eloquent confusion of jumbled letters and accounts and papers, and guessed that the owner had done some hasty sorting and straightening of his affairs. He sighed, and his blue eyes hardened for a minute. Then Billy Louise moved from the door and went over to kneel comfortingly beside Marthy, and Seabeck looked at the two and sighed again, though his eyes were no longer stern. He pulled a sheet of paper toward him and wrote steadily in a prim, upright chirography that had never a flourish anywhere, but carefully crossed t’s and carefully dotted i’s and punctuation marks of beautiful exactness.
“You will please sign here, Mrs. Meilke,” he said calmly, coming over to them with the sheet of paper laid smoothly upon a last-year’s best-seller and with Charlie’s fountain pen in his other hand. “And if Miss MacDonald will also sign, as an endorser, I think I can safely do away with any mortgage or other legal security.”
Billy Louise stood up and gave him one look—which Seabeck did not appreciate, because he did not see it.
“I’d ruther give a mortgage,” Marthy said uneasily, sitting up suddenly and looking from one to the other. “I don’t want Billy Louise to git tangled up in my troubles. She’s got plenty of her own. Her maw’s just died, Mr. Seabeck. And I’ll bet there was a hospital ’n’ doctor’s bill bigger ’n this cattle note, to be paid. I don’t want to pile on—”
“Now, Marthy, you be still. I’m perfectly willing to sign this note with you. If it will satisfy Mr. Seabeck, I’m sure it’s the very least we can do—or—expect.” Billy Louise, bless her heart, was trying very hard to be grateful to Seabeck in spite of the slump he had suffered in her estimation.
“Well, I’ll want your written word that yuh won’t prosycute Charlie nor help nobody else prosycute him,” stipulated Marthy, with sudden shrewdness. “If me ’n Billy Louise signs this note, we’ll pay it; and we want some pertection from you, fer Charlie.”
“Hmm-mm—I see!” He turned and went back to the littered desk and wrote carefully again upon another sheet of paper. “I think this will be quite satisfactory,” he said, and handed the paper to Marthy.
“Git my specs, Billy Louise—off ’n the shelf over there,” she said, and read the paper laboriously, her lips forming the letters of every word which contained more than one syllable. Marthy, remember, was a plainswoman born and bred.
“I guess that’ll do,” she pronounced at last, pushing the spectacles up on her lined forehead. “You read it, Billy Louise, ’n’ see what yuh think.”
“I think it’s all right, Marthy,” said Billy Louise, after she had read the document twice. “It’s a bill of sale; and it also wipes the slate clean of any possible—I think Mr. Seabeck is very c-clever.”
Whereupon Marthy signed the note, with a spluttering of the abused pen in her stiffened old fingers and a great twisting of her grim mouth as she formed the capitals. Then Billy Louise wrote her name with a fine, schoolgirl ease and a little curl on the end of the last d. Seabeck took the paper from the tips of Billy Louise’s supercilious fingers, returned with it to the desk for a blotter, hunted an envelope, folded the note carefully, and laid it away inside.
“I believe that is all, Mrs. Meilke. I hope you will suffer no further uneasiness on account of your—nephew.”
“I’m liable t’ suffer some gittin’ that five hundred dollars paid up,” Marthy returned with some acerbity. “I’m much obleeged to yuh, Mr. Seabeck, fer bein’ so easy on us. If yuh hadn’t drug Billy Louise into it, I’d say yer too good to be human.”
“Hmm-mm—not at all,” Seabeck stammered deprecatingly and left the room with what haste his natural dignity would permit.
That ended the Seabeck part of the whole sordid affair, except that he remained for another hour, doing chores and making everything snug for the night. Also he filled the kitchen woodbox as high as he could pile the sticks and brought water to last overnight—since Charlie’s plan to pipe water into the cabin had remained a beautiful plan and nothing more. Billy Louise thanked Seabeck, when he was ready to go.
“I knew you were square, and you’re really big-souled, too. I’ll remember it always, Mr. Seabeck.”
“Will you?” Seabeck looked down at her, with his hand upon the latch. “Even if you are put in a position where you must pay that note—you will still— Hm-mm! I see. Before I go, Miss MacDonald, I should like your permission to send a man down here to look after things.”
“No, you mustn’t.” Billy Louise spoke with prompt decision. “Marthy might think you were—you see, it wouldn’t do. I’ll see about getting a man. If you will take this note up and leave it in the mail-box for me, John Pringle will come up tomorrow. We’ll manage all right.”
“You’re quite right. But, Miss MacDonald, there is something else. I—er—should like to give you a little—wedding gift, since you honored me with the news of your approaching—mm-m—marriage. As an old neighbor, and one of your most sincere admirers, who would feel greatly honored by your friendship, I—sho
uld like to have you accept this—” He held something out to Billy Louise and pulled open the door for instant escape. “Good night, Miss MacDonald. I think it will storm.” Then he was gone, hurrying down the narrow path with long strides, his tall figure bent to the wind, his coat napping around his lean legs.
Billy Louise closed the door and her half-open mouth and let down her lifted eyelids. Standing with her back against the wall, she turned that something—an envelope—over twice, then tore off the end and pulled out the contents. It was the note she and Marthy had signed no longer than an hour ago, and written large across the face of it were the words: “Paid, Samuel Seabeck.”
“The—old—darling!” said Billy Louise under her breath and went straight in to show it to Marthy.
CHAPTER XXVIII
ALL RIGHT AND COMFY
Seabeck was a fine weather prophet, for that time at least. It did storm that night and the next day and the next; a howling, tearing blizzard that carried the snow so far and so fast that it almost wore it out; so that when the spasm was over, the land lay bleaker and raggeder than ever, with hard-packed drifts in all the hollows and bare ground between. Of course it was out of the question for Billy Louise to leave the Cove while the storm lasted, so she took care of Marthy and the pigs and chickens and cows, and between whiles she tormented herself with direful pictures of Ward up there alone on Mill Creek. Sometimes she saw him raving in fever and wanting a drink which he could not get, so that thirst tortured him; then calling for her, when she could not come. Sometimes she saw him trying to hobble somewhere on those crutches, and falling exhausted—breaking more bones, perhaps; or catching more cold, or something. She was a most distressed Billy Louise, believe me, and she wished a hundred times a day that she had stayed with Ward; she wished that, in spite of Marthy’s need of her. She was terribly sorry for Marthy; but Marthy had not broken any leg, and besides, she was not in love with Marthy.
On the second day John Pringle battled through the storm to see what Billy Louise would have him do. And Billy Louise gave him instructions about finding a man and sending him up to the Cove at once, and looking after the Wolverine ranch until she came, and having Phoebe send up some clothes for her. She felt better when she had set the wheels in motion again, and as she stood in the door and watched John’s broad, stolid back out of sight on his homeward journey, she made up her mind that she would start at daylight for Mill Creek, and she didn’t care whether it stormed or not. She simply would not leave Ward there alone any longer. She almost wished that she had told Seabeck about Ward; he would have sent a man over to look after him. But she was selfish, and she wanted Ward to herself; so she had not so much as mentioned his name to Seabeck.
She milked the two cows by lantern light, next morning; and the pigs did not seem to want to leave their nests when she poured their breakfast into the trough by the wavering light she carried. She made coffee for Marthy and took it to her in bed, and told her that she would leave plenty of wood and kindling, and that Marthy must sleep as long as she could and not worry about a single, living thing. She said she must get an early start, because it might be “bad going” and she meant to bring Ward back with her if he were able to travel at all.
“I can’t be in two places at once, Marthy, so if you don’t mind, I’ll bring him down here where I can look after the two of you at the same time. You’ll let me, won’t you? Or else,” she added hopefully, “I’ll take you both down home. Would you rather—”
“I’d ruther stay here where I b’long,” said Marthy dully. “But I don’t want you should go t’ any trouble about me, Billy Louise. I’ve rustled fer m’self all my life, and I guess I kin yit. If it wa’n’t fer my rheumatiz, I’d ask no odds of anybody. I ain’t goin’ t’ leave, anyway. Charlie might come back, er—”
“Well, you needn’t leave.” Billy Louise told herself that she was not disappointed, because she had not hoped to persuade Marthy to leave the Cove. “You don’t mind if I bring Ward down here, do you, Marthy?”
“No, I don’t mind nothin’ you kin do,” said Marthy in the same dull tone, pouring her saucer full of coffee and spilling some on her pillow, because her hands were not as steady as they used to be. “He kin sleep in Charlie’s room, if yuh want he should.” She took two big swallows that emptied the saucer, handed the dish to Billy Louise, and lay down again. “I don’t seem to care about nothin’,” she remarked tonelessly. “I’d jest as soon die as live. I wisht you’d send word to Seabeck I want t’ see him, Billy Louise. Oh, it ain’t about Charlie,” she added harshly. “He’s shet uh me, and I’m shet uh him. I—got some other business with Seabeck. Tell him to bring a couple uh men along with him.”
“Is there any hurry, Marthy?” Billy Louise stood holding the cup and saucer in her two hands, and stared down anxiously at the lined old face on the pillow. A faint, red glow was in the sky, and the lamp-light dimmed with the coming of day. “You don’t feel—badly, do you, Marthy?”
“Me? No, Why should I feel bad? But I want t’ see Seabeck and a couple of his men, jest as quick as you kin git word to ’em.”
“Which ones?” Billy Louise was plainly puzzled. Was Marthy going to make him take those cattle back? It was like her. Billy Louise did not blame her for feeling that way, either. If she had had the money, she would have paid him herself for the cattle.
“It don’t matter which ones. You send ’im word, Billy Louise, like the good girl yuh always have been. You’ve always kinda took the place of my Minervy to me, Billy Louise; and I won’t bother yuh much longer.”
“Oh, of course I will! The stage will go up this forenoon. I’ll send a note to Seabeck. It won’t be any bother at all. What shall I say? Just that you want to see him?”
“I kin write it m’self, I guess, if you’ll bring me a pencil and paper. I can’t seem t’ git used to a pen. I kin write all I want t’ say.”
Billy Louise let it go at that. She brought the paper and pencil and went after Blue, while Marthy, sitting up in bed, wrote her note. Billy Louise was eager to start; and I don’t think anyone should blame her if she hurried Marthy a little, and if her parting words were few, and her manner slightly abstracted. She knew just how Marthy was feeling—or thought she did; and she was simply wild with anxiety over Ward.
Blue discovered before she was out of the gorge that his lady was wild over something. Never had she come so near to being a merciless rider as on that nippy morning. There were drifts: Blue went through them in great lunges. There were steep hills: but there was no stopping at the top to breathe awhile and admire the view. Billy Louise rode with an eye upon the climbing sun, and with her mind busy adding up miles and minutes.
She rode up the creek trail at a long lope, and she pulled up at the stable and slid off Blue, who was wet to his ears and moving every rib when he breathed. (Blue was a good horse, with plenty of speed and stamina, but Billy Louise had given him all he wanted, that morning.) She went straight to a corner of the hay corral and stopped with her hands clutching the top wire.
“Ward Warren, for heaven’s sake, what are you doing?” You couldn’t have told from her tone that she had been crying, a mile back, from sheer anxiety, or that she “loved him to pieces.” She sounded as if she did not love him at all and was merely disgusted with his actions.
“I’m trying to sink my loop on this damned buzzard-head of a horse,” Ward retorted glumly. “I’ve been trying for about an hour,” he added, grinning a little at his own plight.
“Well, it’s a lucky thing for you he won’t let you,” Billy Louise informed him sternly, stooping to crawl under the bottom wire. “You’ve got about as much sense as—” She did not say what. “Give me that rope, and you take yourself and your crutches out of the corral, Mr. Smarty. I just had a hunch you couldn’t be trusted to behave yourself.”
“Brave Buckaroo got lonesome,” Ward said, looking at her with eyes alight, as he hobbled slowly toward her. “You’ll have to open the gate for me, William. Rattler’ll
make a break for the open if he sees a crack as wide as your little finger.”
By then he was near enough to reach out an arm and pull her close to him. “Oh, William girl, I’m sure glad to see you once more. I got scared. I thought maybe I just dreamed you were here; so I tackled—”
“You tackled more than you could handle,” Billy Louise finished with her lips close to his. “You haven’t got any sense at all. You might have known I’d come the very first minute I could.”
“I know—I know.”
“And you ought to know you mustn’t try to ride Rattler, Ward. What if he’d pitch with you?”
“In that case, I’d pile up, I reckon. Say, William, a broken leg does take a hell of a time to get well. But all the same, I’ll top old Rattler, all right. I’d top anything rather than spend another night in that jail.”
“You’ll ride Blue,” Billy Louise told him calmly “I’m going to ride Rattler myself.”
“Yes, you are—not!”
“Do you mean to say I can’t? Do you think—”
“Oh, I guess you can, all right, but—”
“Well, if I can, I’m going to. If you think I can’t handle a measly old skate like that—”
“He’s been running out for nearly two months, Wilhemina—”