The Girl from Montana

by Grace Livingston Hill

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE PARTING

  She took the news like a Spartan. Her gentle pity was simply expressed,and then she held her peace. He must go. He must leave her. She knew thatthe train would carry him to his mother's bedside quicker than a horsecould go. She felt by the look in his eyes and the set of his mouth thathe had already decided that. Of course he must go. And the lady was theretoo! His mother and the lady! The lady would be sorry by this time, andwould love him. Well, it was all right. He had been good to her. He hadbeen a strong, bright angel God had sent to help her out of thewilderness; and now that she was safe the angel must return to his heaven.This was what she thought.

  He had gone into the station to inquire about the train. It was an hourlate. He had one short hour in which to do a great deal. He had verylittle money with him. Naturally men do not carry a fortune when they goout into the wilderness for a day's shooting. Fortunately he had hisrailroad return ticket to Philadelphia. That would carry him safely. Butthe girl. She of course had no money. And where was she going? He realizedthat he had failed to ask her many important questions. He hurried out,and explained to her.

  "The train is an hour late. We must sell our horses, and try to get moneyenough to take us East. It is the only way. Where do you intend going?"

  But the girl stiffened in her seat. She knew it was her opportunity toshow that she was worthy of his honor and respect.

  "I cannot go with you," she said very quietly.

  "But you must," said he impatiently. "Don't you see there is no other way?I must take this train and get to my mother as soon as possible. She maynot be living when I reach her if I don't." Something caught in his throatas he uttered the horrible thought that kept coming to his mind.

  "I know," said the girl quietly. "You must go, but I must ride on."

  "And why? I should like to know. Don't you see that I cannot leave youhere alone? Those villains may be upon us at any minute. In fact, it is agood thing for us to board the train and get out of their miserablecountry as fast as steam can carry us. I am sorry you must part with yourhorse, for I know you are attached to it; but perhaps we can arrange tosell it to some one who will let us redeem it when we send the money out.You see I have not money enough with me to buy you a ticket. I couldn'tget home myself if I hadn't my return ticket with me in my pocket. Butsurely the sale of both horses will bring enough to pay your way."

  "You are very kind, but I must not go." The red lips were firm, and thegirl was sitting very erect. She looked as she had done after she had shotthe bird.

  "But why?"

  "I cannot travel alone with you. It is not your custom where you comefrom. The woman on the ranch told me. She said you knew girls did not dothat, and that you did not respect me for going alone with you. She saidit was not right, and that you knew it."

  He looked at her impatient, angry, half ashamed that she should face himwith these words.

  "Nonsense!" said he. "This is a case of necessity. You are to be takencare of, and I am the one to do it."

  "But it is not the custom among people where you live, is it?"

  The clear eyes faced him down, and he had to admit that it was not.

  "Then I can't go," she said decidedly.

  "But you must. If you don't, I won't go."

  "But you must," said the girl, "and I mustn't. If you talk that way, I'llrun away from you. I've run away from one man, and I guess I can fromanother. Besides, you're forgetting the lady."

  "What lady?"

  "Your lady. The lady who rides in a carriage without horses."

  "Hang the lady!" he said inelegantly. "Do you know that the train will bealong here in less than an hour, and we have a great deal to do before wecan get on board? There's no use stopping to talk about this matter. Wehaven't time. If you will just trust things to me, I'll attend to themall, and I'll answer your questions when we get safely on the train. Everyinstant is precious. Those men might come around that corner ever thereany minute. That's all bosh about respect. I respect you more than anywoman I ever met. And it's my business to take care of you."

  "No, it's not your business," said the girl bravely, "and I can't let you.I'm nothing to you, you know."

  "You're every--that is--why, you surely know you're a great deal to me.Why, you saved my life, you know!"

  "Yes, and you saved mine. That was beautiful, but that's all."

  "Isn't that enough? What are you made of, anyway, to sit there whenthere's so much to be done, and those villains on our track, and insistthat you won't be saved?' Respect you! Why, a lion in the wilderness wouldhave to respect you. You're made of iron and steel and precious stones.You've the courage of a--a--I was going to say a man but I mean an angel.You're pure as snow, and true as the heavenly blue, and firm as a rock;and, if I had never respected you before, I would have to now. I respect,I honor, I--I--I--pray for you!" he finished fiercely.

  He turned his back to hide his emotion.

  She lifted her eyes to his when he turned again, and her own were full oftears.

  "Thank you!" She said it very simply. "That makes me--very--glad! But Icannot go with you."

  "Do you mean that?" he asked her desperately.

  "Yes," steadily.

  "Then I shall have to stay too."

  "But you can't! You must go to your mother. I won't be stayed with. Andwhat would she think? Mothers are--everything!" she finished. "You must goquick and get ready. What can I do to help?"

  He gave her a look which she remembered long years afterward. It seemed toburn and sear its way into her soul. How was it that a stranger had thepower to scorch her with anguish this way? And she him?

  He turned, still with that desperate, half-frantic look in his face, andaccosted two men who stood at the other end of the platform. They were notin particular need of a horse at present; but they were always ready tolook at a bargain, and they walked speculatively down the uneven boardsof the platform with him to where his horse stood, and inspected it.

  The girl watched the whole proceeding with eyes that saw not but into thefuture. She put in a word about the worth of the saddle once when she sawit was going lower than it should. Three other men gathered about beforethe bargain was concluded, and the horse and its equipments sold for abouthalf its value.

  That done, the man turned toward the girl and motioned to her to lead herhorse away to a more quiet place, and set him down to plead steadilyagainst her decision. But the talk and the horse-selling had taken moretime than he realized. The girl was more decided than ever in herdetermination not to go with him. She spoke of the lady again. She spokeof his mother, and mothers in general, and finished by reminding him thatGod would take care of her, and of him, too.

  Then they heard the whistle of the train, and saw it growing from a speckto a large black object across the plain. To the girl the sight of thisstrange machine, that seemed more like a creature rushing toward her tosnatch all beauty and hope and safety from her, sent a thrill of horror.To the man it seemed like a dreaded fate that was tearing him asunder. Hehad barely time to divest himself of his powder-horn, and a few littlethings that might be helpful to the girl in her journey, before the trainwas halting at the station. Then he took from his pocket the money thathad been paid him for his horse; and, selecting a five-dollar bill forhimself, he wrapped the rest in an envelope bearing his own name andaddress. The envelope was one addressed by the lady at home. It hadcontained some gracefully worded refusal of a request. But he did notnotice now what envelope he gave her.

  "Take this," he said. "It will help a little. Yes, you must! I cannotleave you--I _will_ not--unless you do," when he saw that she hesitatedand looked doubtful. "I owe you all and more for saving my life. I cannever repay you. Take it. You may return it sometime when you get plentymore of your own, if it hurts your pride to keep it. Take it, please. Yes,I have plenty for myself. You will need it, and you must stop at niceplaces overnight. You will be very careful, won't you? My name is on thatenvelope. You must write to me
and let me know that you are safe."

  "Some one is calling you, and that thing is beginning to move again," saidthe girl, an awesome wonder in her face. "You will be left behind! O,hurry! Quick! Your mother!"

  He half turned toward the train, and then came back.

  "You haven't told me your name!" he gasped. "Tell me quick!"

  She caught her breath.

  "Elizabeth!" she answered, and waved him from her.

  The conductor of the train was shouting to him, and two men shoved himtoward the platform. He swung himself aboard with the accustomed ease of aman who has travelled; but he stood on the platform, and shouted, "Whereare you going?" as the train swung noisily off.

  She did not hear him, but waved her hand, and gave him a bright smile thatwas brimming with unshed tears. It seemed like instant, daring suicide inhim to stand on that swaying, clattering house as it moved offirresponsibly down the plane of vision. She watched him till he was out ofsight, a mere speck on the horizon of the prairie; and then she turnedher horse slowly into the road, and went her way into the world alone.

  The man stood on the platform, and watched her as he whirled away--alittle brown girl on a little brown horse, so stanch and firm and stubbornand good. Her eyes were dear, and her lips as she smiled; and her hand wasbeautiful as it waved him good-by. She was dear, dear, dear! Why had henot known it? Why had he left her? Yet how could he stay? His mother wasdying perhaps. He must not fail her in what might be her last summons.Life and death were pulling at his heart, tearing him asunder.

  The vision of the little brown girl and the little brown horse blurred andfaded. He tried to look, but could not see. He brought his eyes to nearervision to fix their focus for another look, and straight before himwhirled a shackly old saloon, rough and tumble, its character apparentfrom the men who were grouped about its doorway and from the barrels andkegs in profusion outside. From the doorway issued four men, wiping theirmouths and shouting hilariously. Four horses stood tied to a fence nearby. They were so instantly passed, and so vaguely seen, that he could notbe sure in the least, but those four men reminded him strongly of the fourwho had passed the schoolhouse on Sunday.

  He shuddered, and looked back. The little brown horse and the little browngirl were one with the little brown station so far away, and presently thesaloon and men were blotted out in one blur of green and brown and yellow.

  He looked to the ground in his despair. He _must_ go back. He could notleave her in such peril. She was his to care for by all the rights ofmanhood and womanhood. She had been put in his way. It was his duty.

  But the ground whirled by under his madness, and showed him plainly thatto jump off would be instant death. Then the thought of his mother cameagain, and the girl's words, "I am nothing to you, you know."

  The train whirled its way between two mountains and the valley, and thegreen and brown and yellow blur were gone from sight. He felt as if he hadjust seen the coffin close over the girl's sweet face, and he had done it.

  By and by he crawled into the car, pulled his slouch hat down over hiseyes, and settled down in a seat; but all the time he was trying to seeover again that old saloon and those four men, and to make out theirpassing identity. Sometimes the agony of thinking it all over, and tryingto make out whether those men had been the pursuers, made him feelfrantic; and it seemed as if he must pull the bell-cord, and make thetrain stop, and get off to walk back. Then the utter hopelessness of everfinding her would come over him, and he would settle back in his seatagain and try to sleep. But the least drowsiness would bring a vision ofthe girl galloping alone over the prairie with the four men in fullpursuit behind. "Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth!" the car-wheels seemedto say.

  Elizabeth--that was all he had of her. He did not know the rest of hername, nor where she was going. He did not even know where she had comefrom, just "Elizabeth" and "Montana." If anything happened lo her, hewould never know. Oh! why had he left her? Why had he not _made_ her gowith him? In a case like that a man should assert his authority. But,then, it was true he had none, and she had said she would run away. Shewould have done it too. O, if it had been anything but sickness andpossible death at the other end--and his mother, his own little mother!Nothing else would have kept him from staying to protect Elizabeth.

  What a fool he had been! There were questions he might have asked, andplans they might have made, all those beautiful days and thosemoon-silvered nights. If any other man had done the same, he would havethought him lacking mentally. But here he had maundered on, and neverfound out the all-important things about her. Yet how did he know then howimportant they were to be? It had seemed as if they had all the worldbefore them in the brilliant sunlight. How could he know that modernimprovements were to seize him in the midst of a prairie waste, and whirlhim off from her when he had just begun to know what she was, and to prizeher company as a most precious gift dropped down from heaven at his feet?

  By degrees he came out of his hysterical frenzy, and returned to asomewhat normal state of mind. He reasoned himself several times into thebelief that those men were not in the least like the men he had seenSunday. He knew that one could not recognize one's own brother at thatdistance and that rate of passing speed. He tried to think that Elizabethwould be cared for. She had come through many a danger, and was it likelythat the God in whom she trusted, who had guarded her so many times in hergreat peril, would desert her now in her dire need? Would He not raise uphelp for her somewhere? Perhaps another man as good as he, and astrustworthy as he had tried to be, would find her and help her.

  But that thought was not pleasant. He put it away impatiently. It cut him.Why had she talked so much about the lady? The lady! Ah! How was it thelady came no more into his thoughts? The memory of her haughty face nomore quickened his heart-beats. Was he fickle that he could lose what hehad supposed was a lifelong passion in a few days?

  The darkness was creeping on. Where was Elizabeth? Had she found a refugefor the night? Or was she wandering on an unknown trail, hearing voicesand oaths through the darkness, and seeing the gleaming of wild eyes lowin the bushes ahead? How could he have left her? How could he? He must goback even yet. He must, he must, _he must_!

  And so it went on through the long night.

  The train stopped at several places to take on water; but there seemed tobe no human habitation near, or else his eyes were dim with his trouble.Once, when they stopped longer than the other times, he got up and walkedthe length of the car and down the steps to the ground. He even stoodthere, and let the train start jerkily on till his car had passed him, andthe steps were just sliding by, and tried to think whether he would notstay, and go back in some way to find her. Then the impossibility of thesearch, and of his getting back in time to do any good, helped him tospring on board just before it was too late. He walked back to his seatsaying to himself, "Fool! Fool!"

  It was not till morning that he remembered his baggage and went in searchof it. There he found a letter from his cousin, with other letters andtelegrams explaining the state of affairs at home. He came back to hisseat laden with a large leather grip and a suitcase. He sat down to readhis letters, and these took his mind away from his troubled thoughts for alittle while. There was a letter from his mother, sweet, graceful, halfwistfully offering her sympathy. He saw she guessed the reason why he hadleft her and gone to this far place. Dear little mother! What would shesay if she knew his trouble now? And then would return his heart-frenzyover Elizabeth's peril. O to know that she was protected, hidden!

  Fumbling in his pocket, he came upon a slip of paper, the slip the girlhad given Elizabeth in the schoolhouse on Sunday afternoon. "For in thetime of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion in the secret of histabernacle shall he hide me."

  Ah! God had hidden her then. Why not again? And what was that he had saidto her himself, when searching for a word to cover his emotion? "I prayfor you!" Why could he not pray? She had made him pray in the wilderness.Should he not pray for her who was in peril now? He lean
ed back in thehot, uncomfortable car-seat, pulling his hat down closer over his eyes,and prayed as he had never prayed before. "Our Father" he stumbled throughas far as he could remember, and tried to think how her sweet voice hadfilled in the places where he had not known it the other time. Then, whenhe was done, he waited and prayed, "Our Father, care for Elizabeth," andadded, "For Jesus' sake. Amen." Thereafter through the rest of hisjourney, and for days and weeks stretching ahead, he prayed that prayer,and sometimes found in it his only solace from the terrible fear thatpossessed him lest some harm had come to the girl, whom it seemed to himnow he had deserted in cold blood.