by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER X. DESOLATION
For more than two hours Kent sat outside in the shade of the house, andstared out over the black desolation of the coulee. His horse was gone, sothat he could not ride anywhere--and there was nowhere in particular toride. For twenty miles around there was no woman whom he could bring toVal's assistance, even if he had been sure that she needed assistance.Several times he tiptoed into the kitchen, opened the door into the frontroom an inch or so, and peered in at her. The third time, she had relaxedfrom the corpselike position, and had thrown an arm up over her face, as ifshe were shielding her eyes from something. He took heart at that, and wentout and foraged for firewood.
There was a hard-beaten zone around the corral and stables, which had keptthe fire from spreading toward the house, and the wind had borne the sparksand embers back toward the spring, so that the house stood in a brown oasisof unburned grass and weeds, scanty enough, it is true, but yet a relieffrom the dead black surroundings.
The woodpile had not suffered. A chopping block, a decrepit sawhorse,an axe, and a rusty bucksaw marked the spot; also three ties, hackedeloquently in places, and just five sticks of wood, evidently chopped froma tie by a man in haste. Kent looked at that woodpile, and swore. He hadalways known that Manley had an aversion to laboring with his hands, but hewas unprepared for such an exhibition of shiftlessness.
He savagely attacked the three ties, chopped them into firewood, and piledthem neatly, and then, walking upon his toes, he made a fire in the kitchenstove, filled the woodbox, the teakettle, and the water pail, sat out inthe shade until he heard the kettle boiling over on the stove, took anotherpeep in at Val, and then, moving as quietly as he could, proceeded to cooksupper for them both.
He had been perfectly familiar with the kitchen arrangements in the dayswhen Manley was a bachelor, and it interested him and filled him with arespectful admiration for woman in the abstract and for Val in particular,to see how changed everything was, and how daintily clean and orderly.Val's smooth, white hands, with their two sparkly rings and the broadwedding band, did not suggest a familiarity with actual work about a house,but the effect of her labor and thought confronted him at every turn.
"You can see your face in everything you pick up that was made to shine,"he commented, standing for a moment while he surveyed the bottom of astewpan. "She don't look it, but that yellow-eyed little dame sure knowshow to keep house." Then he heard her cough, and set down the stewpanhurriedly and went to see if she wanted anything.
Val was sitting upon the couch, her two hands pushing back her hair, gazingstupidly around her.
"Everything's all ready but the tea," Kent announced, in a perfectlymatter-of-fact tone. "I was just waiting to see how strong you want it."
Val turned her yellow-brown eyes upon him in bewilderment. "Why, Mr.Burnett--maybe I wasn't dreaming, then. I thought there was a fire. Wasthere?"
Kent grinned. "Kinda. You worked like a son of a gun, too--till therewasn't any more to do, and then you laid 'em down for fair. You were allin, so I packed you in and put you there where you could be comfortable.And supper's ready--but how strong do you want your tea? I kinda had anidea," he added lamely, "that women drink tea, mostly. I made coffee formyself."
Val let herself drop back among the pretty pillows. "I don't want any. Ifthere was a fire," she said dully, "then it's true. Everything's all burnedup. I don't want any tea. I want to die!"
Kent studied her for a moment. "Well, in that case--shall I get the axe?"
Val had closed her eyes, but she opened them again. "I don't care what youdo," she said.
"Well, I aim to please," he told her calmly. "What _I'd_ do, in your place,would be to go and put on something that ain't all smoked and scorched likea--a ham, and then I'd sit up and drink some tea, and be nice about it.But, of course, if you want to cash in--"
Val gave a sob. "I can't help it--I'd just as soon be dead as alive. Itwas bad enough before--and now everything's burned up--and all Manley'snice--ha-ay--"
"Well," Kent interrupted mercilessly, "I've heard of women doing all kindsof fool things--but this is the first time I ever knew one to commitsuicide over a couple of measly haystacks!" He went out and slammed thedoor so that the house shook, and tramped three times across the kitchenfloor. "That'll make her so mad at me she won't think about anything elsefor a while," he reasoned shrewdly. But all the while his eyes were shiny,and when he winked, his lashes became unaccountably moist. He stopped andlooked out at the blackened coulee. "Shut into this hole, week after week,without a woman to speak to--it must be--damned tough!" he muttered.
He tiptoed up and laid his ear against the inner door, and heard asmothered sobbing inside. That did not sound as if she were "mad," and hepromptly cursed himself for a fool and a brute. With his own judgment toguide him, he brewed some very creditable tea, sugared and creamed itlavishly, browned a slice of bread on top of the stove--blowing off thedust beforehand--after Arline's recipe for making toast, buttered it untilit dripped oil, and carried it in to her with the air of a man who willhave peace even though he must fight for it. The forlorn picture she made,lying there with her face buried in a pink-and-blue cushion, and with hershoulders shaking with sobs, almost made him retreat, quite unnerved. As itwas, he merely spilled a third of the tea and just missed letting the toastslide from the plate to the floor; when he had righted his burden he hadrecovered his composure to a degree.
"Here, this won't do at all," he reproved, pulling a chair to the couch bythe simple method of hooking his toe under a round and dragging it towardhim. "You don't want Man to come and catch you acting like this. He'sliable to feel pretty blue himself, and he'll need some cheering up--don'tyou think? I don't know for sure--but I've always been kinda under theimpression that's what a man gets a wife for. Ain't it? You don't want tothrow down your cards now. You sit up and drink this tea, and eat thistoast, and I'll gamble you'll feel about two hundred per cent better.
"Come," he urged gently, after a minute. "I never thought a nervy littlewoman like you would give up so easy. I was plumb ashamed of myself, theway you worked on that back fire. You had me going, for a while. You'rejust tired out, is all ails you. You want to hurry up and drink this,before it gets cold. Come on. I'm liable to feel, insulted if you pass upmy cooking this way."
Val choked back the tears, and, without taking her face from the pillow,put out the burned hand gropingly until it touched his knee.
"Oh, you--you're good," she said brokenly. "I used to think youwere--horrid, and I'm a--ashamed. You're good, and I--"
"Well, I ain't going to be good much longer, if you don't get your headouta that pillow and drink this tea!" His tone was amused and halfimpatient. But his face--more particularly his eyes--told another story,which perhaps it was as well she did not read. "I'll be dropping the blamedstuff in another minute. My elbow's plumb getting a cramp in it," he addedcomplainingly.
Val made a sound half-way between a sob and a laugh, and sat up. With morehaste than the occasion warranted, Kent put the tea and toast on the chairand started for the kitchen.
"I was bound you'd eat before I did," he explained, "and I could stand acup of coffee myself. And, say! If there's anything more you want, justholler, and I'll come on the long lope."
Val took up the teaspoon, tasted the tea, and then regarded the cupdoubtfully. She never drank sugar in her tea. She wondered how much of ithe had put in. Her head ached frightfully, and she felt weak and utterlyhopeless of ever feeling different.
"Everything all right?" came Kent's voice from the kitchen.
"Yes," Val answered hastily, trying hard to speak with some life and cheerin her tone. "It's lovely--all of it."
"Want more tea?" It sounded, out there, as though he was pushing back hischair to rise from the table.
"No, no, this is plenty." Val glanced fearfully toward the kitchen door,lifted the teacup, and heroically drank every drop. It was, she considered,the least that she could do.
When he had finished eati
ng he came in, and found her nibblingapathetically at the toast. She looked up at him with an apology in hereyes.
"Mr. Burnett, don't think I am always so silly," she began, leaning backagainst the piled pillows with a sigh. "I have always thought that I couldbear anything. But last night I didn't sleep much. I dreamed about fires,and that Manley was--dead--and I woke up in a perfect horror. It was onlyten o'clock. So then I sat up and tried to read, and every five minutes Iwould go out and look at the sky, to see if there was a glow anywhere.It was foolish, of course. And I didn't sleep at all to-day, either. Theminute I would lie down I'd imagine I heard a fire roaring. And then itcame. But I was all used up before that, so I wasn't really--I must havefainted, for I don't remember getting into the house--and I do thinkfainting is the silliest thing! I never did such a thing before," shefinished abjectly.
"Oh, well--I guess you had a license to faint if you felt that way," hecomforted awkwardly. "It was the smoke and the heat, I reckon; they wereenough to put a crimp in anybody. Did Man say about when he would be back?Because I ought to be moving along; it's quite a walk to the Wishbone."
"Oh--you won't go till Manley comes! Please! I--I'd go crazy, here alone,and--and he might not come--he's frequently detained. I--I've such ahorror of fires--" She certainly looked as if she had. She was sitting upstraight, her hands held out appealingly to him, her eyes big and bright.
"Sure I won't go if you feel that way about it." Kent was half frightenedat her wild manner. "I guess Man will be along pretty soon, anyway. He'llhit the trail as soon as he can get behind the fire, that's a cinch. He'llbe worried to death about you. And you don't need to be afraid of prairiefires any more, Mrs. Fleetwood; you're safe. There can't be any more firestill next year, anyway; there's nothing left to burn." He turned his faceto the window and stared out somberly at the ravaged hillside. "Yes--you'redead safe, now!"
"I'm such a fool," Val confessed, her eyes also turning to the window, "Ifyou want to go, I--" Her mouth was quivering, and she did not finish thesentence.
"Oh, I'll stay till Man comes. He's liable to be along any time, now." Heglanced at her scorched, smoke-stained dress. "He'll sure think you made ahand, all right!"
Val took the hint, and blushed with true feminine shame that she was notlooking her best. "I'll go and change," she murmured, and rose wearily."But I feel as if the world had been 'rolled up in a scroll and burned,' asthe Bible puts it, and as if nothing matters any more."
"It does, though. We'll all go right along living the same as ever, andthe first snow will make this fire seem as old as the war--except to thecattle; they're the ones to get it in the neck this winter."
He went out and walked aimlessly around in the yard, and went over to thesmoking remains of the stable, and to the heap of black ashes where thestacks had been. Manley would be hard hit, he knew. He wished he wouldhurry and come, and relieve him of the responsibility of keeping Valcompany. He wondered a little, in his masculine way, that women shouldalways be afraid when there was no cause for fear. For instance, she hadstayed alone a good many times, evidently, when there was real danger of afire sweeping down upon her at any hour of the day or night; but now, whenthere was no longer a possibility of anything happening, she had turnedwhite and begged him to stay--and Val, he judged shrewdly, was not the sortof woman who finds it easy to beg favors of anybody.
There came a sound of galloping, up on the hill, and he turned quickly.Dull dusk was settling bleakly down upon the land, but he could see threeor four horsemen just making the first descent from the top. He shouted awordless greeting, and heard their answering yells. In another minute ortwo they were pulling up at the house, where he had hurried to meet them.Val, tucking a side comb hastily into her freshly coiled hair, her prettyself clothed all in white linen, appeased eagerly in the doorway.
"Why--where's Manley?" she demanded anxiously.
Blumenthall was dismounting near her, and he touched his hat before heanswered. "We were on the way home, and we thought we'd better ride aroundthis way and see how you came out," he evaded. "I see you lost your hay andbuildings--pretty close call for the house, too, I should judge. You musthave got here in time to do something, Kent."
"But where's Manley?" Val was growing pale again. "Has anything happened?Is he hurt? Tell me!"
"Oh, he's all right, Mrs. Fleetwood." Blumenthall glanced meaningly atKent--and Fred De Garmo, sitting to one side of his saddle, looked atPolycarp Jenks and smiled slightly. "We left town ahead of him, and knockedright along."
Val regarded the group suspiciously. "He's coming, then, is he?"
"Oh, certainly. Glad you're all right, Mrs. Fleetwood. That was an awfulfire--it swept the whole country clean between the two rivers, I'm afraid.This wind made it bad." He was tightening his cinch, and now he unhookedthe stirrup from the horn and mounted again. "We'll have to be gettingalong--don't know, yet, how we came out of it over to the ranch. But ourguards ought to have stopped it there." He looked at Kent. "How did theWishbone make it?" he inquired.
"I was just going to ask you if you knew," Kent replied, scowling becausehe saw Fred looking at Val in what he considered an impertinent manner. "Myhorse ran off while I was fighting fire here, so I'm afoot. I was waitingfor Man to show up."
"You'll git all of that you want--_he-he!_" Polycarp cut in tactlessly."Man won't git home t'-night--not unless--"
"Aw, come on." Fred started along the charred trail which led across thecoulee and up the farther side. Blumenthall spoke a last, commonplacesentence or two, just to round off the conversation and make thetermination not too abrupt, and they rode away, with Polycarp glancingcuriously back, now and then, as though he was tempted to stay and gossip,and yet was anxious to know all that had happened at the Double Diamond.
"What did Polycarp Jenks mean--about Manley not coming to-night?" Val wasstanding in the doorway, staring after the group of horsemen.
"Nothing, I guess, Polycarp never does mean anything half the time; he justtalks to hear his head roar. Man'll come, all right. This bunch happened tobeat him out, is all."
"Oh, do you think so? Mr. Blumenthall acted as if there was something--"
"Well, what can you expect of a man that lives on oatmeal mush and toastand hot water?" Kent demanded aggressively. "And Fred De Garmo is alwaysgrinning and winking at somebody; and that other fellow is a Swede and gotabout as much sense as a prairie dog--and Polycarp is an old granny gossipthat nobody ever pays any attention to. Man won't stay in town--hell be tooanxious."
"It's terrible," sighed Val, "about the hay and the stables. Manley willbe so discouraged--he worked so hard to cut and stack that hay. And he wasjust going to gather the calves together and put them in the river field,in a couple of weeks--and now there isn't anything to feed them!"
"I guess he's coming; I hear somebody." Kent was straining his eyes to seethe top of the hill, where the dismal sight shadows lay heavily upon thedismal black earth. "Sounds to me like a rig, though. Maybe he drove out."He left her, went to the wire gate which gave egress from the tiny, unkemptyard, and walked along the trail to meet the newcomer.
"You stay there," he called back, when he thought he heard Val followinghim. "I'm just going to tell him you're all right. You'll get that whitedress all smudged up in these ashes."
In the narrow little gully where the trail crossed the half-dry channelfrom the spring he met the rig. The driver pulled up when he caught sightof Kent.
"Who's that? Did she git out of it?" cried Arline Hawley, in a breathlessundertone, "Oh--it's you, is it, Kent? I couldn't stand it--I just had tocome and see if she's alive. So I made Hank hitch right up--as soon as weknew the fire wasn't going to git into all that brush along the creek, andrun down to the town--and bring me over. And the way--"
"But where's Man?" Kent laid a hand upon the wheel and shot the questioninto the stream of Arline's talk.
"Man! I dunno what devil gits into men sometimes. Man went and got drunkas a fool soon as he seen the fire and knew what coulda happ
ened out here.Started right in to drownd his sorrows before he made sure whether he hadany to drown! If that ain't like a man, every time! Time we all got back totown, and the fire was kiting away from us instead of coming up towardus, he was too drunk to do anything. He must of poured it down him by thequart. He--"
"Manley! Is that you, dear?" It was Val, a slim, white figure against theblackness all around her, coming down the trail to see what delayed them."Why don't you come to the house? There _is_ a house, you know. We aren'tquite burned out. And I'm all right, so there's no need to worry any more."
"Now, ain't that a darned shame?" muttered Arline wrathfully to Kent. "Afeller that'll drink when he's got a wife like that had oughta be hung!
"It's me, Arline Hawley!" She raised her voice to its ordinary shrilllevel. "It ain't just the proper time to make a call, I guess, but it'sbetter late than never. Man, he was took with one of his spells, so I toldhim I'd come on out and take you back to town. How are you, anyhow? Scaredplumb to death, I'll bet, when that fire come over the hill. You needn't'a' tramped clear down here--we was coming on to the house in a minute. Igot to chewin' the rag with Kent. Git in; you might as well ride back tothe house, now you're here."
"Manley didn't come?" Val was standing beside the rig, near Kent. Herwhite-clothed figure was indistinct, and her face obscured in the dark. Hervoice was quiet--lifelessly quiet. "Is he sick?"
"Well--of course has nerves was all upset--"
"Oh! Then he _is_ sick?"
"Well--nothing dangerous, but--he wasn't feelin' well, so I thought I'dcome out and take you back with me."
"Oh!"
"Man was awful worried; you mustn't think he wasn't. He was pretty nearcrazy, for a while."
"Oh, yes, certainly."
"Get in and ride. And you mustn't worry none about Man, nor feel hurt thathe didn't come. He felt so bad--"
"I'll walk, thank you; it's only a few steps. And I'm not worried at all. Iquite understand."
The team started on slowly, and Mrs. Hawley turned in the seat so that shecould continue talking without interruption to the two who walked behind.But it was Kent who answered her at intervals, when she asked a directquestion or appeared to be waiting for some comment. Betweenwhiles he waswondering if Val did, after all, understand. She knew so little of the Westand its ways, and her faith in Manley was so firm and unquestioning,that he felt sure she was only hurt at what looked very much like anindifference to her welfare. He suspected shrewdly that she was thinkingwhat she would have done in Manley's place, and was trying to reconcileMrs. Hawley's assurances that Manley was not actually sick or disabled withthe blunt fact that he had stayed in town and permitted others to come outto see if she were alive or dead.
And Kent had another problem to solve. Should he tell her the truth? He hadnever ceased to feel, in some measure, responsible for her position. Andshe was sure to discover the truth before long; not even her innocenceand her ignorance of life could shield her from that knowledge. He leta question or two of Arline's go unanswered while he struggled for adecision, but when they reached the house, only one point was dearlysettled in his mind. Instead of riding as far as he might, and then walkingacross the prairie to the Wishbone, he intended to go on to town withthem--"to see her through with it."