by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER XXI. VAL DECIDES
It was the middle of the next forenoon when Manley came riding home, sullenfrom drink and a losing game of poker, which had kept him all night at thetable, and at sunrise sent him forth in the mood which meets a grievancemore than half-way. He did not stop at the house, though he saw Val throughthe open door; he did not trouble to speak to her, even, but rode on to thestable, stopping at the corral to look over the fence at the calves, stillbawling sporadically between half-hearted nibblings at the hay whichPolycarp had thrown in to them.
Just at first he did not notice anything wrong, but soon a vague disquietseized him, and he frowned thoughtfully at the little group. Somethingpuzzled him; but his brain, fogged with whisky and loss of sleep, and thereaction from hours of concentration upon the game, could not quite graspthe thing that troubled him. In a moment, however, he gave an inarticulatebellow, wheeled about, and rode back to the house. He threw himself fromthe horse almost before it stopped, and rushed into the kitchen. Val,ironing one of her ruffled white aprons, looked up quickly, turned ratherpale, and then stiffened perceptibly for the conflict that was coming.
"There's only four calves in the corral--and I brought in five. Where's theother one?" He came up and stood quite close to her--so close that Val tooka step backward. He did not speak loud, but there was something in histone, in his look, that drove the little remaining color from her face.
"Manley," she said, with a catch of the breath, "why did you do thathorrible thing? What devil possessed you? I--"
"I asked you 'where is that other calf'? Where is it? There's only four. Ibrought in five." His very calmness was terrifying.
Val threw back her head, and her eyes were--as they frequently became inmoments of stress--yellow, inscrutable, like the eyes of a lion in a cage.
"Yes, you brought in five. One of the five, at least, you--stole. You putyour brand, Manley Fleetwood, on a calf that did not belong to you; itbelonged to the Wishbone, and you know it. I have learned many disagreeablethings about you, Manley, in the past two years; yesterday morning Ilearned that you were a _thief_. Ah-h--I despise you! Stealing from thevery men who helped you--the men to whom you owe nothing but gratitudeand--and friendship! Have you no manhood whatever? Besides being weak andshiftless, are you a criminal as well? _How_ can you be so utterly lackingin--in common decency, even?" She eyed him as she would look at somestrange monster in a museum about which she was rather curious.
"I asked you where that other calf is--and you'd better tell me!" It wasthe tone which goes well with a knife thrust or a blow. But the contempt inVal's face did not change.
"Well, you'll have to hunt for it if you want it. The cow--a Wishbone cow,mind you!--came and claimed it; I let her have it. No stolen goodscan remain on this ranch with my knowledge, Manley Fleetwood. Pleaseremember--"
"Oh, you turned it out, did you? You turned it out?" He had her by thethroat, shaking her as a puppy shakes a purloined shoe. "I could--_kill_you for that!"
"Manley! Ah-h-h--" It was not pleasant--that gurgling cry, as she straggledto get free.
He had the look of a maniac as he pressed his fingers into her throat andglared down into her purpling face.
With a sudden impulse he cast her limp form violently from him. She struckagainst a chair, fell from that to the floor, and lay a huddled heap, hercrisp, ruffled skirt just giving a glimpse of tiny, half-worn slippers, heryellow hair fallen loose and hiding her face.
He stared down at her, but he felt no remorse--she had jeopardized hisliberty, his standing among men. A cold horror caught him when he thoughtof the calf turned loose on the range, his brand on its ribs. He rushedin a panic from the kitchen, flung himself into the saddle, and went offacross the coulee, whipping both sides of his horse. She had not toldhim--indeed, he had not asked her--which way the cow had gone, butinstinctively he rode to the west, the direction from which he had driventhe calves. One thought possessed him utterly; he must find that calf.
So he rode here and there, doubling and turning to search every feedingherd he glimpsed, fearing to face the possibility of failure and itsinevitable consequence.
The cat with the white spots on its sides--Val called her Mary Arabella,for some whimsical reason--came into the kitchen, looked inquiringly atthe huddled figure upon the floor, gave a faint mew, and went slowly up,purring and arching her back; she snuffed a moment at Val's hair, thensettled herself in the hollow of Val's arm, and curled down for a nap. Thesun, sliding up to midday, shone straight in upon them through the opendoor.
Polycarp Jenks, riding that way in obedience to some obscure impulse,lifted his hand to give his customary tap-tap before he walked in; sawVal lying there, and almost fell headlong into the room in his haste andperturbation. It looked very much as if he had at last stumbled upon thehorrible tragedy which was his one daydream. To be an eyewitness of amurder, and to be able to tell the tale afterward with minute, horrifyingdetail--that, to Polycarp, would make life really worth living. He shuffledover to Val, pushed aside the mass of yellow hair, turned her head so thathe could look into her face, saw at once the bruised marks upon her throat,and stood up very straight.
"Foul play has been done here!" he exclaimed melodramatically, eying thecat sternly. "Murder--that's what it is, by granny--a foul murder!"
The victim of the foul murder stirred slightly. Polycarp started and bentover her again, somewhat disconcerted, perhaps, but more humanly anxious.
"Mis' Fleetwood--Mis' Fleetwood! You hurt? It's Polycarp Jenks talkin' toyou!" He hesitated, pushed the cat away, lifted Val with some difficulty,and carried her into the front room and deposited her on the couch. Then hehurried after some water.
"Come might' nigh bein' a murder, by granny--from the marks on 'erneck--come might' nigh, all right!"
He sprinkled water lavishly upon her face, bethought him of a possiblewhisky flask in the haystack, and ran every step of the way there and back.He found a discarded bottle with a very little left in it, and forced theliquor down her throat.
"That'll fetch ye if anything will--_he-he!_" he mumbled, tittering fromsheer excitement. Beyond a very natural desire to do what he could for her,he was extremely anxious to bring her to her senses, so that he could hearwhat had happened, and how it had happened.
"Betche Man got jealous of her'n Kenneth--by granny, I betche that's how itcome about--hey? Feelin' better, Mis' Fleetwood?"
Val had opened her eyes and was looking at him rather stupidly. There was abruise upon her head, as well as upon her throat. She had been stunned,and her wits came back slowly. When she recognized Polycarp, she triedineffectually to sit up.
"I--he--is--he--gone?" Her voice was husky, her speech labored.
"Man, you mean? He's gone, yes. Don't you be afeared--not whilst I'm here,by granny! How came it he done this to ye?"
Val was still staring at him bewilderedly. Polycarp repeated his questionthree times before the blank look left her eyes.
"I--turned the calf--out--the cow--came and--claimed it--Manley--" Shelifted her hand as if it were very, very heavy, and fumbled at her throat."Manley--when I told him--he was a--thief--" She dropped her hand wearilyto her side and closed her eyes, as if the sight of Polycarp's face, soclose to hers and so insatiably curious and eager and cunning, was morethan she could bear.
"Go away," she commanded, after a minute or two. "I'm--all right. It'snothing. I fell. It was--the heat. Thank you--so much--" She opened hereyes and saw him there still. She looked at him gravely, speculatively. Shewaved her hand toward the bedroom. "Get me my hand glass--in there on thedresser," she said.
When he had tiptoed in and got it for her, she lifted it up slowly, withboth hands, until she could see her throat. There were distinct, telltalemarks upon the tender flesh--unmistakable finger prints. She shivered anddropped the glass to the floor. But she stared steadily up at Polycarp, andafter a moment she spoke with a certain fierceness.
"Polycarp Jenks, don't ever tell--about those marks. I--I don't
want anyone to know. When--after a while--I want to think first--perhaps you canhelp me. Go away now--not away from the ranch, but--let me think. I'm allright--or I will be. Please go."
Polycarp recognized that tone, however it might be hoarsened by bruisedmuscles and the shock of what she had suffered. He recognized also thatlook in her eyes; he had always obeyed that look and that tone--he obeyedthem now, though with visible reluctance. He sat down in the kitchen towait, and while he waited he chewed tobacco incessantly, and ruminated uponthe mystery which lay behind the few words Val had first spoken, before sherealized just what it was she was saying.
After a long, long while--so long that even Polycarp's patience was feelingthe strain--Val opened the door and stood leaning weakly against thecasing. Her throat was swathed in a piece of white silk.
"I wish, Polycarp, you'd get the team and hitch it to the light rig," shesaid. "I want to go to town, and I don't feel able to drive. Can you takeme in? Can you spare the time?"
"Why, certainly, I c'n take you in, Mis' Fleetwood. I was jest thinkn' itwa'n't safe for you out here--"
"It is perfectly safe," Val interrupted chillingly. "I am going because IWant to see Arline Hawley." She raised her hand to the bandage. "I havea sore throat," she stated, staring hard at him. Then, with one of herimpulsive changes, she smiled wistfully.
"You'll be my friend, Polycarp, won't you?" she pleaded. "I can trust you,I know, with my--secret. It is a secret--it _must_ be a secret! I'll tellyou the truth, Polycarp. It was Manley--he had been drinking again. He--wehad a quarrel--about something. He didn't know what he was doing--he didn'tmean to hurt me. But I fell--I struck my head; see, there is a greatlump there." She pushed back her hair to show him the place. "So it's asecret--just between you and me, Polycarp Jenks!"
"Why, certainly, Mis' Fleetwood; don't you be the least mite oneasy; I'myour friend--I always have been. A feller ain't to be held responsible whenhe's drinkin'--by granny, that's a fact, he ain't."
"No," Val agreed laconically, "I suppose not. Let us go, then, as soon aswe can, please. I'll stay overnight with Mrs. Hawley, and you can bring meback to-morrow, can't you? And you'll remember not to mention--anything,won't you, Polycarp?"
Polycarp stood very straight and dignified.
"I hope, Mis' Fleetwood, you can always depend on Polycarp Jenks," hereplied virtuously. "Your secret is safe with me."
Val smiled--somewhat doubtfully, it is true--and let him go. "Maybe itis--I hope so," she sighed, as she turned away to dress for the trip.
All through that long ride to town, Polycarp talked and talked and talked.He made surmises and waited openly to hear them confirmed or denied; hegave her advice; he told her everything he had ever heard about Manley, orhad seen or knew from some other source; everything, that is, save what wasgood. The sums he had lost at poker, or had borrowed; the debts he owed tothe merchants; the reputation he had for "talking big and doing little;"the trouble he had had with this man and that man; and what he did not knowfor a certainty he guessed at, and so kept the subject alive.
True, Val did not speak at all, except when he asked her how she felt. Thenshe would reply dully, "Pretty well, thank you, Polycarp." Invariably thosewere the words she used. Whenever he stole a furtive, sidelong glance ather, she was staring straight ahead at the great, undulating prairie withthe brown ribbon, which was the trail, thrown carelessly across to the skyline.
Polycarp suspected that she did not see anything--she just stared with hereyes, while her thoughts were somewhere else. He was not even sure that sheheard what he was saying. He thought she must be pretty sick, she was sopale, and she had such wide, purple rings under her eyes. Also, he ratherresented her desire to keep her trouble a secret; he favored tellingeverybody, and organizing a party to go out and run Man Fleetwood out ofthe country, as the very mildest rebuke which the outraged community couldgive and remain self-respecting. He even fell silent daring the last threeor four miles, while he dwelt longingly upon the keen pleasure there wouldbe in leading such an expedition.
"You'll remember, Polycarp, not to speak of this?" Val urged abruptly whenhe drew up before the Hawley Hotel. "Not a hint, you know until--until Igive you permission. You promised."
"Oh, certainly, Mis' Fleetwood. Certainly. Don't you be a mite oneasy." Butthe tone of Polycarp was dejected in the extreme.
"And please be ready to drive me back in the morning. I should like to beat the ranch by noon, at the latest." With that she left him and went intothe hotel.