XII.
The clock, striking the hour of two, filled in a lull that mightotherwise have seemed to require conversation. For some minutes,Johnson, raised to a higher level of exaltation, even, than was theGirl, had been secretly rejoicing in the Fate that had brought themtogether.
"It's wonderful that I should have found her at last and won her love,"he soliloquised. "We must be Fortune's children--she and I."
The minutes ticked away and still they were silent. Then, of a sudden,with infinite tenderness in his voice, Johnson asked:
"What is your name, Girl--your real name?"
"Min--Minnie; my father's name was Smith," she told him, her eyes castdown under delicately tremulous lids.
"Oh, Minnie Sm--"
"But 'twa'n't his right name," quickly corrected the Girl, andunconsciously both rose to their feet. "His right name was Falconer."
"Minnie Falconer--well, that is a pretty name," commented Johnson; andraising her hand to his lips he pressed them against it.
"I ain't sure that's what he said it was--I ain't sure o' anythin' onlyjest you," she said coyly, burying her face in his neck.
"You may well be sure of me since I've loved--" Johnson's sentence wascut short, a wave of remorse sweeping over him. "Turn your head away,Girl, and don't listen to me," he went on, gently putting her away fromhim. "I'm not worthy of you. Don't listen but just say no, no, no, no."
The Girl, puzzled, was even more so when Johnson began to pace thefloor.
"Oh, I know--I ain't good enough for you !" she cried with a littletremour in her voice. "But I'll try hard, hard . . . If you seeanythin' better in me, why don't you bring it out, 'cause I've loved youever since I saw you first, 'cause I knowed that you--that you were theright man."
"The right man," repeated Johnson, dismally, for his conscience wasbeginning to smite him hard.
"Don't laugh!"
"I'm not laughing," as indeed he was not.
"O' course every girl kind o' looks ahead," went on the Girl inexplanation.
"Yes, I suppose," he observed seriously.
"An' figgers about bein'--well, Oh, you know--about bein' settled. An'when the right man comes, why, she knows 'im, you bet! Jest as we bothknowed each other standin' on the road to Monterey. I said that day,he's good, he's gran' an' he can have me."
"I could have you," murmured Johnson, meditatively.
The Girl nodded eagerly.
There was a long silence in which Johnson was trying to make up his mindto tear himself away from her,--the one woman whom he loved in theworld,--for it had been slowly borne in upon him that he was not a fitmate for this pure young girl. Nor was his unhappiness lessened when herecalled how she had struggled against yielding to him. At last,difficult though it was, he took his courage in both hands, and said:
"Girl, I have looked into your heart and my own and now I realise whatthis means for us both--for you, Girl--and knowing that, it seems hardto say good-bye as I should, must and will . . ."
At those clear words spoken by lips which failed so utterly to hide hismisery, the Girl's face turned pale.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Johnson coloured, hesitated, and finally with a swift glance at theclock, he briefly explained:
"I mean it's hard to go and leave you here. The clock reminded me thatlong before this I should have been on my way. I shouldn't have come uphere at all. God bless you, dear," and here their eyes came together andseemed unable to part,--"I love you as I never thought I could . . ."
But at Johnson's queer look she hastened to inquire:
"But it ain't for long you're goin'?"
For long! Then she had not understood that he meant to go for all time.How tell her the truth? While he pondered over the situation there cameto him with great suddenness the thought that, perhaps, after all, Lifenever intended that she should be given to him only to be taken awayalmost as suddenly; and seized with a desire to hold on to her at anycost, he sprang forward as if to take her in his arms, but before hereached her, he stopped short.
"Such happiness is not for me," he muttered under his breath; and thenaloud he added: "No, no, I've got to go now while I have the courage, Imean." He broke off as suddenly as he had begun, and taking her face inhis hands he kissed her good-bye.
Now, accustomed as was the Girl to the strange comings and goings of themen at the camp, it did not occur to her to question him further when hetold her that he should have been away before now. Moreover, she trustedand loved him. And so it was without the slightest feeling of misgivingthat she watched her lover quickly take down his coat and hat from thepeg on the wall and start for the door. On the other hand, it must haverequired not a little courage on the man's part to have torn himselfaway from this lovely, if unconventional, creature, just as he wasbeginning to love truly and appreciate her. But, then, Johnson was a manof no mean determination!
Not daring to trust himself to words, Johnson paused to look back overhis shoulder at the Girl before plunging forth into the night. But onopening the door all the multitudinous wild noises of the forestsreached his ears: Sounds of whispering and rocking storm-tossed pines,sounds of the wind making the rounds of the deep canyon below them,sounds that would have made the blood run cold of a man more daring,even, than himself. Like one petrified he stood blinded, almost, by thegreat drifts of snow that were being driven into the room, while thecabin rocked and shook and the roof cracked and snapped, the lightsflickered, smoked, or sent their tongues of fire upward towards theceiling, the curtains swayed like pendants in the air, and whilebaskets, boxes, and other small furnishings of the cabin were blown inevery direction.
But it was the Girl's quick presence of mind that saved them from beingburied, literally, under the snow. In an instant she had rushed past himand closed both the outer and inner doors of the cabin; then, going overto the window, she tried to look through the heavily frosted panes; butthe falling of the sleet and snow, striking the window like fine shot,made it impossible for her to see more than a few inches away.
"Why, it's the first time I knew that it--" She cut her sentence shortand ended with: "That's the way we git it up here! Look! Look!"
Whereupon, Johnson went over to the window and put his face close tohers on the frosted panes; a great sea of white snow met his gaze!
"This means--" he said, turning away from the window and meeting herglance--"surely it doesn't mean that I can't leave Cloudy to-night?"
"It means you can't get off the mountain to-night," calmly answered theGirl.
"Good Lord!" fell from the man's lips.
"You can't leave this room to-night," went on the Girl, decidedly. "Why,you couldn't find your way three feet from this door--you a stranger!You don't know the trail anyway unless you can see it."
"But I can't stay here?" incredulously.
"Why not? Why, that's all right! The boys'll come up an' dig us outto-morrow or day after. There's plenty o' wood an' you can have my bed."And with no more ado than that, the Girl went over to the bed to removethe covers and make it ready for his occupancy.
"I wouldn't think of taking that," protested the man, stoutly, while hisface clouded over.
The Girl felt a thrill at the note of regard in his voice and hastenedto explain:
"I never use it cold nights; I always roll up in my rug in front of thefire." All of a sudden she broke out into a merry little laugh. "Jestthink of it stormin' all this time an' we didn't know it!"
But Johnson was not in a laughing mood. Indeed, he looked very grave andserious when presently he said:
"But people coming up here and finding me might--"
The Girl looked up at him in blank amazement.
"Might what?" And then, while she waited for his answer, two shots inclose succession rang out in the night with great distinctness.
There was no mistaking the nearness of the sound. Instantly scentingtrouble and alert at the possibility of danger, Johnson inquired:
"What's that? What's that?"
"Wait! Wait!" came back from the Girl, unconsciously in the same tone,while she strained her ears for other sounds. She did not have long towait, however, before other shots followed, the last ones coming fromfurther away, so it seemed, and at greater intervals.
"They've got a road agent--it's the posse--p'r'aps they've got Ramerrezor one o' his band!" suddenly declared the Girl, at the same timerushing over to the window for some verification of her words. But, asbefore, the wind was beating with great force against the frosted panes,and only a vast stretch of snow met her gaze. Turning away from thewindow she now came towards him with: "You see, whoever it is, they'resnowed in--they can't get away."
Johnson knitted his brows and muttered something under his breath whichthe Girl did not catch.
Again a shot was fired.
"Another thief crep' into camp," coldly observed the Girl almostsimultaneously with the report.
Johnson winced.
"Poor devil!" he muttered. "But of course, as you say, he's only athief."
In reply to which the Girl uttered words to the effect that she was gladhe had been caught.
"Well, you're right," said Johnson, thoughtfully, after a short silence;then determinedly and in short jerky sentences, he went on: "I've beenthinking that I must go--tear myself away. I have very importantbusiness at dawn--imperative business . . ."
The Girl, who now stood by the table folding up the white cloth cover,watched him out of the corner of her eye, take down his coat from thepeg on the wall.
"Ever sample one o' our mountain blizzards?" she asked as he slipped onhis coat. "In five minutes you wouldn't know where you was. Yourimportant business would land you at the bottom of a canyon 'bout twentyfeet from here."
Johnson cleared his throat as if to speak but said nothing; whereuponthe Girl continued:
"You say you believe in Fate. Well, Fate has caught up with you--you gotto stay here."
Johnson was strangely silent. He was wondering how his coming thereto-night had really come about. But he could find no solution to theproblem unless it was in response to that perverse instinct whichprompts us all at times to do the very thing which in our hearts we knowto be wrong. The Girl, meanwhile, after a final creasing of theneatly-folded cover, started for the cupboard, stopping on the way topick up various articles which the wind had strewn about the room.Flinging them quickly into the cupboard she now went over to the windowand once more attempted to peer out into the night. But as before, itwas of no avail. With a shrug she straightened the curtains at thewindows and started for the door. Her action seemed to quicken hisdecision, for, presently, with a gesture of resignation, he threw downhis hat and coat on the table and said as if speaking to himself:
"Well, it is Fate--my Fate that has always made the thing I shouldn't doso easy." And then, turning to the Girl, he added: "Come, Girl, as yousay, if I can't go, I can't. But I know as I stand here that I'll nevergive you up."
The Girl looked puzzled.
"Why, what do you mean?"
"I mean," began Johnson, pacing the floor slowly. Now he stopped by achair and pointed as though to the falling snow. "Suppose we say that'san omen--that the old trail is blotted out and there is a fresh road.Would you take it with me a stranger, who says: From this day I mean tobe all you'd have me. Would you take it with me far away from here andforever?"
It did not take the Girl long to frame an answer. Taking Johnson's handshe said with great feeling:
"Well, show me the girl that would want to go to Heaven alone! I'll sellout the saloon--I'll go anywhere with you, you bet!"
Johnson bent low over her hand and kissed it. The Girl's straightforwardanswer had filled his heart to overflowing with joy.
"You know what that means, don't you?" a moment later he asked.
Sudden joy leapt to her blue eyes.
"Oh, yes," she told him with a world of understanding in her voice.There was a silence; then she went on reminiscently: "There's a littleSpanish Mission church--I pass it 'most every day. I can look in an' seethe light burnin' before the Virgin an' see the saints standin' roundwith glassy eyes an' faded satin slippers. An' I often tho't what they'dthink if I was to walk right in to be made--well, some man's wife. Itmakes your blood like pin-points thinkin' about it. There's somethin'kind o' holy about love, ain't they?"
Johnson nodded. He had never regarded love in that light before, muchless known it. For many moments he stood motionless, a new problem ofright and wrong throbbing in his bosom.
At last, it being settled that Johnson was to pass the night in theGirl's cabin, she went over to the bed and, once more, began to make itready for his occupancy. Meanwhile, Johnson, seated in the barrel rockerbefore the fire, watched her with a new interest. The Girl had not gonevery far with her duties, however, when she suddenly came over to him,plumping herself down on the floor at his feet.
"Say, did you ever ask any other woman to marry you?" she asked as sheleaned far back in his arms.
"No," was the man's truthful answer.
"Oh, how glad I am! Take me--ah, take me I don't care where as long asit is with you!" cried the Girl in an ecstasy of delight.
"So help me, God, I'm going to . . .!" promised Johnson, his voicestrained, tense. "You're worth something better than me, Girl," headded, a moment later, "but they say love works miracles every hour,that it weakens the strong and strengthens the weak. With all my soul Ilove you, with all my soul I--" The man let his voice die out, leavinghis sentence unfinished. Suddenly he called: "Why, Min-Minnie!"
"I wasn't really asleep," spoke up the Girl, blinking sleepily. "I'mjest so happy an' let down, that's all." The next moment, however, shewas forced to acknowledge that she was awfully sleepy and would have tosay good-night.
"All right," said Johnson, rising, and kissed her good-night.
"That's your bed over there," she told him, pointing in the direction ofthe curtains.
"But hadn't you better take the bed and let me sleep over here?"
"Not much!"
"You're sure you would be more comfortable by the fire--sure, now?"
"Yes, you bet!"
And so it was that Johnson decided to pass the night in the Girl'scanopied bed while she herself, rolled up in a blanket rug before thefire, slept on the floor.
"This beats a bed any time," remarked the Girl, spreading out the rugsmoothly; and then, reaching up for the old patchwork, silk quilt thathung from the loft, she added: "There's one thing--you don't have tomake it up in the mornin'."
"You're splendid, Girl!" laughed Johnson. Presently, he saw her quietlycloset herself in the cupboard, only to emerge a few minutes laterdressed for the night. Over her white cambric gown with its coarse lacetrimming showing at the throat, she wore a red woollen blanket robe heldin at the waist by a heavy, twisted, red cord which, to the man who gota glimpse of her as she crossed the room, made her prettier, even, thanshe had seemed at any time yet.
Quietly, now, the Girl began to put her house in order. All the lights,save the quaintly-shaded lamp that was suspended over the table, wereextinguished; that one, after many unsuccessful attempts, was turneddown so as to give the right minimum of light which would not interferewith her lover's sleep. Then she went over to the door to make sure thatit was bolted. Outside the wind howled and shrieked and moaned; butinside the cabin it had never seemed more cosey and secure and peacefulto her.
"Now you can talk to me from your bunk an' I'll talk to you from mine,"she said in a sleepy, lazy voice.
Except for a prodigious yawn which came from the Girl there was anominous quiet hanging over the place that chilled the man. Sudden soundsstartled him, and he found it impossible to make any progress with hispreparations for the night. He was about to make some remark, however,when to his well-attuned ears there came the sound of approachingfootsteps. In an instant he was standing in the parting made by thecurtains, his face eager, animated, tense.
"What's that?" he whispered.
"That's snow slidin'," th
e Girl informed him without the slightest traceof anxiety in her voice.
"God bless you, Girl," he murmured, and retreated back of the curtains.It was only an instant before he was back again with: "Why, there issomething out there--sounded like people calling," he again whispered.
"That's only the wind," she said, adding as she drew her robe tightlyabout her: "Gettin' cold, ain't it?"
But, notwithstanding her assurances, Johnson did not feel secure, and itwas with many misgivings that he now directed his footsteps towards thebed behind the curtains.
"Good-night!" he said uneasily.
"Good-night!" unconsciously returned the Girl in the same tone.
Taking off her slippers the Girl now put on a pair of moccasins andquietly went over to her bed, where she knelt down and made a silentprayer.
"Good-night!" presently came from a little voice in the rug.
"Good-night!" answered the man now settled in the centre of themuch-befrilled bed.
There was a silence; then the little voice in the rug called out:
"Say, what's your name?"
"Dick," whispered the man behind the curtains.
"So long, Dick!" drowsily.
"So long, Girl!" dreamily.
There was a brief silence; then, of a sudden, the Girl bolted upright inbed, and asked:
"Say, Dick, are you sure you don't know that Nina Micheltorena?"
"Sure," prevaricated the man, not without some compunction.
Whereupon the Girl fell back on her pillows and called out contentedly afinal "Good-night!"
The Girl of the Golden West Page 12