Bunch Grass: A Chronicle of Life on a Cattle Ranch
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WILKINS AND HIS DINAH
Wilkins had a pair of eyes that had seen better days. His featureswere still good, and the complexion showed quality of texture: a bloomoften seen upon the faces of middle-aged men who in youth have beenfair. His figure was imposing. When he lounged into a room, even abar-room, he took the stage, so to speak; you were bound to look athim. When he spoke you listened to words, wise or otherwise. When hesmiled you were seized with an absurd desire to shake his hand!
He was herding sheep for Silas Upham, a man of flocks and herds, andthe father of one child, Hetty. Meeting Wilkins for the first time, Iwondered what Hetty thought of her sire's shepherd.
Wilkins told us that our back fence was down, and that a bunch ofsteers had broken through into Upham's alfalfa. We thanked him,offering whisky and tobacco. He accepted both with captivating smileand easy nod. A minute later he was sitting in our most comfortablechair, staring at our books and engravings. His eyes lingered upon thebest of these with a look of recognition. He asked no questions.
Next day we rode over to his hut, and smoked some pipes. Wilkins spokeof India, Australia, France, and Italy, but he never mentionedEngland. Nor did we. Presently, somewhat to our surprise, Hetty Uphamcantered into camp. The day happened to be unusually hot, whichaccounted, perhaps, for her rosy cheeks. She delivered a message toWilkins, exchanged a few words with us, and galloped off.
"Goes faster than she came," said Ajax.
"Yes," said Wilkins. Then he added, with emphasis: "I don't blame anygirl from galloping away from such a hole as this." With a derisiveglance he indicated the flies swarming about his pots and pans, theill-trimmed lamp reeking of petroleum, the rough bunk wherein heslept, the rusty stove. We contrasted these sordid surroundings withthe splendours of Silas Upham's front parlour, and then we staredfurtively at Wilkins.
About a week later Wilkins supped with us. Warmed by good food anddrink, his reserve concerning himself somewhat melted. We learned thathe had been but two weeks in Upham's service, that he had worked hispassage down the coast from Vancouver to San Francisco.
"And how do you like the Uphams?" said Ajax.
The use of the plural provoked a slight smile.
"Naturally, I don't see much of them," said Wilkins.
He picked up an old photograph album, and began to turn over itspages. Obviously, his thoughts were elsewhere; and the sound of hisown voice must have startled him.
"By Jove--it's old Sam!"
He spoke in a whisper, as if to himself.
"Yes--it's old Sam," said Ajax quickly. "You were at Harrow?"
Wilkins' eyelids fluttered; then he met our glance with a shrug of hisshoulders.
"Yes."
He stared at the portrait of Sam, the Custos of the School, thefamiliar of the Yard, of the Fourth Room Form, Sam, the provider ofbirches, Sam of the port wine nose.
"_We_ were at Harrow," said Ajax. "What house was yours?"
Wilkins hesitated; then he said slowly: "Tommy's."
"We were at Billy's."
Wilkins abruptly changed the subject, and soon after he left us. Werushed to the Harrow register. Yes, in Tommy's house, some seven yearsbefore our time, there had been a certain Theodore Vane Wilkins. Ajax,whose imagination runs riot, began to prattle about a Dinah, a Delilahof a Dinah, who had wrecked our schoolfellow's life. And, during theensuing week, Dinah was continually in his mouth. Wilkins had movedcamp, and we saw nothing of him. What we heard, however, must be setdown. Silas Upham asked us to spend Sunday at his house. At dinner Isat next pretty little Hetty, and at once she spoke of Wilkins. To myannoyance, Ajax introduced the ridiculous Dinah, the perfidiouscreature of his fancy. Ajax was in his salad days, but he ought tohave known, even then, that if you want to interest a maid in a man,tell her that the man has suffered at the hands of another maid.Hetty's blue eyes sparkled, her dimpled cheeks glowed with sympathyand indignation.
"Schoolfellow o' yours, was he? Well--I may make that feller foremanone o' these days," said Silas, with a fond, foolish glance at hisdaughter. Hetty could do what she pleased with her sire--and knew it.
"Poppa," said Miss Hetty, "you're all sorts of a darling, and I mustkiss you."
Then she and Ajax strolled on to the verandah, and I found myselfalone with my host. He said meaningly: "Wilkins has had a tough row tohoe--eh? But he's a perfect gentleman, straight, sober, and a worker.I've been looking for a man that is a man to run things here, now thatI'm getting a bit stiff in the joints. Hetty likes him first-ratetoo."
All this in an interrogatory tone. Of course, it was easy to fill the_lacunae_ in the text. Silas Upham adored his daughter and hisranch. If Hetty married Wilkins, the artful Silas would gain an able-bodied, capable major-domo, and he would not lose his pet lamb. Isaid, rather tartly--
"Look here, Upham, you know nothing of Wilkins, and I advise you and--er--Miss Hetty to go slow."
"I do go slow," said my host, "but Hetty likes to buzz along. She's amover, she is."
As we rode home I told Ajax that Opportunity had thrust into Wilkins'hand a very tempting morsel. Was he going to swallow it? And ought weto ask some questions?
I think it was on the following Wednesday that Wilkins walked over tothe ranch-house, and asked for a job.
"I've left Upham," he said curtly.
We had not much to offer; such as it was, Wilkins accepted it. Ajaxdrove to Upham's to fetch Wilkins' blankets and belongings. When hecame back, he drew me aside.
"Silas offered him the billet of foreman. Wilkins _refused it_."
* * * * *
A month passed. Wilkins worked hard at first, and his ability, hisshrewdness, confounded us, as it had confounded Silas Upham. Then, hebegan to slack, as boys put it. Small duties were ill done or not doneat all. But we liked him, were, indeed, charmed by him. As Ajaxremarked, Fascination does not trot in the same class with Respect.
Twice I caught that shameless little witch, Hetty, in our backpasture, where Wilkins was splitting rails. Thrice a week she calledat the ranch-house on her way to the post office.
"She means to marry Wilkins," said Ajax to me. "And why not? If onewoman has made him--er--invertebrate, let Hetty Upham put backboneinto him."
That evening we asked Wilkins to witness a legal paper, some agreementor other. He signed his name Henry Wilkins. Ajax stared at me; then hewalked to the bookcase. His voice was very hard, as he turned, Harrowregister in hand, and said: "The only Wilkins at Tommy's was TheodoreVane Wilkins."
Wilkins rose, shrugged his shoulders, and laughed. Ajax scowled.
"We told Silas Upham that you were an old Harrovian," began mybrother.
"So I am; but my name is not Wilkins." He lit a cigarette, before hecontinued quietly: "I'm a fraud. I'm not even an Englishman. My fatherwas a Southerner. He settled in England after the war. He used to saybitterly that he had been born the wrong side of the Atlantic. He diedsoon after I left Harrow. With what money he left me I travelled allover the world: shooting, fishing, and playing the fool.
"When I found myself stony-broke, I hunted up my Baltimore relations.Some of them told me it was easier to marry money than to make it. Myname--I'll keep that to myself, if you don't mind--had a certain valuein the eyes of a rich girl I knew. At the same time there was anothergirl----"
"Ah--Dinah," Ajax murmured.
"We'll call her Dinah. Dinah," his voice shook for a moment, "Dinahcared for me, and I--I cared for her. But the girl with money had ablaring, knock-me-down sort of beauty that appeals to men. Lots offellows were after her. Dinah had only me. Dinah was mine, if I choseto claim her; the other had to be won. The competition, plus the coin,ensnared me. I became engaged to the rich girl. I don't think I knewthen what I was doing to--Dinah. Within a fortnight I was struck downwith scarlet fever. The rich girl--she was game as a pebble--nursedme. I became delirious. My nurse listened to my ravings for two daysand nights; then she went away. I came to my senses to find Dinah atmy bedside. The other
wrote later, releasing me from the engagementand bidding me marry the girl whose name had been on my lips athousand times. I laughed, and showed the letter to Dinah. A friendpromised me work. Dinah and I were going to live in a cottage, and behappy for ever and ever....
"And then she--sickened!"
In the dreary silence that followed, neither Ajax nor I were able tospeak.
"And--and she died."
* * * * *
The poor fellow left us next day, and we never saw him again. It is tobe remembered that he never encouraged Hetty Upham, whose infatuationwas doubtless fanned by his indifference. She offered him bread, nay,cakes and ale, but he took instead a stone, because cakes and ale hadlost their savour. We heard, afterwards, that he died on the SkagwayPass in an attempt to reach the Klondyke too early in the spring. Hewas seeking the gold of the Yukon placers; perhaps he found, beyondthe Great White Silence, his Dinah.