by Bret Harte
CHAPTER V
The wind was blowing towards the stranger, so that he was nearly uponher when Teresa first took the alarm. He was a man over six feet inheight, strongly built, with a slight tendency to a roundness of bulkwhich suggested reserved rather than impeded energy. His thick beardand mustache were closely cropped around a small and handsome mouth thatlisped except when he was excited, but always kept fellowship with hisblue eyes in a perpetual smile of half-cynical good-humor. His dress wassuperior to that of the locality; his general expression that of aman of the world, albeit a world of San Francisco, Sacramento, andMurderer's Bar. He advanced towards her with a laugh and an outstretchedhand.
"YOU here!" she gasped, drawing back.
Apparently neither surprised nor mortified at this reception, heanswered frankly, "Yeth. You didn't expect me, I know. But Dolorethshowed me the letter you wrote her, and--well--here I am, ready to helpyou, with two men and a thpare horthe waiting outside the woodth on theblind trail."
"You--YOU--here?" she only repeated.
Curson shrugged his shoulders. "Yeth. Of courth you never expectedto thee me again, and leatht of all HERE. I'll admit that; I'll thayI wouldn't if I'd been in your plathe. I'll go further, and thay youdidn't want to thee me again--anywhere. But it all cometh to the thamething; here I am. I read the letter you wrote Doloreth. I read how youwere hiding here, under Dunn'th very nothe, with his whole pothe out,cavorting round and barkin' up the wrong tree. I made up my mind tocome down here with a few nathty friends of mine and cut you out underDunn'th nothe, and run you over into Yuba--that'th all."
"How dared she show you my letter--YOU of all men? How dared she askYOUR help?" continued Teresa, fiercely.
"But she didn't athk my help," he responded coolly. "D--d if I don'tthink she jutht calculated I'd be glad to know you were being hunteddown and thtarving, that I might put Dunn on your track."
"You lie!" said Teresa, furiously; "she was my friend. A better friendthan those who professed--more," she added, with a contemptuous drawingaway of her skirt as if she feared Curson's contamination.
"All right. Thettle that with her when you go back," continued Cursonphilosophically. "We can talk of that on the way. The thing now ith toget up and get out of thethe woods. Come!"
Teresa's only reply was a gesture of scorn.
"I know all that," continued Curson half soothingly, "but they'rewaiting."
"Let them wait. I shall not go."
"What will you do?"
"Stay here--till the wolves eat me."
"Teresa, listen. D--- it all--Teresa--Tita! see here," he said withsudden energy. "I swear to God it's all right. I'm willing to letby-gones be by-gones and take a new deal. You shall come back as ifnothing had happened, and take your old place as before. I don't minddoing the square thing, all round. If that's what you mean, if that'sall that stands in the way, why, look upon the thing as settled. There,Tita, old girl, come."
Careless or oblivious of her stony silence and starting eyes, heattempted to take her hand. But she disengaged herself with a quickmovement, drew back, and suddenly crouched like a wild animal about tospring. Curson folded his arms as she leaped to her feet; the littledagger she had drawn from her garter flashed menacingly in the air, butshe stopped.
The man before her remained erect, impassive, and silent; the greattrees around and beyond her remained erect, impassive, and silent; therewas no sound in the dim aisles but the quick panting of her mad passion,no movement in the calm, motionless shadow but the trembling of heruplifted steel. Her arm bent and slowly sank, her fingers relaxed, theknife fell from her hand.
"That'th quite enough for a thow," he said, with a return to his formercynical ease and a perceptible tone of relief in his voice. "It'th thethame old Theretha. Well, then, if you won't go with me, go without me;take the led horthe and cut away. Dick Athley and Petereth will followyou over the county line. If you want thome money, there it ith." Hetook a buckskin purse from his pocket. "If you won't take it from me"--hehesitated as she made no reply--"Athley'th flush and ready to lend youthome."
She had not seemed to hear him, but had stooped in some embarrassment,picked up the knife and hastily hid it, then with averted face andnervous fingers was beginning to tear strips of loose bark from thenearest trunk.
"Well, what do you thay?"
"I don't want any money, and I shall stay here." She hesitated, lookedaround her, and then added, with an effort, "I suppose you meant well.Be it so! Let by-gones be by-gones. You said just now, 'It's the sameold Teresa.' So she is, and seeing she's the same she's better here thananywhere else."
There was enough bitterness in her tone to call for Curson'shalf-perfunctory sympathy.
"That be d--d," he responded quickly. "Jutht thay you'll come, Tita,and--"
She stopped his half-spoken sentence with a negative gesture. "You don'tunderstand. I shall stay here."
"But even if they don't theek you here, you can't live here forever. Thefriend that you wrote about who wath tho good to you, you know, can'tkeep you here alwayth; and are you thure you can alwayth trutht her?"
"It isn't a woman; it's a man." She stopped short, and colored to theline of her forehead. "Who said it was a woman?" she continued fiercely,as if to cover her confusion with a burst of gratuitous anger. "Is thatanother of your lies?"
Curson's lips, which for a moment had completely lost their smile, werenow drawn together in a prolonged whistle. He gazed curiously at hergown, at her hat, at the bow of bright ribbon that tied her black hair,and said, "Ah!"
"A poor man who has kept my secret," she went on hurriedly--"a man asfriendless and lonely as myself. Yes," disregarding Curson's cynicalsmile, "a man who has shared everything--"
"Naturally," suggested Curson.
"And turned himself out of his only shelter to give me a roof andcovering," she continued mechanically, struggling with the new andhorrible fancy that his words awakened.
"And thlept every night at Indian Thpring to save your reputation," saidCurson. "Of courthe."
Teresa turned very white. Curson was prepared for an outburst offury--perhaps even another attack. But the crushed and beaten woman onlygazed at him with frightened and imploring eyes. "For God's sake, Dick,don't say that!"
The amiable cynic was staggered. His good-humor and a certain chivalrousinstinct he could not repress got the better of him. He shrugged hisshoulders. "What I thay, and what you DO, Teretha, needn't make usquarrel. I've no claim on you--I know it. Only--" a vivid sense of theridiculous, powerful in men of his stamp, completed her victory--"onlydon't thay anything about my coming down here to cut you out fromthe--the--THE SHERIFF." He gave utterance to a short but unaffectedlaugh, made a slight grimace, and turned to go.
Teresa did not join in his mirth. Awkward as it would have been if hehad taken a severer view of the subject, she was mortified even amidsther fears and embarrassment at his levity. Just as she had becomeconvinced that his jealousy had made her over-conscious, his apparentgood-humored indifference gave that over-consciousness a guiltysignificance. Yet this was lost in her sudden alarm as her companion,looking up, uttered an exclamation, and placed his hand upon hisrevolver. With a sinking conviction that the climax had come, Teresaturned her eyes. From the dim aisles beyond, Low was approaching. Thecatastrophe seemed complete.
She had barely time to utter an imploring whisper: "In the name of God,not a word to him." But a change had already come over her companion. Itwas no longer a parley with a foolish woman; he had to deal with a manlike himself. As Low's dark face and picturesque figure came nearer, Mr.Curson's proposed method of dealing with him was made audible.
"Ith it a mulatto or a Thircuth, or both?" he asked, with affectedanxiety.
Low's Indian phlegm was impervious to such assault. He turned to Teresa,without apparently noticing her companion. "I turned back," he saidquietly, "as soon as I knew there were strangers here; I thought youmight need me." She noticed for the first time that, in addition to hisrifle, he
carried a revolver and hunting knife in his belt.
"Yeth," returned Curson, with an ineffectual attempt to imitate Low'sphlegm; "but ath I didn't happen to be a sthranger to this lady, perhapsit wathn't nethethary, particularly ath I had two friends--"
"Waiting at the edge of the wood with a led horse," interrupted Low,without addressing him, but apparently continuing his explanation toTeresa. But she turned to Low with feverish anxiety.
"That's so--he is an old friend--" she gave a quick, imploring glance atCurson--"an old friend who came to help me away--he is very kind," shestammered, turning alternately from the one to the other; "but I toldhim there was no hurry--at least to-day--that you--were--very good--too,and would hide me a little longer, until your plan--you know YOUR plan,"she added, with a look of beseeching significance to Low--"could betried." And then, with a helpless conviction that her excuses, motives,and emotions were equally and perfectly transparent to both men, shestopped in a tremble.
"Perhapth it 'th jutht ath well, then, that the gentleman came thtraighthere, and didn't tackle my two friendth when he pathed them," observedCurson, half sarcastically.
"I have not passed your friends, nor have I been near them," said Low,looking at him for the first time, with the same exasperating calm, "orperhaps I should not be HERE or they THERE. I knew that one man enteredthe wood a few moments ago, and that two men and four horses remainedoutside."
"That's true," said Teresa to Curson excitedly--"that's true. He knowsall. He can see without looking, hear without listening. He--he--" shestammered, colored, and stopped.
The two men had faced each other. Curson, after his first good-naturedimpulse, had retained no wish to regain Teresa, whom he felt he nolonger loved, and yet who, for that very reason perhaps, had awakenedhis chivalrous instincts. Low, equally on his side, was altogetherunconscious of any feeling which might grow into a passion, and preventhim from letting her go with another if for her own safety. They wereboth men of a certain taste and refinement. Yet, in spite of all this,some vague instinct of the baser male animal remained with them, andthey were moved to a mutually aggressive attitude in the presence of thefemale.
One word more, and the opening chapter of a sylvan Iliad might havebegun. But this modern Helen saw it coming, and arrested it with aninspiration of feminine genius. Without being observed, she disengagedher knife from her bosom and let it fall as if by accident. It struckthe ground with the point of its keen blade, bounded and rolled betweenthem. The two men started and looked at each other with a foolish air.Curson laughed.
"I reckon she can take care of herthelf," he said, extending his hand toLow. "I'm off. But if I'm wanted SHE'LL know where to find me." Low tookthe proffered hand, but neither of the two men looked at Teresa. Thereserve of antagonism once broken, a few words of caution, advice, andencouragement passed between them, in apparent obliviousness of herpresence or her personal responsibility. As Curson at last noddeda farewell to her, Low insisted upon accompanying him as far as thehorses, and in another moment she was again alone.
She had saved a quarrel between them at the sacrifice of herself, forher vanity was still keen enough to feel that this exhibition of herold weakness had degraded her in their eyes, and, worse, had lost therespect her late restraint had won from Low. They had treated her like achild or a crazy woman, perhaps even now were exchanging criticismsupon her--perhaps pitying her! Yet she had prevented a quarrel, a fight;possibly the death of either one or the other of these men who despisedher, for none better knew than she the trivial beginning and desperateend of these encounters. Would they--would Low ever realize it, andforgive her? Her small, dark hands went up to her eyes and she sankupon the ground. She looked through tear-veiled lashes upon the mute andgiant witnesses of her deceit and passion, and tried to draw, from theirimmovable calm, strength and consolation as before. But even they seemedto stand apart, reserved and forbidding.
When Low returned she hoped to gather from his eyes and manner whathad passed between him and her former lover. But beyond a mere gentleabstraction at times he retained his usual calm. She was at last forcedto allude to it herself with simulated recklessness.
"I suppose I didn't get a very good character from my last place?" shesaid, with a laugh.
"I don't understand you," he replied, in evident sincerity.
She bit her lip and was silent. But as they were returning home, shesaid gently, "I hope you were not angry with me for the lie I toldwhen I spoke of 'your plan.' I could not give the real reason fornot returning with--with--that man. But it's not all a lie. I have aplan--if you haven't. When you are ready to go to Sacramento to takeyour place, dress me as an Indian boy, paint my face, and let me go withyou. You can leave me--there--you know."
"It's not a bad idea," he responded gravely. "We will see."
On the next day, and the next, the rencontre seemed to be forgotten.The herbarium was already filled with rare specimens. Teresa had evenovercome her feminine repugnance to "bugs" and creeping things so faras to assist in his entomological collection. He had drawn from a sacredcache in the hollow of a tree the few worn text-books from which he hadstudied.
"They seem very precious," she said, with a smile.
"Very," he replied gravely. "There was one with plates that the ants ateup, and it will be six months before I can afford to buy another."
Teresa glanced hurriedly over his well-worn buckskin suit, at his calicoshirt with its pattern almost obliterated by countless washings, andbecame thoughtful.
"I suppose you couldn't buy one at Indian Spring?" she said innocently.
For once Low was startled out of his phlegm. "Indian Spring!" heejaculated; "perhaps not even in San Francisco. These came from theStates."
"How did you get them?" persisted Teresa.
"I bought them for skins I got over the ridge."
"I didn't mean that--but no matter. Then you mean to sell that bearskin,don't you?" she added.
Low had, in fact, already sold it, the proceeds having been invested ina gold ring for Miss Nellie, which she scrupulously did not wear exceptin his presence. In his singular truthfulness he would have franklyconfessed it to Teresa, but the secret was not his own. He contentedhimself with saying that he had disposed of it at Indian Spring.
Teresa started, and communicated unconsciously some of her nervousnessto her companion. They gazed in each other's eyes with a troubledexpression.
"Do you think it was wise to sell that particular skin, which might beidentified?" she asked timidly.
Low knitted his arched brows, but felt a strange sense of relief."Perhaps not," he said carelessly; "but it's too late now to mendmatters."
That afternoon she wrote several letters, and tore them up. One,however, she retained, and handed it to Low to post at Indian Spring,whither he was going. She called his attention to the superscription,being the same as the previous letter, and added, with affected gayety,"But if the answer isn't as prompt, perhaps it will be pleasanter thanthe last." Her quick feminine eye noticed a little excitement in hismanner and a more studious attention to his dress. Only a few daysbefore she would not have allowed this to pass without some mischievousallusion to his mysterious sweetheart; it troubled her greatly now tofind that she could not bring herself to this household pleasantry, andthat her lip trembled and her eye grew moist as he parted from her.
The afternoon passed slowly; he had said he might not return to supperuntil late, nevertheless a strange restlessness took possession ofher as the day wore on. She put aside her work, the darning of hisstockings, and rambled aimlessly through the woods. She had wandered sheknew not how far, when she was suddenly seized with the same vague senseof a foreign presence which she had felt before. Could it be Cursonagain, with a word of warning? No! she knew it was not he; so subtlehad her sense become that she even fancied that she detected in theinvisible aura projected by the unknown no significance or relation toherself or Low, and felt no fear. Nevertheless she deemed it wisest toseek the protection of her sylvan b
ower, and hurried swiftly thither.
But not so quickly nor directly that she did not once or twice pause inher flight to examine the new-comer from behind a friendly trunk. He wasa stranger--a young fellow with a brown mustache, wearing heavy Mexicanspurs in his riding-boots, whose tinkling he apparently did not care toconceal. He had perceived her, and was evidently pursuing her, butso awkwardly and timidly that she eluded him with ease. When she hadreached the security of the hollow tree and pulled the curtain of barkbefore the narrow opening, with her eye to the interstices, she waitedhis coming. He arrived breathlessly in the open space before the treewhere the bear once lay; the dazed, bewildered, and half-awed expressionof his face, as he glanced around him and through the openings of theforest aisles, brought a faint smile to her saddened face. At last hecalled in a half-embarrassed voice:--
"Miss Nellie!"
The smile faded from Teresa's cheek. Who was "Miss Nellie?" She pressedher ear to the opening. "Miss Wynn!" the voice again called, but waslost in the echoless woods. Devoured with a new gratuitous curiosity, inanother moment Teresa felt she would have disclosed herself at any risk,but the stranger rose and began to retrace his steps. Long after histinkling spurs were lost in the distance, Teresa remained like a statue,staring at the place where he had stood. Then she suddenly turned likea mad woman, glanced down at the gown she was wearing, tore it fromher back as if it had been a polluted garment, and stamped upon it ina convulsion of rage. And then, with her beautiful bare arms claspedtogether over her head, she threw herself upon her couch in a tempest oftears.