CHAPTER XIII
MRS. HIGGINS RALLIES TO HER COLORS
The Kemah County Court convened on a Tuesday, the second week inDecember. The Judge coming with his court reporter to Velpen on Mondayfound the river still open. December had crept softly to its appointedplace in the march of months with a gentle heralding of warm, southwestwinds.
"Weather breeder," said Mrs. Higgins of the Bon Ami, with a mournfulshake of her head. "You mark my words and remember I said it. It's asorry day for the cows when the river's running in December."
She was serving the judicial party herself, and capably, too. She dearlyloved the time the courts met, on either side of the river. It broughtmany interesting people to the Bon Ami, although not often the Judge.His coming for supper was a most unusual honor, and it was due toLouise, who had playfully insisted. He had humored her much against hiswill, it must be confessed; for he had a deeply worn habit of makingstraight for the hotel from the station and there remaining until HankBruebacher, liveryman, who never permitted anything to interfere with orany one to usurp his prerogative of driving his honor to and from Kemahwhen court was in session, whistled with shameless familiarity thefollowing morning to make his honor cognizant of the fact that he, Hank,was ready. But he had come to the Bon Ami because Louise wished it, andhe reflected whimsically on the astonishment, amounting almost tohorror, on the face of his good landlord at the Velpen House when itbecame an assured fact that he was not and had not been in thedining-room.
"You are right, Mrs. Higgins," assented the Judge gravely to her weatherpredictions, "and the supper you have prepared for us is worthy the handthat serves it. Kings and potentates could ask no better. Louise, dearchild, I am fond of you and I hope you will never go back East."
"Thank you, Uncle Hammond," said Louise, who knew that an amusingthought was seeping through this declaration of affection. "I am sorryto give you a heartache, but I am going back to God's country some day,nevertheless."
"Maybe so--maybe not," said the Judge. "Mrs. Higgins, my good woman, howis our friend, the canker-worm, coming on these days?"
"Canker-worm?" repeated Mrs. Higgins. "Meanin', your honor--"
"Just what I say--canker-worm. Isn't he the worm gnawing in discontent atthe very core of the fair fruit of established order and peace in thecow country?"
"I--I--don't understand, your honor," faltered the woman, in greattrepidation. Would his honor consider her a hopeless stupid? But whatwas the man talking about? Louise looked up, a flush of color stainingher cheeks.
"Maybe fire-brand would suit you better, madame? My young friend, thefire-brand," resumed the Judge, rising. "That is good--fire-brand. Is henot inciting the populace to 'open rebellion, false doctrine, andschism'? Is it not because of him that roofs are burned over the veryheads of the helpless homesteader?"
"For shame, Uncle Hammond," exclaimed Louise, still flushed and with amutinous little sparkle in her eyes. "You are poking fun at me. Youhaven't any right to, you know; but that's your way. I don't care, butMrs. Higgins doesn't understand."
"Don't you, Mrs. Higgins?" asked the Judge.
"No, I don't," snapped Mrs. Higgins, and she didn't, but she thought shedid. "Only if you mean Mr. Richard Gordon, I'll tell you now there ain'tno one in this here God-forsaken country who can hold a tallow candle tohim. Just put that in your pipe and smoke it, will you?"
She piled up dishes viciously. She did not wait for her guests to departbefore she began demolishing the table. It was a tremendous breach ofetiquette, but she didn't care. To have an ideal shattered ruthlessly isever a heart-breaking thing.
"But my dear Mrs. Higgins," expostulated the Judge.
"You needn't," said that lady, shortly. "I don't care," she went on, "ifthe president himself or an archangel from heaven came down here andplastered Dick Gordon with bad-smellin' names from the crown of hislittle toe to the tip of his head, I'd tell 'em to their very faces thatthey didn't know what they was a talkin' about, and what's more they'dbetter go back to where they belong and not come nosin' round in otherpeople's business when they don't understand one single mite about it.We don't want 'm puttin' their fingers in our pie when they don't know athing about us or our ways. That's my say," she closed, with appallingsignificance, flattering herself that no one could dream but that shewas dealing in the most off-hand generalities. She was far too politicto antagonize, and withal too good a woman not to strike for a friend.She congratulated herself she had been true to all her gods--and she hadbeen.
Louise smiled in complete sympathy, challenging the Judge meanwhile withlaughing eyes. But the Judge--he was still much of a boy in spite of hisgrave calling and mature years--just threw back his blonde head andshouted in rapturous glee. He laughed till the very ceiling rang in loudresponse; laughed till the tears shone in his big blue eyes. Mrs.Higgins looked on in undisguised amazement, hands on hips.
"Dear me, suz!" she sputtered, "is the man gone clean daffy?"
"Won't you shake hands with me, Mrs. Higgins?" he asked, gravely. "I askyour pardon for my levity, and I assure you there isn't a man in thewhole world I esteem more or hold greater faith in than Dick Gordon--orlove so much. I thank you for your championship of him. I would that hehad more friends like you. Louise, are you ready?"
Their walk to the hotel was a silent one. Later, as she was leaving himto go to her own room, Louise laid her head caressingly on her uncle'ssleeve.
"Uncle Hammond," she said, impulsively, "you are--incorrigible, but youare the best man in all the world."
"The very best?" he asked, smilingly.
"The very best," she repeated, firmly.
There was a full calendar that term, and the close of the first weekfound the court still wrestling with criminal cases, with that of JesseBlack yet uncalled. Gordon reckoned that Black's trial could notpossibly be taken up until Tuesday or Wednesday of the following week.Long before that, the town began filling up for the big rustling case.There were other rustling cases on the criminal docket, but they paledbefore this one where the suspected leader of a gang was on trial. Theinterested and the curious did not mean to miss any part of it. Theybegan coming in early in the week. They kept coming the remainder ofthat week and Sunday as well. Even as late as Monday, delayed rangeriders came scurrying in, leaving the cattle mostly to shift forthemselves. The Velpen aggregation, better informed, kept to its ownside of the river pretty generally until the Sunday, at least, should bepast.
The flats southeast of town became the camping grounds for those unableto find quarters at the hotel, and who lived too far out to make thenightly ride home and back in the morning. They were tempted by theunusually mild weather. These were mostly Indians and half-breeds, butwith a goodly sprinkling of cowboys of the rougher order. Camp-firesspotted the plain, burning redly at night. There was plenty ofdrift-wood to be had for the hauling. Blanketed Indians squatted andsmoked around their fires--a revival of an older and better day for them.Sometimes they stalked majestically through the one street of the town.
The judicial party was safely housed in the hotel, with the best serviceit was possible for the management to give in this busy season ofcongested patronage. It was impossible to accommodate the crowds. Eventhe office was jammed with cots at night. Mary Williston had come infrom White's to be with Louise. She was physically strong again, butever strangely quiet, always sombre-eyed.
"What shall I do, Louise?" she asked, one night. They were sitting indarkness. From their east window they could see the gleaming redsplotches that were fires on the flat.
"What do you mean, Mary?" asked Louise, dreamily. She was thinking howmuch sterner Gordon grew every day. He still had a smile for hisfriends, but he always smiled under defeat. That is what hurt so. Shehad noticed that very evening at supper how gray his hair was getting atthe temples. He had looked lonely and sad. Was it then all so hopeless?
"I mean, to make a living for myself," Mary answered, earnestly. "Thereis no one in the world belonging to me now. There were only father an
dI. What shall I do, Louise?"
"Mary, dear, dear Mary, what are you thinking of doing?"
"Anything," she answered, her proud reticence giving way before herneed, "that will keep me from the charity of my friends. The frock Ihave on, plain as it is, is mine through the generosity of PaulLangford. The bread I eat he pays for. He--he lied to me, Louise. He toldme the cowmen had made a purse for my present needs. They hadn't. It wasall from him. I found out. Mrs. White is poor. She can't keep a great,strapping girl like me for nothing. I am such a hearty eater, and he hasbeen paying her, Louise, for what I ate. Think of it! I thought I shoulddie when I found it out. I made her promise not to take another centfrom him--for me. So I have been working to make it up. I have washed andironed and scrubbed and baked. I was man of affairs at the ranch whileMr. White went out with the gang for the Fall round-up. I have herded.But one has to have things besides one's bread. The doctor was paid outof that make-believe purse, but it must all be made up to PaulLangford--every cent of it."
"Mr. Langford would be very much hurt if you should do that," beganLouise, slowly. "It was because of him, you know, primarily, that--"
"He owes me nothing," interrupted Mary, sharply.
"Oh," said Louise, smiling in the dark.
"I believe I could teach school," went on Mary, with feverish haste, "ifI could get a school to teach."
"I should think Mr. Gordon could help you to secure a place here," saidLouise.
"I have not told Mr. Gordon my troubles," said Mary, gravely. "I shouldnot dream of intruding with such petty affairs while his big fight ison--his glorious fight. He will avenge my father. Nothing matters butthat. He has enough to bear--without a woman's trivial grievances."
"But he would be glad to take that little trouble for you if he knew,"persisted Louise. She was feeling small and of little worth in thestrength of Mary's sweeping independence. She was hauntingly sure thatin like circumstances she would be weak enough to take her trouble to--aman like Gordon, for instance. It came to her, there in the dark, thatmaybe he loved Mary. She had no cause to wonder, if this were true. Marywas fine--beautiful, lovable, stanch and true and capable, and he hadknown her long before he knew there was such a creature in existence asthe insignificant, old-maidenish, mouse-haired reporter from the East.The air of the room suddenly became stifling. She threw open a window.The soft, damp air of the cloudy, warm darkness floated in and caressedher hot cheeks. Away, away over yonder, beyond the twinkling camp-fireson the flat, across the river, away to the east, were her childhood'shome and her kin. Here were the big, unthinking, overbearing cow countryand--the man who loved Mary Williston, maybe.
It was getting late bedtime. Men were shuffling noisily through the hallon their way to their rooms. Scraps of conversation drifted in to thetwo girls.
"He's a fool to make the try without Williston."
"It takes some folks a mighty long time to learn their place in thishere county."
"Well, I reckon he thinks the county kin afford to stand good for hisfool play."
"He'll learn his mistake--when Jesse gets out."
"Naw! Not the ghost of a show!"
"He'd ought to be tarred and feathered and shot full o' holes, andshipped back to where he come from to show his kind how we deal withplumb idjits west o' the river."
"Well, he'll dance a different stunt 'gainst this is over."
"You bet! Jesse'll do his stunt next."
And then they heard the lazy doctor's voice drawling, "Mebby so, butlet's wait and see, shall we?"
Men's minds were set unshiftingly on this coming trial. How Gordon wouldhave to fight for a fair jury!
"I think it is as you said," said Mary, presently. "Mr. Langford feelshe owes me--bread and clothes. He is anxious to pay off the debt so therewill be nothing on his conscience. He owes me nothing, nothing, Louise,but he is a man and he thinks he can pay off any obligation he mayfeel."
"That is a harsh motive you ascribe to Mr. Langford," said Louise,closing the window and coming to sit affectionately at Mary's feet. "Idon't think he means it in that way at all. I think it is a fine anddelicate and manly thing he has done. He did not intend for you toknow--or any one. And don't you think, Mary, that the idea of making up apurse should have come from some one else--just as he tried to make youbelieve? It was not done, so what was left for Mr. Langford to do? Hehad promised to see your father through. He was glad to do it. I thinkit was fine of him to do--what he did--the way he did it."
She had long thought the Boss dreamed dreams of Mary. She was more sureof it than ever to-night. And now if Gordon did, too--well, Mary was worthit. But she would be sorry for one of them some day. They were finemen--both of them.
"But I shall pay him back--every cent," replied Mary, firmly. "He owes menothing, Louise, nothing, I tell you. I will not accept alms--of him. Yousee that I couldn't, don't you?"
"I know he does not feel he owes you anything--in the way you areaccusing him," answered Louise, wisely. "He is doing this because youare you and he cannot bear to think of you suffering for things when hewants to help you more than he could dare to tell you now. Mary, don'tyou see? I think, too, you must pay him back some day, but don't worryabout it. You would hurt him too much if you do not take plenty of timeto get strong and well before repaying him--paltry dollars. There will bea way found, never fear. Meanwhile you can amuse yourself correcting mytranscripts to keep you content till something turns up, and we will_make_ something turn up. Wait until this term is over and don't fret.You won't fret, will you?"
"I will try not to, Louise," said Mary, with a little weary gesture ofacquiescence.
Langford of the Three Bars Page 13
