A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS.
I.
The train which brought young Ramsey into Red Rock gave him no view ofthe mountains, because it arrived about eight o'clock of a dark day. Hewent to bed at once in order to be up early and prostrate himself beforethe peaks, for he was of the level middle-West.
He was awakened by the sound of loud, hearty voices, and looking out ofthe window saw a four-horse team standing before the little hotel. Onthe wagon's side was a sign which made the heart of the youth leap.
CRINKLE CREEK STAGE. DAVE WILLIS, Pro.
He was in the land of gold! It was like a chapter from a story by BretHarte. He dressed himself hurriedly, and went down and out into thecool, keen dawn, eager to catch a glimpse of the great peak whose namehad been in his ear since a child, as the symbol of the RockyMountains.
There it soared, dull purple, splotched with dark green, and rising towhite at its shoulders, and radiant with light on its crown. In suchimpassible grandeur, it must have loomed upon the eyes of the firstlittle caravan trailing its way across the plains to the mysteriousWest.
He spent the day doing little else but gaze at the mountains and studythe town.
It was also much more stupendous than he had imagined, and doubts of hisability to fit with all this splendor came to him with great force. Heremembered the smooth, green swells and fertile fields he had leftbehind, and the memory brought a touch of homesickness.
After supper that evening he confided to the landlord his plans forfinding a foreman's position on a stock farm.
"Well, I dunno. There are such places, but they're always snapped up'fore you can say Jack Robinson."
"Well, I'm going to give it a good try," the young fellow said bravely.
"That's right. If I was you, I'd go out and see some of thesereal-estate fellers; they most always know what's going on."
"That's a good idea; much obliged. I'll tackle 'em to-morrow," saidArthur, and he went off to bed, feeling victory almost a tame bird inhis hands.
The next forenoon he made his first attempt. He had determined on hisspeech, and he went into the first office with his song on his lips.
"I'm looking for a place on a dairy farm; I've had five years' practicalexperience, and am a graduate of the ---- Agricultural College. I'mafter the position of bookkeeper and foreman."
The man looked at him gravely.
"You're aiming pretty high, young feller, for this country. There areplenty of chances to work, punching cattle, but I don't think chancesare good for a foreman's place." He was a kindly man, and repented whenhe saw how the young man's face fell. "However, I'll give you some namesof people to see."
On the whole, this was not so depressing, Arthur thought.
The next man made a mistake and took him for an investor. He rose withgreat cordiality.
"Ah, good morning, sir--good morning! Have a chair. Just in? Do you feelthe draft there? Oh, all right!" Then he settled himself in his swivelchair and beamed his warmest. "Well, what do you think of our charmingtown?"
Arthur had not the heart to undeceive him, and so, saturated in agonysweat, crawled out at last, and went timidly on to the third man, whowas kindly and interested in a way, and gave him the names of someranchers likely to hire a hand. Some days passed in this sort of searchand resulted in nothing materially valuable, but a strong quality cameout in his nature. Defeat seemed to put a grim sort of resolution intohis soul.
Following faint clews, Ramsey made long walks into the country, toilingfrom ranch to ranch over the dun-colored, lonely hills, dogged,persistent, with lips set grimly.
He was returning late one afternoon from one of these fruitlessjourneys. It was one of those strange days that come in all seasons atthat altitude. The air was full of suspended mist--it did not rain, theroad was almost dry under foot, and yet this all-pervasive moistureseemed soaking everything. It was, in fact, a cloud, for this whole landwas a mountain top.
The road wound among shapeless buttes of red soil, the plain was clothedon its levels with a short, dry grass, and on the side of the butteswere scattering, scraggy cedars, looking at a distance like droves ofcattle.
He sat down upon a little hummock to rest, for his feet ached with thelong stretches of hilly road. The larks cried to him out of the mist,with their piercing sweet notes, cheerful and undaunted ever. There wasa sudden lighting up of the day, as if the lark's song had shot the mistwith silver light.
As he rose and started on with painful slowness, he heard the sound ofhorses' hoofs behind him, and a man in a yellow cart came swiftly out ofthe gray obscurity.
Arthur stepped aside to let him pass, but he could not help limping alittle more markedly as the man looked at him. The man seemed tounderstand.
"Will you ride?" he asked.
Arthur glanced up at him and nodded without speaking. The stranger was afine-looking man, with a military cut of beard, getting gray. His facewas ruddy and smiling.
"Thank you. I am rather tired," Arthur said, as he settled into theseat. "I guess I'll have to own up, I'm about played out."
"I thought you looked foot-sore. I'm enough of a Western man to feelmean when I pass a man on the road. A footman can get very tired onthese stretches of ours."
"I've tramped about forty miles to-day, I guess. I'm trying to find somework to do," he added, in desperate confidence.
"Is that so? What kind of work?"
"Well, I wanted to get a place as foreman on a ranch."
"I'm afraid that's too much to expect."
Arthur sighed.
"Yes, I suppose it is. If I'd known as much two weeks ago as I do now, Iwouldn't be here."
"Oh, don't get discouraged; there's plenty of work to do. I can give yousomething to do on my place."
"Well, I've come to the conclusion that there is nothing here for me butthe place of a common hand, so if you can give me anything----"
"Oh, yes, I can give you something to do in my garden. Perhaps somethingbetter will open up later. Where are you staying?" he asked, as theyneared town.
Arthur told him, and the man drove him down to his hotel.
"I'd like to have you call at my office to-morrow morning; my partnerdoes most of the hiring. I've been living in Denver. Here's my card."
After he had driven away, the listening landlord broke forth:
"You're in luck, Cap. If you get a place with Major Thayer you'refixed."
"Who is he, anyhow?"
"Who is he? Why, he owns all the land up the creek, and banks all overColorado."
"Is that so?"
Arthur was delighted. Of course, it was only a common hand's place, buthere was the vista he had looked for--here was the chance.
He stretched his legs under the table in huge content as he ate hissupper. His youthful imagination had seized upon this slender wire ofpromise and was swiftly making it a hoop of diamonds.
II.
When he entered the office next day, however, the Major merely nodded tohim over the railing and said:
"Good morning. Take a seat, please."
He seemed deeply engaged with a tall young man of about thirty-fiveyears of age, with a rugged, smooth-shaven face. The young man spokewith a marked English accent, and there was a quality in his manner ofspeech which appealed very strongly to Arthur.
"Confeound the fellow," the young Englishman was saying, "I'vedischarged him. I cawn't re-engage him, ye kneow! We cawn't have a manabeout who gets drunk, y' kneow--it's too bloody proveoking, Majah."
"But the poor fellow's family, Saulisbury."
"Oh, hang the fellow's family," laughed Saulisbury. "We are not apoorhouse, y' kneow--or a house for inebriates. I confess I deon't mindthese things as you do, old man. I'm a Britisher, y' kneow, and Ihaven't got intristed in your bloody radicalism, y' kneow. I'm in forSam Saulisbury 'from the word go,' as you fellows say."
"And you don't get along any better--I mean in a money way."
"I kneow, and that's too deuced queeah. Your blawsted
sentimentalityseems note to do you any harm. Still I put it in this way, y' kneow--ifhe weren't so deadly sentimental, what couldn't the fellow do, y'kneow?"
The Major laughed.
"Well, I can't turn Jackson off, even for you."
"Well, deon't do it then--only if he gets drunk agine and drops a matchinto the milk can, fancy! and blows us all up, deon't come back on me,that's all."
They both laughed at this, and the Major said:
"This is the young man I told you about, Mr.--a----"
"Ramsey is my name," said Arthur, rising.
"Mr. Ramsey, this is my partner, Mr. Saulisbury."
"Haow de do," said Saulisbury, with a nod and a glance, which madeArthur hot with wrath, coming as it did after the talk he had heard.Saulisbury did not take the trouble to rise. He merely swung round onhis swivel chair and eyed the young stranger.
Arthur was not thick-skinned, and he had been struck for the first timeby the lash of caste, and it raised a welt.
He choked with his rage and stood silent, while Saulisbury looked himover, and passed upon his good points, as if he were a horse. There wassomething in the lazy lift of his eyebrows which maddened Arthur.
"He looks a decent young fellow enough; I suppeose he'll do to try,"Saulisbury said at last, with cool indifference. "I'll use him, Majah."
"By Heaven, you won't!" Arthur burst out. "I wouldn't work for you atany price."
He turned on his heel and rushed out.
He heard the Major calling to him as he went down the stairs, butrefused to turn back. The tears of impotent rage filled his eyes, hisfists strained together, and the curses pushed slowly from his lips. Hewished he had leaped upon his insulter where he sat--the smooth, smilinghound!
He was dizzy with rage. For the first time in his life he had beentrampled upon, and could not, at least he had not, struck his assailant.
As he stood on the street-corner thinking of these things and waitingfor the mist of rage to pass from his eyes, he felt a hand on his arm,and turned to Major Thayer, standing by his side.
"Look here, Ramsey, you mustn't mind Sam. He's an infernal Englishman,and can't understand our way of meeting men. He didn't mean to hurt yourfeelings."
Arthur looked down at him silently, and there was a look in his eyeswhich went straight to the Major's heart.
"Come, Ramsey, I want to give you a place. Never mind this. You willreally be working for me, anyhow."
Saulisbury himself came down the stairs and approached them, putting onhis gloves, and Arthur perceived for the first time that his eyes wereblue and very good-natured. Saulisbury cared nothing for the youth, butfelt something was due his partner.
"I hope I haven't done anything unpardonable," he began, with hisabsurd, rising inflection.
Arthur flared up again.
"I wouldn't work for a man like you if I starved. I'm not a dog. You'llfind an American citizen won't knuckle down to you the way your Englishpeasants do. If you think you can come out here in the West and treatmen like dogs, you'll find yourself mighty mistaken, that's all!"
The men exchanged glances. This volcanic outburst amazed Saulisbury, butthe Major enjoyed it. It was excellent schooling for his English friend.
"Well, work for me, Mr. Ramsey. Sam knuckles down to me on mostquestions. I hope I know how to treat my men. I'm trying to live up totraditions, anyway."
"You'll admit it is a tradition," said Saulisbury, glad of a chance tosidle away.
The Major dismissed Saulisbury with a move of the hand.
"Now get into my cart, Mr. Ramsey, and we'll go out to the farm and lookthings over," he said; and Arthur clambered in.
"I can't blame you very much," the Major continued, after they were wellsettled. "I've been trying lately to get into harmonious relations withmy employees, and I think I'm succeeding. I have a father andgrandfather in shirt sleeves to start from and to refer back to, butSaulisbury hasn't. He means well, but he can't always hold himself in.He means to be democratic, but his blood betrays him."
Arthur soon lost the keen edge of his grievance under the kindly chat ofthe Major.
The farm lay on either side of a small stream which ran among the buttesand green mesas of the foothills. Out to the left, the kingly peaklooked benignantly across the lesser heights that thrust their ambitiousheads in the light. Cattle were feeding among the smooth, straw-coloredor sage-green hills. A cluster of farm buildings stood against anabrupt, cedar-splotched bluff, out of which a stream flowed and shortlyfell into a large basin.
The irrigation ditch pleased and interested Arthur, for it was thefinest piece of work he had yet seen. It ran around the edge of thevalley, discharging at its gates streams of water like veins, whichmeshed the land, whereon men were working among young plants.
"I'll put you in charge of a team, I think," the Major said, aftertalking with the foreman, a big, red-haired man, who looked at Arthurwith his head thrown back and one eye shut.
"Well, now you're safe," said the Major, as he got into his buggy, "soI'll leave you. Richards will see you have a bed."
Arthur knew and liked the foreman's family at once. They were familiartypes. At supper he told them of his plans, and how he came to be outthere; and they came to feel a certain proprietorship in him at once.
"Well, I'm glad you've come," said Mrs. Richards, after theiracquaintanceship had mellowed a day or two. "You're like our own folksback in Illinois, and I can't make these foreigners seem neighborsnohow. Not but what they're good enough, but, land sakes! they don'tjibe in someway."
Arthur winced a little at being classed in with her folks, and changedthe subject.
One Sunday, a couple of weeks later, just as he was putting on his oldclothes to go out to do his evening's chores, the Major and a merryparty of visitors came driving into the yard. Arthur came out to thecarriage, a little annoyed that these city people should not have comewhen he had on his Sunday clothes. The Major greeted him pleasantly.
"Good evening, Ramsey. Just hitch the horses, will you? I want to showthe ladies about a little."
Arthur tied the horses to a post and came back toward the Major,expecting him to introduce the ladies; but the Major did not, and Mrs.Thayer did not wait for an introduction, but said, with a peculiar,well-worn inflection:
"Ramsey, I wish you'd stand between me and the horses. I'm as afraid asdeath of horses and cows."
The rest laughed in musical uproar, but Arthur flushed hotly. It was themanner in which English people, in plays and stories, addressed theirbutler or coachman.
He helped her down, however, in sullen silence, for his rebelliousheart seemed to fill his throat.
The party moved ahead in a cloud of laughter. The ladies were dainty asspring flowers in their light, outdoor dresses, and they seemed to lightup the whole barnyard.
One of them made the most powerful impression upon Arthur. She was sodainty and so birdlike. Her dress was quaint, with puffed sleeves, andbands and edges of light green, like an April flower. Her narrow facewas as swift as light in its volatile changes, and her little chindipped occasionally into the fluff of her ruffled bodice like a swallowinto the water. Every movement she made was strange and sweet to see.
She cried out in admiration of everything, and clapped her slender handslike a wondering child. Her elders laughed every time they looked ather, she was so entirely carried away by the wonders of the farm.
She admired the cows and the colts very much, but shivered prettily whenthe bull thrust his yellow and black muzzle through the little window ofhis cell.
"The horrid thing! Isn't he savage?"
"Not at all. He wants some meal, that's all," said the Major, as theymoved on.
The young girl skipped and danced and shook her perfumed dress as aswallow her wings, without appearing vain--it was natural in her to dograceful things.
Arthur looked at her with deep admiration and delight, even while Mrs.Saulisbury was talking to him.
He liked Mrs. Saulisbury at once, though n
aturally prejudiced againsther. She had evidently been a very handsome woman, but some concealedpain had made her face thin and drawn, and one corner of her mouth wasset in a slight fold as if by a touch of paralysis. Her profile wasstill very beautiful, and her voice was that of a highly cultivatedAmerican.
She seemed to be interested in Arthur, and asked him a great manyquestions, and all her questions were intelligent.
Saulisbury amused himself by joking the dainty girl, whom he calledEdith.
"This is the cow that gives the cream, ye know; and this one is thebuttermilk cow," he said, as they stood looking in at the barn door.
Edith tipped her eager little face up at him:
"Really?"
The rest laughed again.
"Which is the ice-cream cow?" the young girl asked, to let them knowthat she was not to be fooled with.
Saulisbury appealed to the Major.
"Majah, what have you done with our ice-cream cow?"
"She went dry during the winter," said the Major; "no demand on her.'Supply regulated by the demand,' you know."
They drifted on into the horse barn.
"We're in Ramsey's domain now," said the Major, looking at Arthur, whostood with his hand on the hip of one of the big gray horses.
Edith turned and perceived Arthur for the first time. A slight shockwent through her sensitive nature, as if some faint prophecy of greatstorms came to her in the widening gaze of his dark eyes.
"Oh, do you drive the horses?" she asked quickly.
"Yes, for the present; I am the plowman," he said, in the wish to lether know he was not a common hand. "I hope to be promoted."
Her eyes rested a moment longer on his sturdy figure and his beautifullybronzed skin, then she turned to her companions.
After they had driven away, Arthur finished his work in silence; hecould hardly bring himself to speak to the people at the supper table,his mind was in such tumult.
He went up into his little room, drew a chair to the window facing theglorious mountains, and sat there until the ingulfing gloom of risingnight climbed to the glittering crown of white soaring a mile above thelights of the city; but he did not really see the mountains; his eyesonly turned toward them as a cat faces the light of a hearth. It helpedhim to think, somehow.
He was naturally keen, sensitive, and impressionable; his mind workedquickly, for he had read a great deal and held his reading at command.
His thought concerned itself first of all with the attitude these peopleassumed toward him. It was perfectly evident that they regarded him as acreature of inferior sort. He was their servant.
It made him turn hot to think how terribly this contrasted with theflamboyant phraseology of his graduating oration. If the boys knew thathe was a common hand on a ranch, and treated like a butler!
He came back for relief to the face of the girl, the girl who looked athim differently somehow.
The impression she made on him was one of daintiness and light; hereager face and her sweet voice, almost childish in its thin quality,appealed to him with singular force.
She was strange to him, in accent and life; she was good and sweet, hefelt sure of that, but she seemed so far away in her manner of thought.He wished he had been dressed a little better; his old hat troubled himespecially.
The girls he had known, even the daintiest of them, could drive horsesand were not afraid of cows. Their way of talking was generally directand candid, or had those familiar inflections which were comprehensibleto him. She was alien.
Was she a girl? Sometimes she seemed a woman--when her face sobered amoment--then again she seemed a child. It was this change of expressionthat bewildered and fascinated him.
Then her lips were so scarlet and her level brown eyebrows wavered aboutso beautifully! Sometimes one had arched while the other remained quiet;this gave a winsome look of brightness and roguishness to her face.
He came at last to the strangest thing of all: she had looked at him,every time he spoke, as if she were surprised at finding herself able tounderstand his way of speech.
He worked it all out at last. They all looked upon him as belonging tothe American peasantry; he belonged to a lower world--a world ofservice. He was brick, they were china.
Saulisbury and Mrs. Thayer were perfectly frank about it; they spokefrom the English standpoint. The Major and Mrs. Saulisbury had beentouched by the Western spirit and were trying to be just to him, withmore or less unconscious patronization.
As his thoughts ran on, his fury came back, and he hammered and groanedand cursed as he tossed to and fro on his bed, determined to go backwhere the American ideas still held--back to the democracy of Lodi andCresco.
III.
These spring days were days of growth to the young man. He grew olderand more thoughtful, and seldom joked with the other men.
There came to the surface moods which he had not known before. Therecame times when his teeth set together like the clutch of a wolf, assome elemental passion rose from the depths of his inherited self.
His father had been a rather morose man, jealous of his rights, quick toanger, but just in his impulses. Arthur had inherited these strongertraits, but they had been covered and concealed thus far by the smilingexterior of youth.
Edith came up nearly every day with the Major in order to enjoy the airand beauty of the sunshine, and when she did not come near enough to nodto Arthur, life was a weary treadmill for the rest of the day, and themountains became mere gloomy stacks of _debris_.
Sometimes she sat on the porch with the children, while Mrs. Richards,the foreman's wife, a hearty, talkative woman, plied her with milk andcookies.
"It must be heaven to live here and feed the chickens and cows," theyoung girl said one day when Arthur was passing by--quite accidentally.
Mrs. Richards took a seat, wiping her face on her apron.
"Wal, I don't know about that, when it comes to waiting and tendin' on amess of 'em; it don't edgicate a feller much. Does it, Art?"
"We don't do it for play, exactly," he replied, taking a seat on theporch steps and smiling up at Edith. "I can't stand cows; I like horses,though. Of course, if I were foreman of the dairy, that would be anotherthing."
The flowerlike girl looked down at him with a strange glance. Somethingrose in her heart which sobered her. She studied the clear brown of hisface and the white of his forehead, where his hat shielded it from thesun and the wind. The spread of his strong neck, where it rose from hisshoulders, and the clutch of his brown hands attracted her.
"How strong you look!" she said musingly.
He laughed up at her in frank delight.
"Well, I'm not out here for my health exactly, although when I came hereI was pretty tender. I was just out of college, in fact," he said, gladof the chance to let her know that he was not an ignorant workingman.
She looked surprised and pleased.
"Oh, you're a college man! I have two brothers at Yale. One of themplays half-back or short-stop, or something. Of course you played?"
"Baseball? Yes, I was pitcher for '88." He heaved a sigh. He could notthink of those blessed days without sorrow.
"Oh, I didn't mean baseball. I meant football."
"We don't play that much in the West. We go in more for baseball. Morescience."
"Oh, I like football best, it's so lively. I like to see them when theyget all bunched up, they look so funny, and then when some fellow getsthe ball under his arms and goes shooting around, with the rest alljumping at him. Oh, oh, it's exciting!"
She smiled, and her teeth shone from her scarlet lips with a morefamiliar expression than he had seen on her face before. Some wall ofreserve had melted away, and they chatted on with growing freedom.
"Well, Edith, are you ready?" asked the Major, coming up.
Arthur sprang up as if he suddenly remembered that he was a workingman.
Edith rose also.
"Yes, all ready, uncle."
"Well, we'll be going in a minute.--Mr. Ramsey, d
o you think that millethas got water enough?"
"For the present, yes. The ground is not so dry as it looks."
As they talked on about the farm, Mrs. Richards brought out a glass ofmilk for the Major.
Arthur, with nice calculation, unhitched the horse and brought it aroundwhile the Major was detained.
"May I help you in, Miss Newell?"
She gave him her hand with a frank gesture, and the Major reached thecart just as she was taking the lines from Arthur.
"Are you coming?" she gayly cried. "If not, I'll drive home by myself."
"You mean you'll hold the lines."
"No, sir. I can drive if I have a chance."
"That's what the American girl is saying these days. She wants to holdthe lines."
"Well, I'm going to begin right now and drive all the way home."
As they drove off she flashed a roguish glance back at Arthur--a smilewhich shadowed swiftly into a look which had a certain appeal in it. Hewas very handsome in his working dress.
All the rest of the day that look was with him. He could not understandit, though her mood while seated upon the porch was perfectlycomprehensible to him.
The following Sunday morning he saddled up one of the horses and wentdown to church. He reasoned Edith would attend the Episcopal service,and he had the pleasure of seeing her pass up the aisle most exquisitelydressed.
This feeling of pleasure was turned to sadness by sober second thought.Added to the prostration before his ideal was the feeling that shebelonged to another world--a world of pleasure and wealth, a worldwithout work or worry. This feeling was strengthened by the atmosphereof the beautiful little church, fragrant with flowers, delicatelyshadowed, tremulous with music.
He rode home in deep meditation. It was curious how subjective he wasbecoming. She had not seen him there, and his trip lacked so much ofbeing a success. Life seemed hardly worth living as he took off his bestsuit and went out to feed the horses.
The men soon observed the regularity of these Sunday excursions, and theword was passed around that Arthur went down to see his girl, and theyset themselves to find out who she was. They did not suspect that hesought the Major's niece.
It was a keen delight to see her, even at that distance. To get one lookfrom her, or to see her eyelashes fall over her brown eyes, paid him forall his trouble, and yet it left him hungrier at heart than before.
Sometimes he got seated in such wise that he could see the fine line ofher cheek and chin. He noticed also her growing color. The free life shelived in the face of the mountain winds was doing her good.
Sometimes he went at night to the song service, and his rides home aloneon the plain, with the shadowy mountains over there massed in thestarlit sky, were most wonderful experiences.
As he rose and fell on his broncho's steady gallop, he took off his hatto let the wind stir his hair. Riding thus, exalted thus, one night heshaped a desperate resolution. He determined to call on her just as heused to visit the girls at Viroqua with whom he was on the same intimacyof footing.
He was as good as any class. He was not as good as she was, for helacked her sweetness and purity of heart, but merely the fact that shelived in a great house and wore beautiful garments, did not exclude himfrom calling upon her.
IV.
But week after week went by without his daring to make his resolutiongood. He determined many times to ask permission to call, but somehow henever did.
He seemed to see her rather less than at first; and, on her part, therewas a change. She seemed to have lost her first eager and frankcuriosity about him, and did not always smile now when she met him.
Then, again, he could not in working dress ask to call; it would seem soincongruous to stand before her to make such a request covered withperspiration and dust. It was hard to be dignified under suchcircumstances; he must be washed and dressed properly.
In the meantime, the men had discovered how matters stood, and some ofthem made very free with the whole situation. Two of them especiallyhated him.
These two men had drifted to the farm from the mines somewhere, and wererough, hard characters. They would have come to blows with him, onlythey knew something of the power lying coiled in his long arms.
One day he overheard one of the men speaking of Edith, and his tonestopped the blood in Arthur's heart. When he walked among the group ofmen his face was white and set.
"You take that back!" he said in a low voice. "You take that back, orI'll kill you right where you stand!"
"Do him up, Tim!" shouted the other ruffian; but Tim hesitated. "I'll dohim, then," said the other man. "I owe him one myself."
He caught up a strip of board which was lying on the ground near, butone of the Norwegian workmen put his foot on it, and before he couldcommand his weapon, Arthur brought a pail which he held in his righthand down upon his opponent's head.
The man fell as if dead, and the pail shattered into its originalstaves. Arthur turned then to face Tim, his hands doubled into mauls;but the other men interfered, and the encounter was over.
Arthur waited to see if the fallen man could rise, and then turned awayreeling and breathless. For an hour afterward his hands shook so badlythat he could not go on with his work.
At first he determined to go to Richards, the foreman, and demand thedischarge of the two tramps, but as he thought of the explanationnecessary, he gave it up as impossible.
He almost wept with shame and despair at the thought of her name havingbeen mixed in the tumult. He had meant to kill when he struck, and thenervous prostration which followed showed him how far he had gone. Hehad not had a fight since he was thirteen years of age, and noweverything seemed lost in the light of his murderous rage. It would allcome out sooner or later, and she would despise him.
He went to see the man just before going to supper, and found him in hisbarracks, sitting near a pail of cold water from which he was splashinghis head at intervals.
He looked up as Arthur entered, but went on with his ministrations;after a pause he said:
"That was a terrible lick you give me, young feller--brought the bloodout of my ears."
"I meant to kill you," was Arthur's grim reply.
"I know you did. If that darned Norse hadn't put his foot on that board_you'd_ be doing this." He lifted a handful of water to his swollen andaching head.
"What did you go to that board for? Why didn't you stand up like a man?"
"Because you were swinging that bucket."
"Oh, bosh! You were a coward as well as a blackguard."
The man looked up with a gleam in his eye.
"See here, young feller--if this head----"
Arthur's face darkened, and the man stopped short.
"Now listen, Dan Williams, I want to tell you something. I'm not goingto report this. I'm going to let you stay here till you're well, andthen I want this thing settled with Richards looking on; when I getthrough with you, then, you'll want a cot in some hospital."
The man's eyes sullenly fell, and Arthur turned toward the door. At thedoorway he turned and a terrible look came into his face.
"And, more than that, if you say another word about--her, I'll brainyou, sick or well!"
As he talked, the old, wild fury returned, and he came back and facedthe wounded man.
"Now, what do you propose to do?" he demanded, his hands clinching.
The other man looked at him, with a curious frown upon his face.
"Think I'm a damned fool!" he curtly answered, and sopped hishandkerchief in the water again.
The rage went out of Arthur's eyes, and he almost smiled, so much didthat familiar phrase convey, with its subtle inflections. It was cunningand candid and chivalrous all at once. It acknowledged defeat and guiltand embodied a certain pride in the victor.
"Well, that settles that," said Arthur. "One thing more--I don't wantyou to say what made the row between us."
"All right, pard; only, you'd better see Tim."
In spite of his care
, the matter came to the ears of Richards, wholaughed over it and told his wife, who stared blankly.
"Good land! When did it happen?"
"A couple of days ago."
"Wal, there! I thought there was a nigger in the fence. Dan had a headon him like a bushel basket. What was it about?"
"Something Tim said about Edith."
"I want to know! Wal, wal! An' here they've been going around aspeaceful as two kittens ever since."
"Of course. They pitched in and settled it man fashion; they ain't acouple of women who go around sniffin' and spittin' at each other," saidRichards, with brutal sarcasm. "As near as I can learn, Tim and Dan comeat him to once."
"They're a nice pair of tramps!" said Mrs. Richards indignantly. "I toldyou when they come they'd make trouble."
"I told you the cow'd eat up the grindstone," Richards replied with agrin, walking away.
The more Mrs. Richards thought of it, the finer it all appeared to her.She was deeply engaged now on Arthur's side, and was very eager to dosomething to help on in his "sparking," as she called it. She seized thefirst opportunity to tell Edith.
"Don't s'pose you heard of the little fracas we had t'other day," shebegan, in phrase which she intended to be delicately indirect.
Edith was sitting in the cart, and Mrs. Richards stood at the wheel,with her apron shading her head.
"Why, no. What was it?"
"Mr. Ramsey come mighty near gettin' killed." The old woman enjoyeddeeply the dramatic pallor and distortion of the girl's face.
"Why--why--what do you mean?"
"Wal, if he hadn't a lammed one feller with a bucket he'd a been laidout sure. So Richards says; as it is, it's the other feller that has thehead." She laughed to see the girl's face grow rosy again.
"Then--Mr. Ramsey isn't hurt?"
"Not a scratch! The funny part of it is, they've been going around herefor a week, quiet as you please. I wouldn't have known anything about itonly for Richards."
"Oh, isn't it dreadful?" said the girl.
"Yes, 'tis!" the elder woman readily agreed; "but why don't you ask whatit was all about?"
"Oh, I don't want to know anything more about it; it's too terrible."
Mrs. Richards was approaching the climax.
"It was all about you."
The girl could not realize what part she should have with a disgracefulrow in the barnyard of her uncle's farm.
"Yes, these men--they're regular tramps; I told Richards so the firsttime I set eyes on 'em--they made a little free with your name, and Arthe overheard them and he went for 'em, and they both come at him, twoto one, and he lammed both out in a minute--so Richards says. Now I callthat splendid; don't you? A young feller that'll stand up for his girlag'in two big tramps----"
The Major had been motioning for Edith to drive on down toward the gate,and she seized the chance for escape. Her lips quivered with shame andanger. It seemed already as if she had been splashed with mire.
"Oh, the vulgar creatures!" she said, in her throat, her teeth shuttight.
"There, isn't that a fine field?" asked the Major, as he pointed to thecabbages. "There is a chance for an American imitator of Monet--thosepurple-brown deeps and those gray-blue-pink pearl tints--What's thematter, my dear?" he broke off to ask. "Are you ill?"
"No, no, only let's go home," she said, the tears coming into her eyes.
He got in hastily.
"My dear, you are really ill. What's the matter? Has your old enemy theheadache--" He put his arm about her tenderly.
"No, no! I'm sick of this place--I wish I'd never seen it! How couldthose dreadful men fight about me? It's horrible!"
The Major whistled.
"Oh, ho! that's got around to you, has it? I didn't know it myself untilyesterday; I was hoping it wouldn't reach you at all. I wouldn't mindit, my dear. It's the shadow every lovely woman throws, no matter whereshe walks; it's only your shadow that has passed over the cesspool."
"But I can't even bear that; it seems like a part of me. What do yousuppose they said of me?" she asked, in morbid curiosity.
"Now, now, dearest, to know that would be stepping into the muck afteryour shadow; the talk of such men is unimaginable to you."
"You don't mean Mr. Ramsey?"
"No; Mr. Ramsey is a different sort of man, and I don't suppose anythingelse would have brought him to blows with those rough men."
They sat looking straight forward.
"Oh, it's horrible, horrible!"
Her uncle tightened his arm about her.
"I suppose the knowledge of such lower deeps must come to you some day,but don't seek it now; I've told you all you ought to know. Ramsey meantwell," he went on, after a silence, "but such things do little good, notenough to pay for the outlay of self-respect. He can't control theirtalk when he's out of hearing."
"But I supposed that if a woman was--good--I mean--I didn't know thatmen talked in that way about girls--like me. How could they?"
The abyss still fascinated her.
"My dear, such men are only half civilized. They have all the passionsof animals, and all the vices of men. Ramsey was too hot-headed; theirwords do not count; they weren't worth whipping."
There was a little silence. They were nearing the mountains again, andboth raised their eyes to the peaks deeply shadowed in Tyrian purple.
"I know how you feel, I think," the Major went on, "but the best thingto do is to forget it. I'm sorry Ramsey fought. To walk into a gang ofrough men like that is foolish and dangerous too, for the ruffian isgenerally the best man physically, I'm sorry to say."
"It was brave, though, don't you think so?" she asked.
He looked at her quickly.
"Oh, yes; it was brave and very youthful."
She smiled a little for the first time.
"I guess I like youth."
"In that case I'll have to promote him for it," he said with a smilethat made her look away toward the mountains again.
V.
Saulisbury took a sudden turn to friendliness, and defended the actionwhen the Major related the story that night at the dinner table, as theywere seated over their coffee and cigars. He was dining with theSaulisburys.
"It's uncommon plucky, that's what I think, d'ye kneow. By Jeove, Ididn't think the young dog had it in him, really. He did one fellow upwith a bucket, they say, and met the other fellow with his left. Wheredid the young beggah get his science?"
"At college, I suppose."
"But I suppeosed these little Western colleges were a milk-and-wahtasawt of thing, ye kneow--Baptist and Christian Endeavor, and all that,ye kneow."
"Oh, no," laughed the Major. "They are not so benighted as that. Theygive a little attention to the elementary studies, though I believeathletics do come second on the curriculum."
"Well, the young dog seems to have made some use of his chawnce," saidSaulisbury, who had dramatized the matter in his own way, and saw Ramseydoing the two men up in accordance with Queensberry rules. "I wouldn'thawf liked the jobe meself, do ye kneow. They're forty years apiece, andas hard as nails."
Mrs. Saulisbury looked up from her walnuts.
"Sam is ready to carry the olive club to Mr. Ramsey. 'The poor beggar,'as he has called him all along, will be a gentleman from this timeforward."
After the Major had gone, Saulisbury said:
"There's one thing the Majah was careful note to mention, my deah. Whyshould this young fellow be going abeout defending the good name of hisniece? Do ye kneow, my deah, I fancy the young idiot is in love withher."
"Well, suppose he is?"
"But, my deah! In England, you kneow, it wouldn't mattah; it would be acase of hopeless devotion. But as I understand things heah, it maybecome awkward. Don't ye think so, love?"
"It depends upon the young man. Edith could do worse than marry a good,clean, wholesome fellow like that."
"Good gracious! You deon't allow your mind to go that fah?"
"Why, certainly! I'd much rather she'd ma
rry a strong young workingmanthan some burnt-out third-generation wreck of her own set in the city."
"But the fellow has no means."
"He has muscle and brains, and besides, she has something of her own."
Saulisbury filled his pipe slowly.
"Luckily, it's all theory on our part; the contingency isn't heah--isn'tlikely to arrive, in fact."
"Don't be too sure. If I can read a girl's heart in the lines of herface, she's got where principalities and powers are of small account."
"Really?"
"Sure as shooting," she smilingly said.
Saulisbury mused and puffed.
"In that case, we will have to turn in and give the fellow what youAmericans call a boost."
"That's _right_," his wife replied slangily.
Edith went to her room that night with a mind whirling in dizzyingcircles, whose motion she could not check. It was terrible to have itall come in this way.
She knew Arthur cared for her--she had known it from the first--but withthe happy indifference of youth, she had not looked forward to the endof the summer. The sure outcome of passion had kept itself somewhere ina golden glimmer on the lower sweep of the river.
She wished for some one to go to for advice. Mrs. Thayer, she knew,would exclaim in horror over the matter. The Major had hinted the courseshe would have to take, which was to show Arthur he had no connectionwith her life--if she could. But deep in her heart she knew she couldnot do that.
Suddenly a thought came to her which made her flush till the dew ofshame stood upon her forehead. He had never been to see her; she hadalways been to see him!
She knew that this was true. She did not attempt to conceal it fromherself now. The charm of those rides with her uncle was the chance ofseeing Arthur. The sweet, never-wearying charm that made this summer oneof perfect happiness, that had made her almost forget her city ways andfriends, that had made her brown and strong with the soil and wind, wasdaily contact with a robust and wholesome young man, a sturdy figurewith brown throat and bare, strong arms.
She went off at this point into a retrospective journey along thepathways of her summer outing. At this place he stood at the wateringtrough, leaning upon his great gray horse. Here he was walking behindhis plow; he was lifting his hat--the clear sunshine fell over his face.She saw again the splendid flex of his side and powerful thigh. Here hewas in the hayfield, and she saw the fork-handle bend like a willow twigunder his smiling effort, the muscles on his brown arms rolling likesome perfect machinery. She idealized all he did, and the entire summerand the wide landscape seemed filled with prismatic colors.
Then her self-accusations came back. She had gone down into the field tosee him; perhaps the very man who was with him then was one of those whohad jested of her and whom he had punished. Her little hands clutched.
"I'll never go out there again! I'll never see him again--never!" shesaid, with her teeth shut tight.
Mrs. Thayer did not take any very great interest in the matter untilMrs. Saulisbury held a session with her. Then she sputtered in deepindignation.
"Why, how dare he make love to my niece? Why, the presumptuous thing!Why, the idea! He's a workingman!"
Mrs. Saulisbury remained calm and smiling. She was the only person whocould manage Mrs. Thayer.
"Yes, that's true. But he's a college-bred man, and----"
"College-bred! These nasty little Western colleges--what do they amountto? Why, he curries our horses."
Mrs. Saulisbury was amused.
"I know that is an enormity, but I heard the Major tell of curryinghorses once."
"That was in the army--anyhow, it doesn't matter. Edith can simplyignore the whole thing."
"I hope she can, but I doubt it very much."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that Edith is interested in him."
"I don't believe it! Why, it is impossible! You're crazy, Jeannette!"
"He's very handsome in a way."
"He's red and big-jointed, and he's a common plowboy." Mrs. Thayergasped, returning to her original charge.
Mrs. Saulisbury laughed, being malevolent enough to enjoy the wholesituation.
"He appears to me to be a very uncommon plowboy. Well, I wouldn't try todo anything about it, Charlotte," she added. "You remember the fate ofthe Brookses, who tried to force Maud to give up her clerk. If this is acase of true love, you might as well surrender gracefully."
"But I can't do that. I'm responsible for her to her father. I'll goright straight and ask her."
"Charlotte," Mrs. Saulisbury's voice rang with a stern note, "don't you_presume_ to do such a thing! You will precipitate everything. The girldon't know her own mind, and if you go up there and attack this youngman, you'll tip the whole dish over. Don't you know you can't safelyabuse that young fellow in her hearing? Sit down now and be reasonable.Leave her alone for a while. Let her think it over alone."
This good counsel prevailed, and the other woman settled into a calmerstate.
"Well, it's a dreadful thing, anyhow."
"Perfectly dreadful! But you mustn't take a conventional view of it. Youmust remember, a good, handsome, healthy man should come first as ahusband, and this young man is very attractive, and I must admit heseems a gentleman, so far as I can see. Besides, you can't do anythingby storming up to that poor girl. Let her alone for a few days."
Following this suggestion, no one alluded to the fight, or appeared tonotice Edith's changed moods, but Mrs. Saulisbury could not forbeargiving her an occasional squeeze of wordless sympathy, as she passedher.
It was pitiful to see the tumult and fear and responsibility of theworld coming upon this dainty, simple-hearted girl. Life had been sostraightforward before. No toil, no problems, no choosing of things forone's self. Now suddenly here was the greatest problem of all coming atthe end of a summer-time outing.
Meanwhile Arthur was longing to see Edith once more, and wondering whyshe had stopped coming.
The Major came up on Friday and Saturday, but came alone, and that leftonly the hope of seeing Edith at church, and the young fellow worked onwith that to nerve his arm.
The family respected his departure on Sunday. They plainly felt hisdepression, and sympathized with it.
"Walk home with her. I would," said Mrs. Richards, as he went throughthe kitchen.
"So would I. Dang me if I'd stand off," Richards started to say, butArthur did not stop to listen.
As he rode down to the city, he recovered, naturally, a little of hisbuoyancy. Sleep had rested his body and cleared his mind for action.
He sat in his usual place at the back of the church, and his heartthrobbed painfully as he saw her moving up the aisle, a miracle of laceand coolness, with fragrant linen enveloping her lovely young form, soerect and graceful and slender.
Then his heart bowed down before her, not because she was above him in asocial class--he did not admit that--but because he was a lover, andshe was his ideal. He was cast down as suddenly as he had been exaltedby her timid look around, as was her custom, in order to bow to him.
He stood at the door as they came out, though he felt foolish and boyishin doing so. She approached him with eyes turned away; but as she passedhim she flashed an appealing, mystical look at him, and, flushing aradiant pink, slipped out of the side door, leaving him stunned andsmarting for a moment.
As he mounted his horse and rode away toward the ranch, his thoughtswere busy with that strange look of hers. He came to understand and tobelieve at last that she appealed to him and trusted in him and waitedfor him.
Then something strong and masterful rose in him. He lifted his big brownfist in the air in a resolution which was like that of Napoleon when heentered Russia. He turned and rode furiously back toward the town.
As he walked up the gravel path to the Thayer house it seemed like acastle to him. The great granite portico, the curving flight of steps,the splendor of the glass above the door, all impressed him with theterrible gulf between his fortune and h
ers.
He was met at the door by the girl from the table. He greeted her as hisequal, and said:
"Is Miss Newell at home?"
The girl smiled with perfect knowledge and sympathy. She was on hisside; and she knew, besides, how much it meant to have the hired mancome in at the front door.
"Yes, she's at dinner. Won't you come in, Mr. Ramsey?"
He entered without further words, and followed her into the receptionroom, which was the most splendid room he had ever seen. He stood withhis feet upon a rug which was worth more than his year's pay, and heknew it.
"Just take a seat here, and I'll announce you," said the girl, who wasalmost trembling with eagerness to explode her torpedo of news.
"Don't disturb them. I'll wait."
But she had whisked out of the room, having plans of her own; perhapsrevenges of her own.
Arthur listened. He could not help it. He heard the girl's clear,distinct voice; the open doorways conveyed every word to him.
"It's Mr. Ramsey, ma'am, to see Miss Newell."
The young man's strained ears heard the sudden pause in the click ofknives and plates. He divined the gasps of astonishment with which Mrs.Thayer's utterance began.
"Well, I declare! Now, Major, you see what I told you?"
"The plucky young dog!" said Saulisbury, in sincere admiration.
Mrs. Thayer went on:
"Now, Mr. Thayer, this is the result of treating your servants asequals."
The Major laughed.
"My dear, you're a little precipitate. It may be a mistake. The youngman may be here to tell me one of the colts is sick."
"You don't believe any such thing! You heard what the girl said--Oh,look at Edith!"
There was a sudden pushing and scraping of chairs. Arthur rose, tense,terrified. A little flurry of voices followed.
"Here, give her some wine! The poor thing! No wonder----"
Then a slight pause.
"She's all right," said the Major in a relieved tone. "Just a littlesurprised, that's all."
There came a little inarticulate murmur from the girl, and then anotherpause.
"By Jove! this is getting dramatic!" said Saulisbury.
"Be quiet, Sam," said his wife. "I won't have any of your scoffing. I'mglad there is some sincerity of emotion left in our city girls."
Mrs. Thayer broke in:
"Major, you go right out there and send that impudent creature away.It's disgraceful!"
Arthur turned cold and hard as granite. His heart rose with a murderous,slow swell. He held his breath, while the calm, amused voice of theMajor replied:
"But, see here, my dear, it's none of my business. Mr. Ramsey is anAmerican citizen--I like him--he has a perfect right to call----"
"H'yah, h'yah!" called Saulisbury in a chuckle.
"He's a man of parts, and besides, I rather imagine Edith has given himthe right to call."
The anger died out of Arthur's heart, and the warm blood rushed oncemore through his tingling body. Tears came to his eyes, and he couldhave embraced his defender.
"Nothing like consistency, Majah," said Saulisbury.
"Sam, will you be quiet?"
The Major went on:
"I imagine the whole matter is for Edith to decide. It's really verysimple. Let her send word to him that she does not care to see him, andhe'll go away--no doubt of it."
"Why, of course," said Mrs. Thayer. "Edith, just tell Mary to say to Mr.What's-his-name----"
Again that creeping thrill came into the young man's hair. His worldseemed balanced on a needle's point.
Then a chair was pushed back slowly. There was another little flurry.Again the blood poured over him like a splash of warm water, leaving himcold and wet.
"Edith!" called the astonished, startled voice of Mrs. Thayer. "What areyou going to do?"
"I'm going to see him," said the girl's firm voice.
There was a soft clapping of two pairs of hands.
As she came through the portiere, Edith walked like a princess. Therewas amazing resolution in her back-flung head, and on her face was thelook of one who sets sail into unknown seas.
Someway--somehow, through a mist of light and a blur of sound, he mether--and the cling of her arms about his neck moved him to tears.
No word was uttered till the Major called from the doorway:
"Mr. Ramsey, Mrs. Thayer wants to know if you won't come and have somedinner."
Wayside Courtships Page 3
