CHAPTER XVII
JOHNSON MEETS A FRIEND OF HETTY'S
Should a man clutch at an imaginary wire that eludes him up the wallbeside his bed, and take to raving and prayer, it raises a doubt as torecent conduct and habits. Hughie MacFarlane, rancher, age thirty-sevenyears, did all this and many other disagreeable things, and then died.
A considerable number of his acquaintances wagged their heads andremarked that the world would survive the loss--it was noticeable thatthose who had partaken most freely of Hughie's bounty were foremost inthis line of epitaph. Others declaimed the platitude of themealy-mouthed, that MacFarlane had been a big-hearted fellow, his ownworst enemy. Within a week after the funeral, nobody in Cananea thoughtmuch about him one way or the other, and certain lapses in his notionsof enjoyment were forgotten, for where there is no jury of publicopinion, men grow tolerant of human frailty, and then lax. That is ourway on the Border.
So everybody promptly forgot Hughie--all except a flame-headed girl atthe Hotel Carmen, who sniffed a great deal when she leaned over yourshoulder to put the steak and vegetables on the table, and whose voicewas wet when she inquired whether you preferred your eggs straight up orover. She was not one to tempt a man to boldness, and none had everfound her desirable; but once, on his way from the bar to thedining-room, Hughie had given her a rough, laughing embrace. That wasall, on my honor; but Molly remembered and worshiped the unregeneratecreature, according to her nature. Finally she became such a nuisance,with her red eyes and general dampness of face, that the proprietordischarged Molly.
"Hughie was a fine feller when he first came here," Lafe Johnsonremarked, in reference to this episode, "but he got to talking Mexicantoo good."
With which dark assertion he reared his feet to the rail of the HotelCarmen veranda and lazily watched the hacks careen past down the hill.Three weeks had elapsed since he started on the bandit's trail and hewas apparently farther behind him than on the night Moffatt fled. Aftertwo days of close pursuit, during which Moffatt had twice doubled back,the sheriff had been able to obtain nothing better than rumors. These hefollowed up obstinately, and at last they led him to Cananea, where herested, awaiting developments.
It was Sunday, and the cabs were doing a rushing business. Gentlemen ofwhite skin, gentlemen of olive and brown, crowded into them and departedwith an air of elation. Presently two cabs moved by at a parade pace.Both were loaded to the axles with bull-fighters in tawdry velvettrappings. The matador, a person who perspired like a pat of butter on awarm day, doffed his hat unceasingly to admiring friends on thesidewalk. It was very hot and the time was noon.
"I hope that fat one gets horned," said Johnson, comfortably, to hisneighbor. "What? You going to the fight? I can't stand to see them ol'hosses ripped. Say, it beats me how white women can go there and sitthrough it. They chew gum all over the grand stand, too, them women do.If my girl--if I had a woman--"
Incoming guests cut Mr. Johnson off. They arrived off the 10.10train--two drummers, and a lank individual, very tanned, and stiff inhis clothes, who proved to be a mining engineer about to start on aprospecting trip, and a woman. She was plump and had brown hair, and herdress was of deepest mourning. That much Lafe noted as she stepped fromthe cab, and he took his feet down and removed the cigar from his mouth.She rustled up the steps and hurried inside without bestowing more thana flurried glance on the loungers.
Johnson was still resting there an hour later, meditating, when thelandlord came out and held the screen open with a fine show of courtesy.
"Say, Lafe, I want you to shake hands with Mrs. MacFarlane," said theHotel Carmen man. "This here lady's Hughie's wife. She wants to go outto the ranch. Mr. Johnson's sheriff of Badger, ma'am. It's like you'veheard of him."
"I'll be right glad to look after you, ma'am," Johnson said soberly,shoving his chair forward.
Mrs. MacFarlane smiled in a manner curiously shy for a widow of thirty,and murmured something to the effect that she knew Mr. Johnson had beena friend of her Hugh's. This was not strictly true, but Lafe would nothave denied it to her for a herd of graded stuff. He leaned against therailing and waited patiently to learn her wishes. She had come to claimHughie's estate and to make certain that his--grave--here she started tocry soundlessly into a handkerchief--received proper care. All this wasvery painful and Johnson stirred restlessly. Whenever Mrs. MacFarlanemade reference to her late husband, it was always as her "boy," and thetone was one of such restrained adoration that Lafe experienced asinking feeling beneath his vest. Listening to her--she was decentlyreserved and her talk escaped in snatches--he gathered that Hughie hadbeen a great and noble man, which was an estimate of Hughie that neverwould have occurred to any of his acquaintances.
"The feller must have had a heap of good in him somewhere, Buf'lo," hetold Shortredge that night. Jim was now engaged in the slaughteringbusiness in Cananea. "A man can't make a woman like her care that a-wayelse."
"I don't know about that, Lafe. I don't know about that. I ain't soshore," said his friend. "It's most amazing how they kin forgeteverything when he's gone. They only remember li'l' things he done for'em; things what a feller might do for a yallow dawg."
The trip across the mountains was a full day's drive, and Johnson was tocall for Mrs. MacFarlane at dawn with a buckboard and a mule team. Shekept him waiting forty minutes, but he passed the time patiently,recalling that a certain female in Badger was wont to do the same thing.This recollection brought a grin to his countenance, and may have beenresponsible for the solicitous manner with which he seated Mrs.MacFarlane in the vehicle. They set out at the sober gait suited to awearing drive. The landlord, after watching them for a while, remarkedthoughtfully to the barkeeper that he hoped they would find everythingall right.
"Hughie ought for to have told us he was married," he said slowly. "Yes.He ought. I sure hope they'll find everything all right. She's analmighty fine woman."
The almighty fine woman settled back against the stiff leather seat andlooked at the bleak wastes they were threading. Johnson eased his mulesdown the slopes, taking rare heed of the going. Ordinarily she wouldhave been in terror of the perils of this climb-and-drop road, but thedriver appeared to entertain no doubts and merely clucked at thehybrids or abused them in emotionless harangues. It must have begottenconfidence, for she gave no more than the tiniest squeak when they shotabruptly from a shelf of rock and sped downward at a gallop, thebuckboard leaping off rocks and ruts and banging at the mules' legs.There was a sharp curve at the bottom of the descent, and for a wildmoment Mrs. MacFarlane wondered if it were possible he perceived this.
"The brake's done bust," said Lafe, as though the matter were scarcelyworth mention.
They took the curve on two wheels, sending sand and pebbles in alldirections, and he pulled the team to a halt. Then he got out, handingthe reins to her, for which she beamed on him. Johnson repaired thebrakes with a bit of wood and some rope, and they went forward again.
"I done told ol' Biggerstaff that this brake was no good," he said.
"I'd mention it to him again," Mrs. MacFarlane suggested mildly.
He was very grateful, too, because she forbore to grab at the reins morethan once in dangerous spots. The sparkling air and the stern beauty ofthe mountain country they entered seemed to soothe her. Soon she waschatting vivaciously, but when the sun climbed to his strength, her lidsdrooped. The talk became broken and lazily intimate. Suddenly Mrs.MacFarlane sat up with a gasp.
"Why, I've just remembered. How on earth did I ever forget it? HettyFerrier!"
The widow pronounced Hetty's name as a magician would a talisman. Lafewent very red in the face and asked in a constrained voice whether sheknew that lady.
"Know her? I guess I do. Why, Hetty and my young sister were playmates.She used to live where I come from. We heard from her and she told us--"
Mrs. MacFarlane did not state what Hetty had told them, but settledherself to study Lafe, with the privileged frankness conferred by herinformation. He bore the scrutiny
well, giving all his attention to themules, but he was thankful for the bumps that distracted the widow andmade her clutch his elbow to avoid being thrown out.
"Isn't it funny I shouldn't have thought about you and her before? It'sa small world, isn't it? Of course she told me you were sheriff ofBadger. You're a very lucky man, Mr. Johnson," she said.
Lafe could find no words for the moment. At last: "You see, ma'am, herand me are fixing to get married."
"Huh!" said the widow. "Did you think I didn't know that? How is Hetty?"
"She's fine, thanks."
"I don't need to ask if she's happy?"
"Happy as the dealer in a big jackpot," said the sheriff, much pleased.The widow appeared to comprehend.
They drew near the ranch in late afternoon. The light is of a peculiar,velvety yellow then, and the mountains grow purple along their bases;farther up there are deep blue blurs; and the ragged rims show blackagainst a glow. The widow exclaimed in rapture; then, apparentlyremembering her bereavement, assumed a look of sadness; and she made thelast few miles of the journey in a gentle melancholy.
Nobody appeared to welcome them. A tipsy Mexican lolled in a chair onthe veranda, and another was making music for him on a guitar. From timeto time the man in the rocker would nod approval and command a freshtune. Near the corrals, about twenty natives were hi-yi-ing at thebreaking of a horse.
When the majordomo perceived the buckboard, he put down his cupreluctantly, placed the bottle beside the leg of the chair and came tomeet them. Lafe saw at once that a fortnight of authority and freedomfrom restraint had played havoc with the man. Nevertheless, he greetedthem suavely, and when he learned who the passenger was, cried an orderover his shoulder. Three or four men ran to take the mules.
"Aren't there any whites on the place?" asked Mrs. MacFarlane uneasily.
"Hughie, he done fired them all. Pete Harris used to be boss here, buthim and Hughie had words over something, and Pete got his time."
Johnson did not consider it necessary to add that the veteran Pete'santipathy to all-native labor had been responsible for this rupture withMacFarlane, and that the vaquero playing the guitar still held his job,although Pete had incontinently discharged him months before. Nor did hemention that the man with the guitar had a sister. As to that, he hadheard nothing but rumors, and he was never inclined to believe half ofwhat he heard.
Hughie's old servant, Salazar, waited on the two at supper. He had ashrewd notion that Lafe was the lady's admirer, with an eye to theproperty; but what booted it? All through the meal he watched Mrs.MacFarlane stolidly and addressed her as "Senorita," which was a brainyproceeding. However, he told Paula in the kitchen that she was Hughie'swife and a ravishingly beautiful woman. The girl received theintelligence with somber calm.
Twice she came out on to the veranda where they sat afterwards--once tofill the water bag; again, to draw from it. Mrs. MacFarlane asked whoshe was, her age, and where her mother was. She obtained evasiveanswers, but was too abstracted to give thought to what might havetroubled her at any other time.
"She's so pretty--so awfully pretty. Are they all as beautiful as that?"
"No-oo. I should say not. Paula, she's got most of 'em hiding out inthe long grass," said Lafe, without enthusiasm.
There is a quality about a southwest night that saddens, or elevatesabove all petty trouble, according to temperament and conditions ofhealth. Moreover, it can make everyday worries seem trivial, whichsurely is a God-given thing. As the languid dust thickened, Mrs.MacFarlane grew depressed. The silence became longer and her repliespunctilious. Soon she bade him good-night. The drive had made her verysleepy, she said. Johnson started down to the Mexican quarters. A dancewas in progress there, and it was impossible to say to what lengths therevelers might go unless convinced that authority slept underheadquarters' roof.
As he stepped down, he became aware that someone leaned against ashade-tree in the yard. It was Paula, and she was watching Mrs.MacFarlane's lighted window.
The Sheriff of Badger: A Tale of the Southwest Borderland Page 17
