by Bret Harte
CHAPTER II.
A week later Madison Wayne was seated alone in his cabin. His suppertable had just been cleared by his Chinese coolie, as it was gettinglate, and the setting sun, which for half an hour had been persistentlymaking a vivid beacon of his windows for the benefit of wayfarers alongthe river bank, had at last sunk behind the cottonwoods. His head wasresting on his hand; the book he had been reading when the light fadedwas lying open on the table before him. In this attitude he became awareof a hesitating step on the gravel outside his open door. He had beenso absorbed that the approach of any figure along the only highway--theriver bank--had escaped his observation. Looking up, he discoveredthat Mr. Alexander McGee was standing in the doorway, his hand restinglightly on the jamb. A sudden color suffused Wayne's cheek; his handreached for his book, which he drew towards him hurriedly, yet halfautomatically, as he might have grasped some defensive weapon.
The Bell-ringer of Angel's noticed the act, but not the blush, andnodded approvingly. "Don't let me disturb ye. I was only meanderin'by and reckoned I'd say 'How do?' in passin'." He leaned gently backagainst the door-post, to do which comfortably he was first obliged toshift the revolver on his hip. The sight of the weapon brought a slightcontraction to the brows of Wayne, but he gravely said: "Won't you comein?"
"It ain't your prayin' time?" said McGee politely.
"No."
"Nor you ain't gettin' up lessons outer the Book?" he continuedthoughtfully.
"No."
"Cos it don't seem, so to speak, you see, the square thing to bebotherin' a man when he might be doin' suthin' else, don't you see? Youunderstand what I mean?"
It was his known peculiarity that he always seemed to be suffering froman inability to lucid expression, and the fear of being misunderstood inregard to the most patent or equally the most unimportant details of hisspeech. All of which, however, was in very remarkable contrast to hisperfectly clear and penetrating eyes.
Wayne gravely assured him that he was not interrupting him in any way.
"I often thought--that is, I had an idea, you understand what I mean--ofstoppin' in passing. You and me, you see, are sorter alike; we don'tseem to jibe in with the gin'ral gait o' the camp. You understand what Imean? We ain't in the game, eh? You see what I'm after?"
Madison Wayne glanced half mechanically at McGee's revolver. McGee'sclear eyes at once took in the glance.
"That's it! You understand? You with them books of yours, and me withmy shootin' iron--we're sort o' different from the rest, and ought to bekinder like partners. You understand what I mean? We keep this camp incheck. We hold a full hand, and don't stand no bluffing."
"If you mean there is some effect in Christian example and the life of aGod-fearing man"--began Madison gravely.
"That's it! God-fearin' or revolver-fearin', it amounts to the same whenyou come down to the hard pan and bed-rock," interrupted McGee. "I ain'texpectin' you to think much of my style, but I go a heap on yours, evenif I can't play your game. And I sez to my wife, 'Safie'--her that trotsaround with me sometimes--I sez, 'Safie, I oughter know that man, andshall. And I WANT YOU to know him.' Hol' on," he added quickly, asMadison rose with a flushed face and a perturbed gesture. "Ye don'tunderstand! I see wot's in your mind--don't you see? When I marriedmy wife and brought her down here, knowin' this yer camp, I sez: 'Noflirtin', no foolin', no philanderin' here, my dear! You're young anddon't know the ways o' men. The first man I see you talking with, Ishoot. You needn't fear, my dear, for accidents. I kin shoot all roundyou, under your arm, across your shoulders, over your head and betweenyour fingers, my dear, and never start skin or fringe or ruffle. But Idon't miss HIM. You sorter understand what I mean,' sez I,'so don't!' Yenoticed how my wife is respected, Mr. Wayne? Queen Victoria sittin' onher throne ain't in it with my Safie. But when I see YOU not herdin'with that cattle, never liftin' your eyes to me or Safie as we pass,never hangin' round the saloons and jokin', nor winkin', nor slingin'muddy stories about women, but prayin' and readin' Scripter stories,here along with your brother, I sez to myself, I sez, 'Sandy, ye kintake off your revolver and hang up your shot gun when HE'S around. For'twixt HIM and your wife ain't no revolver, but the fear of God and helland damnation and the world to come!' You understand what I mean, don'tye? Ye sorter follow my lead, eh? Ye can see what I'm shootin' round,don't ye? So I want you to come up neighborly like, and drop in to seemy wife."
Madison Wayne's face became set and hard again, but he advanced towardsMcGee with the book against his breast, and his finger between theleaves. "I already know your wife, Mr. McGee! I saw her before YOU evermet her. I was engaged to her; I loved her, and--as far as man maylove the wife of another and keep the commands of this book--I love herstill!"
To his surprise, McGee, whose calm eyes had never dimmed or blenched,after regarding him curiously, took the volume from him, laid it on thetable, opened it, turned its leaves critically, said earnestly, "That'sthe law here, is it?" and then held out his hand.
"Shake!"
Madison Wayne hesitated--and then grasped his hand.
"Ef I had known this," continued McGee, "I reckon I wouldn't havebeen so hard on Safie and so partikler. She's better than I took herfor--havin' had you for a beau! You understand what I mean. You followme--don't ye? I allus kinder wondered why she took me, but sens you'vetold me that YOU used to spark her, in your God-fearin' way, I reckon itkinder prepared her for ME. You understand? Now you come up, won't ye?"
"I will call some evening with my brother," said Wayne embarrassedly.
"With which?" demanded McGee.
"My brother Arthur. We usually spend the evenings together."
McGee paused, leaned against the doorpost, and, fixing his clear eyes onWayne, said: "Ef it's all the same to you, I'd rather you did not bringhim. You understand what I mean? You follow me; no other man but you andme. I ain't sayin' anything agin' your brother, but you see how it is,don't you? Just me and you."
"Very well, I will come," said Wayne gloomily. But as McGee backed outof the door, he followed him, hesitatingly. Then, with an effort heseemed to recover himself, and said almost harshly: "I ought to tell youanother thing--that I have seen and spoken to Mrs. McGee since shecame to the Bar. She fell into the water last week, and I swam out anddragged her ashore. We talked and spoke of the past."
"She fell in," echoed McGee.
Wayne hesitated; then a murky blush came into his face as he slowlyrepeated, "She FELL in."
McGee's eyes only brightened. "I have been too hard on her. She mighthave drowned ef you hadn't took risks. You see? You understand what Imean? And she never let out anything about it--and never boasted o' YOUhelpin' her out. All right--you'll come along and see her agin'." Heturned and walked cheerfully away.
Wayne re-entered the cabin. He sat for a long time by the window untilthe stars came out above the river, and another star, with which he hadbeen long familiar, took its place apparently in the heart of the woodedcrest of the little promontory. Then the fringing woods on the oppositeshore became a dark level line across the landscape, and the colorseemed to fade out of the moist shining gravel before his cabin.Presently the silhouette of his dark face disappeared from the window,and Mr. McGee might have been gratified to know that he had slipped tohis knees before the chair whereon he had been sitting, and that hishead was bowed before it on his clasped hands. In a little while he roseagain, and, dragging a battened old portmanteau from the corner, tookout a number of letters tied up in a package, with which, from time totime, he slowly fed the flame that flickered on his hearth. In this waythe windows of the cabin at times sprang into light, making a somewhatconfusing beacon for the somewhat confused Arthur Wayne, who wasreturning from a visit to Angel's, and who had fallen into that slightlymorose and irritated state which follows excessive hilarity, and is alsoapt to indicate moral misgivings.
But the last letter was burnt and the cabin quite dark when he entered.His brother was sitting by the slowly dying fire, and he trusted thatin that uncerta
in light any observation of his expression or manner--ofwhich he himself was uneasily conscious--would pass unheeded.
"You are late," said Madison gravely.
At which his brother rashly assumed the aggressive. He was no later thanthe others, and if the Rogers boys were good enough to walk with himfor company he couldn't run ahead of them just because his brother waswaiting! He didn't want any supper, he had something at the Cross Roadswith the others. Yes! WHISKEY, if he wanted to know. People couldn'tkeep coffee and temperance drinks just to please him and his brother,and he wasn't goin' to insult the others by standing aloof. Anyhow, hehad never taken the pledge, and as long as he hadn't he couldn't seewhy he should refuse a single glass. As it was, everybody said he was amilksop, and a tender-foot, and he was just sick of it.
Madison rose and lit a candle and held it up before his brother's face.It was a handsome, youthful face that looked into his, flushed with theexcitement of novel experiences and perhaps a more material stimulation.The little silken moustache was ostentatiously curled, the brown curlswere redolent of bear's grease. Yet there was a certain boyish timidityand nervousness in the defiance of his blue eyes that momentarilytouched the elder brother.
"I've been too hand with him," he said to himself, half consciouslyrecalling what McGee had said of Safie. He put the candle down, laidhis hand gently on Arthur's shoulder, and said, with a certain cautioustenderness, "Come, Arty, sit down and tell me all about it."
Whereupon the mercurial Arthur, not only relieved of his nervousness butof his previous ethical doubts and remorse, became gay and voluble.He had finished his purchases at Angel's, and the storekeeper hadintroduced him to Colonel Starbottle, of Kentucky, as one of "the Wayneswho had made Wayne's Bar famous." Colonel Starbottle had said in hispompous fashion--yet he was not such a bad fellow, after all--that theWaynes ought to be represented in the Councils of the State, andthat he, Starbottle, would be proud to nominate Madison for the nextLegislature and run him, too. "And you know, really, Mad, if you mixeda little more with folks, and they weren't--well, sorter AFRAID ofyou--you could do it. Why, I've made a heap o' friends over there,just by goin' round a little, and one of old Selvedge's girls--thestorekeeper, you know--said from what she'd heard of us, she alwaysthought I was about fifty, and turned up the whites of my eyes insteadof the ends of my moustache! She's mighty smart! Then the Postmaster hasgot his wife and three daughters out from the States, and they've askedme to come over to their church festival next week. It isn't our church,of course, but I suppose it's all right."
This and much more with the volubility of relieved feelings. When hestopped, out of breath, Madison said, "I have had a visitor since youleft--Mr. McGee."
"And his wife?" asked Arthur quickly. Madison flushed slightly. "No; buthe asked me to go and see her."
"That's HER doin', then," returned Arthur, with a laugh. "She's alwayslookin' round the corners of her eyes at me when she passes. Why, JohnRogers was joking me about her only yesterday, and said McGee would blowa hole through me some of these days if I didn't look out! Of course,"he added, affectedly curling his moustache, "that's nonsense! But youknow how they talk, and she's too pretty for that fellow McGee."
"She has found a careful helpmeet in her husband," said Madison sternly,"and it's neither seemly nor Christian in you, Arthur, to repeat theidle, profane gossip of the Bar. I knew her before her marriage, and ifshe was not a professing Christian, she was, and is, a pure, good woman!Let us have no more of this."
Whether impressed by the tone of his brother's voice, or only affectedby his own mercurial nature, Arthur changed the subject to furthervoluble reminiscences of his trip to Angel's. Yet he did not seemembarrassed nor disconcerted when his brother, in the midst of hisspeech, placed the candle and the Bible on the table, with two chairsbefore it. He listened to Madison's monotonous reading of the eveningexercise with equally monotonous respect. Then they both arose, withoutlooking at each other, but with equally set and stolid faces, and kneltdown before their respective chairs, clasping the back with both hands,and occasionally drawing the hard, wooden frames against their breastsconvulsively, as if it were a penitential act. It was the elder brotherwho that night prayed aloud. It was his voice that rose higher bydegrees above the low roof and encompassing walls, the level river camplights that trembled through the window, the dark belt of riversidetrees, and the light on the promontory's crest--up to the tranquil,passionless stars themselves.
With those confidences to his Maker this chronicle does notlie--obtrusive and ostentatious though they were in tone and attitude.Enough that they were a general arraignment of humanity, the Bar,himself, and his brother, and indeed much that the same Maker hadcreated and permitted. That through this hopeless denunciation stilllingered some human feeling and tenderness might have been shown by thefact that at its close his hands trembled and his face was bedewed bytears. And his brother was so deeply affected that he resolved hereafterto avoid all evening prayers.
