XX
The Ball
The dance in the Benton ranch was the great social event of the midsummerseason. The Bentons had begun to give dances in the days of plenty, whenthe cattle industry had been at its dizziest height; and they hadcontinued to give dances through all the depressing fluctuations of thetrade, perhaps in much the same spirit as one whistles in the dark to keepup his courage. Thus, though cattle fell and continued to fall in thescale of prices till the end no man dared surmise, the Benton "boys"--theywere two brothers, aged respectively forty-five and fifty years--continuedto hold out facilities to dance and be merry.
All day strange wagons--ludicrous, makeshift things--had been dischargingloads of women and children at the Benton ranch, tired mothers and theirinsistent offspring. To the women this strenuous relaxation came as mannain the wilderness. What was the dreary round of washing, ironing, baking,and the chain of household tasks that must be done as primitively as inGenesis, if only they might dance and forget? So the mothers came earlyand stayed late, and the primary sessions of the dances fulfilled all thefunctions of the latter-day mothers' congresses--there were infant ailmentsto be discussed, there were the questions of food and of teething, ofparegoric and of flannel bands, which, strange heresy, seemed to be "goingout," according to the latest advices from those compendiums of alldomestic information, the "Woman's Pages" of the daily papers.
Inasmuch as these more than punctual debaters must be cooked for, therewas, to speak plainly, "feeling" on the part of the housekeeper at theBentons'. Wasn't it enough for folks to come to a dance and get a goodsupper, and go away like Christians when the thing was over, instead ofcoming a day before it began and lingering on as if they had no home to goto? This, at least, was the housekeeper's point of view, a crochety one,be it said, not shared by the brothers Benton, whose hospitality was asgenuine as it was primitive. To this same difficult lady the infants, whowere too tender in years to be separated from their mothers, were asproductive of anxiety as their elders. A room had been set apart for theirespecial accommodation, the floor of which, carefully spread withbed-quilts and pillows, prevented any great damage from happening to themore tender of the guests; and they rolled and crooned and dug their smallfists into each other's faces while their mothers danced in the roombeyond.
By nightfall the Benton ranch gleamed on the dark prairie like aconstellation. Lights burned at every window; a broad beam issued from thedoor and threw a welcoming beacon across the darkness and silence of thenight. The scraping of fiddles mingled with the rhythmic scuffle of feetand the singsong of the words that the dancers sung as they whirledthrough the figures of the quadrille and lancers. About the walls of theroom where the dancing was in progress stood a fringe of gallants, theirheads newly oiled, and proclaiming the fact in a bewildering variety ofstrong perfumes. Red silk neckerchiefs knotted with elaborate carelessnessdisplayed to advantage bronzed throats; new overalls, and of the shaggiestspecies, amply testified to the social importance of the Benton dance.
As yet the dancing was but intermittent and was engaged in chiefly by themothers with large progeny, who felt that after the arrival of a greaternumber of guests, and among them the unmarried girls, their opportunitiesmight not be as plentiful as at present. One or two cow-punchers, in anexcess of civility at the presence of the fair, had insisted on giving uptheir six-shooters, mumbling something about "there being ladies presentand a man being hasty at times." In the "bunk-room," which did duty as agentleman's cloak-room, things were really warming up. There was muchdrinking of healths, as the brothers Benton had thoughtfully provided thewherewithal, and that in excellent quality.
Costigan was there, and Texas Tyler, who had ridden sixty miles to "swinga petticoat," or, if there were not enough to go round, to dance with ahandkerchief tied to some fellow's sleeve. By "swinging a petticoat" itwas perfectly understood among all his friends that he meant a chance todance with Judith Rodney. Year in and year out Texas never failed topresent himself at the post-office on mail-days, if his work took himwithin a radius of fifty miles of the Daxes. No dance where thepossibility of seeing Judith was even remote was too long a ride for himto undertake, even when it took him across the dreariest wastes of thedesert. Texas had been devoted to Judith since she had left the convent,and sometimes, perhaps twice a year, she told him that she valued hisfriendship. On all other occasions she rejected his suit as if hiscontinual pressing of it were something in the nature of an affront. YetTexas persevered.
"Well, here's lukin' at you, since in the way of a frind there's nothingbetter to look at!" and Costigan drained a tin cup at Texas Tyler.
"Your very good health," said Texas, who was somewhat embarrassed by whatwas regarded as Costigan's "floweriness."
"Begorra, is that Hinderson or the ghost av the b'y?" Costigan's rovingeye was arrested by the foreman of the "XXX," who stood drinking with twoor three men of his outfit. He was pale and ill-looking. He drank severaltimes in succession, as if he needed the stimulant, and without theformality of drinking to any one. The two or three "XXX" men who were withhim seemed to be equally in need of restoratives.
They talked of the cattle stampede in which several of the outfits hadbeen heavy losers. Some nine hundred head of cattle had been recovered,and members of the different outfits were still scouring the Red Desertfor strays.
Something in the nature of a sensation was created by the arrival of theWetmore party. The women were frankly interested in the clothes, bearing,and general deportment of the New-Yorkers. Rumors of Miss Colebrooke'sbeauty were rife, and there was a general inclination to compare her withlocal belles. Such exotic types--they had seen these city beautiesbefore--were as a rule too colorless for their appreciation. They likedfaces that had "more go to them," was the verdict passed upon one famousbeauty who had visited the Wetmores the year before. In arrangement of thehair, perhaps, in matters of dress, the judges were willing to concede thelaurels to city damsels, but there concession stopped. But evidentlyKitty, to judge from the elaboration of her toilet, did not intend to bedismissed thus cursorily. She herself was delicately, palely pretty, asalways, but her hair was tortured to a fashionable fluffiness, and thesimplicity of her green muslin gown was only in the name. It was muslindisguised, elaborated, beribboned, lace-trimmed till its identity was allbut lost in the multitude of pretty complications.
"Did you know that old Ma'am Yellett had a school-marm up to her place?"asked one of the men, apropos of Eastern prettiness.
"Well, well," Costigan reminisced, "'tis some av thim Yillitt lambs thot'ssix fut in their shtockings, if Oi be rimimbering right. Sure, the tacherought to be something av a pugilist, Oi'm thinkin'."
"I seen her the other day, and a neater little heifer never turned out topasture. Lord, I'd like to be gnawing the corners of the primer right now,if she was there to whale the ruler."
"Arrah," bayed Costigan, "but the women question is gittin' complicatedontoirely, wid Miss Rodney--an' herself lukin' loike a saint in a churchwindow--dalin' the mails an' th' other wan tachin' in the mountains. Sure,this place is gittin' to be but a sorry shpot for bachelors loike mesilf."
"I ain't mentionin' no names, but there's a man here ain't treatin' amighty fine woman square and accordin' to the way she ought to betreated."
The information ran through the circle like an electric shock. Men stoppedin the act of pledging each other's healths to listen. Loungersstraightened up; every topic was dropped. The man who had made thestatement was the loose-lipped busybody who had suggested to his host thathe give up his six-shooter since there were "ladies present."
"What the hell are you waiting for?" queried Texas Tyler, savagely."You've cracked your whip, made your bow, and got our attention; why thehell don't you go on?"
The man looked about nervously. He was rather alarmed at the interest hehad excited. The next moment Peter Hamilton had walked into the room.There was something crucial in his entrance at this particular time; itcrystallized su
spicion. The gossip took advantage of the greetings toHamilton to make his escape. Texas Tyler left the bunk-room immediatelyand looked for him in the room with the dancers. The fiddles, in the handsof a couple of Mexicans, had set the whole room whirling as if by magic.As they danced they sang, joining with the "caller-out," who held hisvociferous post between the rooms, till the room was full of singing,dancing men and women, who spun and pirouetted as if they had not a carein the world. But Texas Tyler was not of these, as he looked through thedancers for his man. There was a red flash in the pupils of his eyes, andhe told himself that he was going to do things the way they did them inTexas, for, of course, he knew that the loose-lipped idiot had meantJudith Rodney and Peter Hamilton. Never before had such an idea occurredto him, and now that it had been presented to his mind's eye, he wonderedwhy he had been such a blind fool. Never had the singing to these dancesseemed so absurd.
"Hawk hop out and the crow hop in, Three hands round and go it ag'in. Allemane left, back to the missus, Grande right and left and sneak a few kisses."
He rushed from the room and down to the stable. At sight of him some oneleaped on a horse and rode out into the darkness.
"Who was that?" asked Texas of a man lounging by the corral.
"That was--" and he gave the name of the loose-lipped man.
Texas cursed long and picturesquely. Then he went back to the bunk-roomand tried to pick a quarrel with Peter Hamilton, who good-naturedlyassumed that his old friend had been drinking and refused to take offence.
Peter went in to ask Kitty to dance with him. All that evening he had beenwaiting anxiously for Judith. Meanwhile he had used all his influence as anewly appointed member of the Wetmore outfit to soothe the ruffledfeelings of the cattle-men. Of the tragedy in the valley he had heard norumor.
Kitty had come to the point where she was willing to waive theRecamier-Chateaubriand friendship in favor of one more personal andordinary. In fact, as Peter showed a disposition to regard as final heranswer to him on the day he had spurred across the desert, Kitty, withtrue feminine perversity, inclined to permit him to resume his suit. Hisacquiescence in her refusal she had at first regarded as the turning ofthe worm; after the wolf-hunt, however, her meditations were moredisturbing. She had never told Peter of that strange woodland meeting withJudith, yet Judith's beauty, her probable hold over Peter, the degree ofhis affection for her were rankling questions in Kitty's consciousness. Inthe stress of these considerations Kitty lost her head completely for soold a campaigner. She drew the apron-string tight--attempted force insteadof strategy.
Kitty and Peter finished their waltz, one of the few round dances of theevening.
"How perfectly you dance, Kitty! It's a long time since we've had a waltztogether."
The cow-punchers looked at Kitty as if she were not quite flesh and blood.Such flaxen daintiness, femininty etherealized to angelic perfection, wasnew to them, but their admiration was like that given to a delicate exoticwhich, wonderful as it is, one is well pleased to view through the glassof the florist's window.
Peter was deferentially attentive and zealous to make the Wetmore partyhave a thoroughly good time, yet he did all these things, as it were, withhis eye on the door. He was not obviously distrait; he was the man of theworld, talking, making himself agreeable, "doing his duty," while hissubconsciousness was busy with other matters. It was rather throughtelepathy than through any lack of attention paid to her that Kittyrealized the state of things, and in proportion to her realization came afeeling of helplessness; it was so new, so unexpected, so cruel. He seemeddrifting away from her on some tide of affairs of the very existence ofwhich she had been unconscious. Further and further he had drifted, tillintelligible speech no longer seemed possible between them. They said thefoolish, empty things that people call out as the boat glides away fromthe shore, the things that all the world may hear, and in his eyes therewas only that smiling kindness. How had it come about after all theseyears? What was it that had first cut the cable that sent him drifting?What was it? She must think. Oh, who could think with that noise! Howsilly was their singing as they danced, how uncouth!
"All dance as pretty as you can, Turn your toes and left alleman; First gent sashay to the right, Now swing the girl you last swung about, And now the one that's cut her out, And now the one that's dressed in white, And now the belle of the ball."
The dancers seemed bitten to the quick with the tarantula of an ecstatichilarity; their bodies swayed in perfect harmony to the swing of thefiddles and the swell of the chorus. The most uncouth of them came underthe spell of that mad magic. Their movements, that in the beginning of thedance had been shy and awkward, became almost beautiful; they forgot arms,hands, feet; their bodies had become like the strings of some skilfullyplayed instrument, obediently responsive to rhythm, and in that compositeblending of races each in his dancing brought some of the poetry of hisown far land. The scene was amazing in its beauty and simplicity, like thestrong, inspirational power and rugged rhythm of some old border minstrel.One by one the dancers glowed with better understanding; discordantelements, alien nations were fused to harmony in this vivid picture.
Peter turned to Kitty, expecting to see her face aglow with the warmth ofit. She stood beside him, the one unresponsive soul in the room, on herlips a pale, tolerant smile.
"Aren't they splendid, Kitty, these women? More than half of them worklike beavers all day, and they have young children and dozens of worries,but would you suspect it? They're just the women for this country."
Now in the present state of affairs almost any other subject would havebeen better calculated to promote good feeling than the one on which Peterhad alighted. Kitty's thoughts had perversely lingered about one who,though not one with these women, had yet their sturdy self-reliance, theiracquiescence in grim conditions, their pleasure in simple things. Kitty'sapprehension, slow to kindle, had taken fire like a forest, and by itsblaze she saw things in a distorted light; her present vision magnifiedthe relations of Peter and Judith to a degree that a month ago she wouldhave regarded as impossible. "He is her lover!" was the accusation thatsuddenly flashed through her mind, and with the thought an overwhelmingdesire to say something unkind, something that should hurt him, supplantedall judgment and reason.
"Oh, it's a decidedly remarkable scene, pictorially, I agree with you. Andan artist, of course--but isn't it a trifle quixotic, Peter, to idealizethem because they are having a good time? There's no virtue in it. It isconceivable that they might have to work just as hard and have just asmany little children to look after, and yet not have these dances youpraise them for coming to."
"I'm afraid you find us and our amusements a little crude. Evidently thespirit of our dances does not appeal to you; but I did not suppose itnecessary to remind you that they should not be judged by the standard ofconventional evening parties," said Peter, hurt and angry in his turn.
"Us, our amusements, our dances? So you are quite identified with thesepeople, my dear Peter, and I had thought you an ornament of cotillions andcountry clubs. I can only infer that it is somebody in particular who hasbrought about your change of heart."
Peter flushed a little, and Kitty kept on: "Some of the native belles arequite wonderful, I believe. Nannie Wetmore tells of a half-breed who isvery handsome."
Peter set his lips. "At the expense of spoiling Nannie's pretty romance, Imust tell you that the lady she refers to is not only the most beautifulof women, but she would be at ease in any drawing-room. It would be asridiculous to apply the petty standards of ladyhood to her as it wouldto--well, imagine some foolish girl bringing up the question at a woman'sclub--'Was Joan of Arc a lady?'" Peter spoke without calculating theconviction that his words carried. He was angry, and his manner, voice,intonation showed it.
Kitty, now that her most unworthy suspicions had been confirmed by Peter'sardent championing of Judith, lost her discretion in the pang that gnawedher little soul: "I beg your pardon, Peter. When I spoke I did not, ofcourse,
know that this young woman was anything to you."
"Anything to me? My dear Kitty, I've never had a better friend than JudithRodney."
The dance was at its flood-tide. The exhilaration had grown with eachsweep of the fiddle-bow, with the sorcery of sinuous, swaying bodies, withthe song of the dancers as they joined in the calling out of the figures,with the rhythmic shuffle of feet, with the hum of the pulses, with theleaping of blood to cheek and heart till the dancers whirled as leavescircling towards the eddies of a whirlpool. The dancing Mrs. Dax split herfavors into infinitesimal fragments, for each measure of which her longlist of waiting gallants stood ready to pick a quarrel if need be. Herdancing, in the splendor of its spontaneity, had something of the surge ofthe west wind sweeping over a field of grain. Sometimes she waved back herpartner and alone danced a figure, putting to the music her owninterpretation--barbaric, passionate, rude, but magnificently vivid. Andthe dancers would stop and crowd about her, clapping hands and stampingfeet to the rhyming movement of her body, while against the wall herhostile sister-in-law, Mrs. Leander, stood and glared in a fury ofdisapproval, Leander himself smiling broadly meanwhile and exercising theutmost restraint to keep from joining Mrs. Johnnie's train.
The "XXX" men, who had remained aloof from the dancers and the merriment,keeping a faithful vigil in the bunk-room, where the hospitable bottleswere to be found, seemed to awaken from the spell that had bound them allday. Henderson, the foreman, whose face had not lost its tallow palenessdespite the number of his potations, put his head through the door to havea look at the dancing Mrs. Dax, was caught in the outermost eddy of thewhirling throng, and was soon dancing as madly as the others. The rest ofthe "XXX" party still hugged the bunk-room, where the bottles gleamedhospitable. They were still dusty from their long ride of the earlymorning, and more than once their fear-quickened imaginations had beenhaunted by the spectre of the dead cotton-woods, from which somethingheavy and limp and warm had been swaying when they left it. Henderson hadsecured the dancing Mrs. Dax for a partner. The "caller-out," stationedbetween the two rooms, warmed to his genial task. He improvised, he put awealth of imagination and personality into his work, he showeredcompliments on the nimbleness of Mrs. Dax's feet, he joked Henderson onhis pallor, he attempted a florid venture at Kitty. Miguel put fresh magicinto his bowing, Jose's fiddle rioted with the madness of it.
Judith stood for a moment in the kindly enveloping darkness, and her heartcried out in protest at the thing she must do. It was the utmost crueltyof fate that forced her here to dance on the evening of the day that theyhad killed him. But she must do it, that his children might evade thestigma of "cattle-thief," that the shadow of the gallows-tree might notfall across their young lives, that the neighbors might give credence tothe tale of Jim's escape from his enemies, that Alida and she might earnthe pittance that would give the children the "clean start" that Jim hadset his heart on so confidently. And she must dance and be the merriest ofthem all that these things might happen, but again and again she deferredthe dread moment. The light, the music, the voices, the shuffle of thefeet came to her as she stood forlorn in the grateful darkness. On thewall the shadows of the dancers, magnified and grotesque, parodied theirmovements, as they contended there, monstrous, uncouth shapes, likeprehistoric monsters gripping, clinching in some mighty struggle; andabove it all sang out the wild rhythm of Miguel's fiddle, and young Jose'sbow capered madly.
Judith drew close to the window, and the merriment struck chill at herheart like the tolling of a knell. She saw the pale face of Hendersongleam yellow-white among the dancers, and, watching him, the blood-lust ofthe Indian woke in her heart. The rest of the room was but a blur; thedancers faded into swaying shadows; she saw nothing but Henderson as hedanced that he might forget the gray of morning, the black, dead trees,and the grotesque thing with head awry that swayed in the breeze like apendulum. He dreaded the long, black ride that would bring him to hiscamp, for he alone of the lynchers remained. Something was drawing hisgaze out into the blackness of the night. He struggled against thetemptation to look towards the window. He whirled the Dax woman till hertwinkling feet cleared the floor. He sang to the accompaniment of Miguel'sfiddle. He was outwitting the thing that dangled before his eyes, havingthe incontrovertible last word with a vengeance. And as he danced andswayed, all unwittingly his glance fell on the window opposite, and JimRodney's face looked in at him, beautiful in its ecstasy of hate--Rodney'sface, refined, sharpened, tried in some bitter crucible, but Rodney'sface! Henderson could not withdraw his fascinated gaze. He stood in themidst of the dancers like a man turned to stone. He put up his hand to hiseyes as if to brush away a cloud of swarming gnats, then threw up his armsand rushed from the room. The dancers paused in their mad whirl. Miguel'sbow stopped with a wailing shriek. Every eye turned towards the window foran explanation of Henderson's sudden panic, but all was dark without onthe prairie. The magic had gone from the dance, the whirlwind of draperythat had swung like flags in a breeze dropped in dead air. "What was it?"the dancers asked one another in whispers.
And for answer Judith entered, but a Judith that was strange to them.There was about her a white radiance that kept the dancers back, and inher eyes something of Mary's look, as she turned from Calvary. The dancersstill kept the position of the figures, the men with their arms abouttheir partners' waists, the women stepping forward; they were like thepainted figures of dancers in a fresco. And among them stood Judith,waiting to play her part, waiting to show her world that she could danceand be merry because all was well with her and hers. But the bronzed sonsof the saddle hung back, they who a day before would have quarrelled forthe honor of a dance. They were afraid of her; it would be like dancingwith the death angel. She looked from face to face. Surely some one wouldask her to dance, and her eyes fell on Henderson, returning from thebottled courage in the bunk-room. Some word was due from him to explainhis terror of a moment ago.
"Oh, Miss Judith, I thought you was a ghost when I seen you at thewindow."
"A ghost that's ready to dance." She held out her hand to him. In hergesture there was something of royal command, and Henderson, reading themeaning in her eyes, stepped forward. Her face, almost a perfect replicaof the dead man's, looked at him.
"I bring you greeting from my brother," she said. "He has gone on a longjourney."
Henderson started. Through the still room ran the murmur, "Rodney'soutwitted them; he's played a joke on the rope!" And Judith, hisdare-devil sister, had come with his greetings to Henderson, leader of thefaction against him! The tide had turned. The applause that is ever themeed of the winner was hers to command. The cattle faction were ready tosing the praises of her splendid audacity. In their hearts they were gladin the thought that Jim had outwitted them.
Miguel's bow dashed across the strings, and he drew from the little brownfiddle music that again made them merry and glowing. The magic came backto the dance, the blood leaped again with the merry madness, and theyswept to the bowing like leaves when the first faint wail of winter criesin the trees.
Hamilton, standing apart with Kitty Colebrooke, had been a dazed witnessof the scene. With the rest he had watched the entrance of Judith, hadbeen stunned by the change in her appearance, had seen her triumph andheard the rumor of Jim's escape, and his heart had warmed with the goodword. She had probably managed the plan, and had come to-night, in the joyof her triumph, to hurl in their faces that she had outwitted them. Andshe had paid the penalty of her courage--her face told that. What a womanshe was! Her heart would pay the penalty to the last throb, and yet shecould dance with the merriest of them. And as she danced she seemed toPeter Hamilton, in her white draperies, like a cloud of whirlingsnow-flakes drifting across the silence of the desert night. She was theone woman in all the world for him, though his blind eyes had faced thelight for years and had not known it. He had squandered the strength ofhis youth in the pursuit of a little wax light, and had not marked theserene shining of the moon.
"And a man there was and he mad
e his prayer--" he quoted to himself. Well,thank God that it had not been answered. He would take her away from here.She could take her place in his family and reflect credit on his choice.His family, his friends--he winced at the thought of their possiblereception of the news. But Judith's presence would adjust thesedifficulties. He would present her to Kitty now, that his old friend mightsee what manner of woman she was. Kitty, he felt, would be kind in memoryof the old days. She would give to them both in friendship what she haddenied him in love. And as he warmed to the thought he turned to the womanof his youth. And she read a look in his face that had not been there in along time. Had he, then, come back to her? Was the distance from bark toshore lessening as the sea of misunderstanding diminished?
"Kitty, we were speaking a moment ago of Miss Rodney. You would like toknow her, I'm sure. We've been such good friends all these years while youwere deciding that what I wanted was not good for us--and deciding wisely,as I know now. Look at her! You'll understand how she has helped me keepthe balance of things. When she's finished dancing you'll let me bring herto you, won't you?"
And Kitty, who had expected much different words, struggled with themeaning of these unexpected ones. The strangeness of the pain bewilderedher. Her dazed consciousness refused to accept that Peter was askingpermission to present to her a woman whom she thought should not have beenpermitted to enter her presence. There was about her a white flame ofanger that seemed to lick up the red blood in her veins as she turned toanswer:
"She is undeniably handsome, Peter, but I do not care to meet yourmistress."
He bowed low to her as Lieutenant Swift, of Fort Washakie, who was of theWetmore party, came to claim Kitty's hand for the next dance. Judith andHenderson were leading the last figure, their hands clasped high in anarch through which the dancers trooped in couples. Again and again hetried to catch Judith's eye, but her glance never once met his. Her great,wide eyes had a far-away look as if they saw some tragedy, the shadow ofwhich would never fall from her. She was, indeed, the tragic muse in herfloating white drapery, the tragic muse whose grief is too deep for tears.He watched her as she swept towards him in the figure of the dance, thehead thrown back, slightly foreshortened, the mouth smiling with the smilethat knows all things, the eyes holy wells of truth. He saw in hersomething of the tenderness of Eve, for all the blending of the calmmodern woman, capable in affairs, equal to emergency. It was like her tocontrive her brother's escape and then to dance with the very men who hadknotted the noose for his hanging. Henderson was bowing to her, the dancewas over, and the next moment she was alone.
"Is it you, Peter?" She thrust a strand of hair back from her temple. Hereyes rested on him for a moment, then wandered, till in their absent lookwas the rapt expression of the sleep-walker. The dark-rimmed eyes had intheir depths the quiet of a conflagration, and Peter, seeing these things,and knowing the gamut of all her moods, saw that he had been mistaken. Shehad not come, to dance in triumph, in the face of her brother's enemies.There was no triumph in her face, but white, consuming despair.
"Did you ask me to dance?" Again she put back the strand of hair. "Forgiveme for being so stupid, but I've kept post-office to-day, and had a longride, and I danced with Henderson."
He drew her arm within his and led the way out through the crowd ofdancers to the star-strewn night. She did not speak again, nor did sheseem to notice that they had left the room with the dancers. She turnedher face towards the lonely valley, where the drama of her brother'spassing had been consummated, and something there was in her look as itturned towards the hills that told Peter.
"Tell me, Judith, 'what has happened?"
For answer she pointed towards the valley. "They did it last night at thedead cotton-woods. Henderson led them. I could not stay with Alida. I hadto come here to dance that no one might suspect."
Her voice was steady, but low and thrilling. In its deep resonance was theecho of all human sorrow. There was no hint of accusation, yet Peter feltaccused. He felt, now when it was too late, that his position had been oneof almost pusillanimous negligence. From the beginning he had taken a firmstand against violent measures. He had talked, argued, reasoned, inveighedagainst violence; no later than a week ago he had ridden across the desertto tell Henderson that the Wetmore outfit would take no part in violenceof any sort, and that the cattle outfit that did resort to extrememeasures would miss the support of the "W-Square" in any future rangebusiness. But it had not been enough. He should have made plain hisposition in regard to Judith. With her as his future wife the tragedy ofthe valley would not have been possible.
From the ranch-house came the swell of the fiddles, the rhythmic shuffleof feet, the song of the dancers, dulled by distance. Beside him wasJudith, a white spirit, the woman in her dead of grief. And yet, throughall the grim horror of the tragedy she remembered the part that had beenallotted to her, threw all the weight of her personality on the side ofthe game she was playing.
"You must be on our side, Peter, and when there is talk of Jim's absenceyou must imply that he is East somewhere. You will know how to meet suchinquiries better than we women. Henderson will be only too glad. Youshould have seen the wretch when I held out my hand to him and told him todance with me. He came, white and shambling; we have nothing to fear fromHenderson. Alida has no money to go away with. She and I must stay hereand make a beginning for the children, and, Peter, we want you to helpus."
He had no voice to answer her brave words for a minute, and then hissentences came uncertain and halting.
"You must think me a poor sort of friend, Judith, one who has been blindtill the eleventh hour and is then found wanting. I feel so guilty to you,to your brother's wife, to that little child who put out his arms sotrustfully to me that night, but I never imagined that things would cometo such a pass as this. The smaller cattle outfits have been doing a gooddeal of blustering, but the more conservative element supposed that theyhad them in check, and did not for a moment think that they would take thelaw into their own hands. Believe me, this lawlessness has been in theface of every influence that could be brought to bear, and it shall not gounpunished."
She spoke to him from the darkness, as the spirit of grief might speak."An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, that is the justice of theplains. But, Peter, it is but poor justice. What's done is done, and freshviolence will not give back Alida her husband nor the little ones theirfather. What we need is friends, one or two loyal souls who, thoughknowing the hideous truth of this thing, will stand by us in our pitifulfalsehood. I have told no one, nor shall I, but you and--Peter, you mustnot laugh at your fellow-conspirator--Leander."
He took her hands in his and pressed them; big hands they were, andhardened by many a homely task, but withal tender and with the healingquality of womanliness in the touch of their warm, supple fingers. Butto-night she did not seem to know that he held them, nor to be consciousof his presence. The woman in her was dead of grief. The white spirit inher place, that plotted and planned that Jim's children and Jim's wifemight not from henceforth walk in the shadow of the gallows, was beyondthe prompting of the flesh. And again she spoke to him in the samefar-away voice, with the same far-away look in her eyes.
"You must know, Peter, that Leander is at heart of the salt of the earth.I told him about it all, and he asked to be given the commission to dealwith the men. He has risen to his post magnificently. I heard him swearthe wretches to secrecy, hint to them that he had a great story to tellthem. They were frightened, and listened. And the poor little man that wehave so despised told them convincingly how Jim had made good hisescape--even Henderson half believes we saved him."
Peter hoped that she would accuse him of his half-heartedness indirectly,if not openly. It would have made his conscience more comfortable, and hisconscience troubled him sorely to-night. It was that fatal habit ofprocrastination that had brought this thing about. He had hesitated allthese weeks about Judith, and while he had threshed out the pro and con ofher disadvantageous family connection, this hi
deous tragedy had happened.
"Peter"--and now her eyes seemed to come back to earth again, to losesomething of the far-away look of the sleep-walker--"Peter, I'm cruel tospeak to you of these things now. When your heart is full of your ownhappiness, I come to you like a dark shadow with this tragedy. But I amglad for the good that has come to you, Peter. Perhaps Miss Colebrooketold you of the day I met her in the wood, the day of the wolf-hunt. Shewas so beautiful, I understood--"
"Judith, I hardly know how to say what I am going to, I feel that I havebeen such a bad friend to you, but you must hear me patiently. Together,if you are willing, after knowing all of me that you do, we must lookafter your brother's children. That night in the little house in thevalley, when the little chap came to me, don't you remember, there wassomething fine and fearless in the way he did it. 'You may belong to thecattle side of the argument,' he seemed to say, 'but I trust you.' Now,Judith dear, that boy's faith in me is not going to be shaken. We mustlook after them together. It is a very little thing you have asked of me,my dearest, but a very big one that I am asking of you. Do you understand,my Judith, it is _you_ that I want? Don't think of me as I have been,Judith, but as you are going to make me. I want you to give me the rightnow, this evening, to share all this trouble with you. Do we understandeach other, Judith? Is it to be? And will you come back with me now, intothe room where they are dancing, and let me present you to them, to theWetmores, as _my_ Judith, my betrothed?"
"But, Peter, I don't understand. I--I thought you and Miss Colebrookewere--"
"That's all over, Judith. I did love her once. Oh, you dear, brave woman,I'm not a hero from any point of view, and you know it. It's but a sorrylover that's making his prayer to you, my dearest; but you won't judge, Iknow, beloved, you will love me instead?"
Judith turned towards the valley. Her whole being throbbed with apassionate response to the man who stood so humbly before her, but therewere duties that came first. Her mind was full of Alida and her children,and her eyes still sought Peter's imploringly.
"You will be a good friend to them, Peter--to Jim's people? I cannot talkto you of anything else to-night. Your heart is big, Peter, but you cannotfeel, perhaps--"
"Listen, Judith. Whatever friendship and protection I can give your familyyou may count upon from now till the end of time. I will be theirs as I amyours. I feel your grief, but I want to soothe it, too. And if you loveme, and I feel, Judith, that you do, you must let them all see to-night,these people who know us both, that we stand together before all the worldfor better or worse. Think, Judith, and you will see that you owe it toyourself, to me, to all these men, who reverence you as the one woman, theone ideal in their lonely lives."
She could not speak. The moment was too full, the strain had been toogreat; but she smiled surrender, and Peter caught her tenderly in his armsand kissed her once--his Judith she was now, his heroine. Then, withoutanother word, he drew her arm through his and led her back to the lights,where the dancers still held high carnival.
Judith's half-sister, Eudora, was making a pretty quarrel by perverselyforgetting the order in which she had given her dances. The girl was soundeniably happy that Judith dreaded the grim news she must tell her.Eudora blushed as she encountered Judith's eye. Her half-sister everoffered a check on Eudora's exuberant coquetry, with its precipitation ofdiscussions that often ended in bullets. Leander stood on the outermostfringe of Eudora's potential partners. He would not have dared to maintainit openly, yet he was sure the pretty minx had promised that dance to him.
"Dance with Leander, dear, and don't let those men begin quarrelling. I'vesomething to tell you, presently," said Judith.
Texas Tyler stood glowering at them from the doorway. He would not catchJudith's eye as she tried to speak to him. Kitty sat alone for the moment.She had sent the young lieutenant to fetch her a cup of coffee, but asPeter approached with Judith she averted her eyes.
"Kitty, may I present to you my fiancee, Miss Rodney?"
Kitty rose superbly to the situation. She might, indeed, have made thematch she was so overjoyed in the good-fortune of her old friend Peter.She made no reference to the woodland meeting--she hoped for the happinessof seeing them in town. And she bade Peter tell the good news to NannieWetmore, they would be so glad. Nannie swallowed a grimace and proffered acousinly hand. She had suspected some such news as this when she saw thatthings were not going well with Kitty and Peter.
"Better one dance with a good partner that can swing ye than several witha feeble partner that leaves ye to swing your own corners!"
Judith looked up, smiling. She recognized the characteristic utterance ofher old friend Mrs. Yellett. The matriarch had sustained a breakdown, andarrived, in consequence, when the dance was half over, but she wasphilosophical, as always, in the face of misfortune, and loudly attestedher pleasure in the renowned pedal feats of her partner, Costigan.
Behind came Mary Carmichael, looking brown and happy. From the attitude ofthe group around Judith and Peter Mary divined what had happened, and cameto add her congratulations. Even Mrs. Yellett forgot to choose an axiom asher medium of expression, and kissed Judith publicly, with affectionateunction. Henderson had effaced himself, and Leander, proud of his triumphand Judith's commendation, sat in a corner and smiled contentedly.Ignorant of the drama to which they had played chorus, the dancers stillriotously swung one another up and down the length of the room, and fromthe little brown fiddles came the gay music of Judith's betrothal.
*THE END*
Judith of the Plains Page 21
